“Orthodox Writers and Readers” Series Launch: Molly Sabourin

It’s 9:38 am on any given Sunday and I’m at church–or rather, I’m physically present at St. Elizabeth’s but not yet “there,” if you know what I mean. Ideally, I’d have spent the previous ninety minutes or so in quiet prayerful anticipation of the communal worship I was about to enter into, as opposed to yippin’ and yappin’ at my younguns with the hair in need of brushing and sometimes surly attitudes in need of adjusting.

And it certainly would have been lovely to have arrived ten minutes early and caught a bit of the matins service preceding Divine Liturgy, instead of screeching into the parking lot with but 30 seconds to spare before our priest kicked things off with, “Blessed is the Kingdom of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit!”  But my life as a mother of four rarely caters to my preferences, thus here I stand in a cloud of incense reciting the Beatitudes, still trying to harness my wandering and frazzled thoughts (“Did I turn the iron off? Oooh, chicken stir-fry sounds good for dinner. Maybe that missing library look is in the back of the van!”).

It’s really, really hard to ignore them, to not engage them. It takes everything in me to tune out the noise of my runaway mental impulses and digest the enormity of what is taking place all around me: Christ is in our midst!  And that truly is my ongoing, overarching battle – to somehow cut through the fluff and fog buffering my body, my spirit, my mind from the intensity and demands of a life lived fully for Christ, Christ as Love. I’d drift unknowingly into a comfortable lukewarm state of blasé-ness without the Church. Without the Church and Her sacraments, mystery, iconography, hymnology, antiquity, martyrs, saints to help lift my gaze up from the media-driven, materialistic mire, I’d merely pass the time instead of seizing it – making every second count.

We are about halfway through liturgy when our priest comes out from behind the altar reverently carrying the gifts, the bread and wine that will become the body and blood of Christ. He bows to us and we bow to him, singing, That we may receive the King of all who comes invisibly upborne by the angelic hosts. Oh my gosh, I think then, this is so much bigger than my fears, selfish desires, dinner plans and unsightly shortcomings.  What’s happening right here, right now is unequivocally more real, more important, more fulfilling, more victorious, more consequential than absolutely any and everything else.

I participate in (or maybe “cling desperately to” would be a more accurate choice of phrasing) the life of the Church to stay mindful of the fact I have a soul in need of saving. The Church is a hospital and I am sick. The Church is my ultimate source of healing. And as a very thankful member of the Church, the Body of Christ, I’m called to present to Her my first fruits, my God-given gifts, as a sacrifice.

Eric Henry Liddel, winner of the 1924 Olympic men’s 400 meters race, and inspiration for the movie Chariots of Fire, was once quoted as saying, “When I run, I feel His [God’s] pleasure.”  I totally get that. From the tender age of eight, I’ve been putting my ponderings down on paper. Writing has consistently been my ever-present hobby, and my primary method for coping with the good, the bad and the ugly.

When I write to be noticed, respected, appreciated, I find zero joy in it – only pride and insecurity (two troublesome sides of the same tired coin). When I write as a means of prayer, however, or with the singular goal of spreading light, love and hope, I too feel God’s pleasure – a deep satisfaction. Writing is what I know, is what calms me. Writing as a means of communion with the living God is my widow’s mite offered meekly in faith. That Christ can utilize my meager gift, despite my abundant weaknesses, to break through complacency or despair and pierce hearts with His mercy is nothing short of miraculous. It will take a concerted effort on my part, however, to keep my eyes on the prize to the very end. Get behind me doubts and self-serving intentions! I’m busy dying to myself in order to thrive. My computer keyboard and I have much significant and salvific work to do!

We have finally arrived at the pre-communion prayer. My head is lowered and my arms crossed submissively in front of my chest in anticipation of being fed by the Holy Eucharist. …of Thy Mystical supper, O Son of God, accept me today as a communicant, I pray aloud with my parish family, for I will not speak of Thy Mysteries to Thine enemies, neither like Judas will I give Thee a kiss but like the thief will I confess Thee. Remember me, O, Lord in Thy Kingdom. And I am fully here. I am fully present. I remember now from whence comes all enlightenment, grace, fortitude and yes, even my drive to write and create.

I may be a pen, but Christ is the ink. Only by emptying myself, of myself, can His Truth, His words, flow through me.

Molly Sabourin is a writer, podcaster and amateur photographer who reflects primarily on issues pertaining to family, faith and community. She is the author of “Close to Home: One Orthodox Mother’s Quest for Patience, Peace and Perseverance.” Molly blogs regularly at http://mollysabourin.typepad.com.

Final Countdown to “Orthodox Writers and Readers”

In bloom

One week from today, the Orthodox Writers and Readers series will begin on this blog. September 1 is the official start of the Orthodox church year, so it seems a good day for a new beginning.

I am thrilled to announce that our first guest in the series will be Molly Sabourin. Molly is a multi-talented woman. She’s an author, a blogger, a speaker, a podcaster, and a gifted photographer. I don’t want to spill all the beans before she gets here, but I do want to tell you a little story about her book and its place in my own life. To my mind, it’s the perfect introduction to the Orthodox Writers and Readers series.

Last year, one of my friends at church told me she had just read an incredible book called Close to Home by Molly Sabourin. My friend is a mom, just like I am, and we often talk to each other about our struggles to raise our kids the way our love for them and our faith in God inspire us to. We also talk to each other on the bad days, when we fall short. She gave me Molly’s book because she could identify with it so strongly she just had to share it. She said it made her want to round up all the moms at church so we could read it together. She knew it would help us talk to each other about our lives. I took the book home and started reading.

Close to Home blew me away. Over and over again, I would read a chapter and think “I do that! I think that! I felt that! Now I wonder how Molly dealt with it when she did it/thought it/felt it.” Then I would read on and find out.

The book is powerful because it’s so true!  I think my friend felt this also, and that’s why she had to share it with me. When I finished reading it, I wanted to share it, too.

Why did this experience stick with me? Because it was perfect. It’s exactly what should happen when you read a good book, and I’m sure it’s what every author hopes for. Books are such human things. Animals don’t write them. Ditto on birds, bugs, and machines. Books are an expression of us and our human experiences, and they are meant to be shared and talked about and passed around.

In the Orthodox world I have come to know and love, there are gifted people who are using their abilities and their faith to create beautiful books, podcasts, videos, curricula, blogs, and other works of art. I believe all of these creations should be shared as often as possible, with as many people as possible. And I believe we can all learn something about faith and creativity by learning about these people and how they do their work.

The Orthodox Writers and Readers series will launch in the same spirit that moved my friend to share Molly’s book with me. I hope you will enjoy hearing from the wonderful writers and readers who will be featured here. I hope you will respond to them with comments and by visiting them at their online homes and exploring their work firsthand.

“The Help”: Is it helpful?

I read an excellent article by Sophia Nelson in The Huffington Post this morning about “The Help,” a new and controversial film just released here in the States. Nelson’s article is not the first strongly negative response to this film that I’ve run across. I haven’t seen the film yet myself. The last time I was in a movie theater was 6 years ago on the other side of the country. But Nelson’s article reminded me of my own hesitation to write outside my race.

According to Nelson, there are two major problems with “The Help,” both as a book and a major motion picture. First, it presents a prettified and inaccurate picture of black women serving as domestic help in the days before anyone even imagined political correctness. Second, it is written by a white woman, and when black women write about the same subject (with considerably more accuracy), they somehow never become bestsellers with major motion picture contracts. Many, according to Nelson, feel misrepresented and ignored.

Without seeing the film, I can’t comment on whether these accusations are justified. But Nelson does raise a question I have often pondered as a writer. I am white. It’s not a choice. I was just born that way. But as a result, I have lived all my life as a white person. I know that my understanding of what it’s like to belong to another race can only be based on my observation, through the lens of my life experience. So what would I need to consider, as a writer, before deciding to write in a black voice? Could I “pose” as a black character? Could I do it well enough to write truthfully, to speak from the inside of experiences it is not possible for me to have?

You might look at my family photos and think I’d be qualified for this kind of writing. My husband is black. But in fact, that’s why I know I might not be qualified. I know enough to know what I don’t know. If Kathryn Stockett popped onto this blog suddenly, ready for an interview, my first question to her would be, “How much do you know about what you don’t know?”

It’s not impossible for a writer of one race to create a character of another race, and to do it well. But it’s not a task to undertake lightly. Saint Isaac the Syrian has his own version of the old adage “write about what you know.” He says, “Do not relate to anyone anything that you have not experienced, so that you will not be ashamed of yourself and your lie is not exposed by your careless life.” Do you agree with his advice? Can research make it possible to relate something you have not experienced? Or is there something missing from writing that reaches too far outside the writer’s own experience?

What do you think?

UPDATE on Orthodox Writers and Readers Series

Tree waiting to blossom

This week, I received the first submissions for the Orthodox Writers and Readers series, which will launch at the start of the Orthodox church year in September.

I can’t wait till you can read them, too!

There is so much meaning packed into a few hundred words, so many things that could be said in response, so much food for thought. As I finished reading one guest writer’s post, I imagined hearing it read aloud, to a group of friends drinking tea in a comfortable room. There would be that respectful silence we offer to someone sharing her personal thoughts, and it would linger in the air for a minute after she finished speaking. Then would come the burst of conversation as everyone in the room tried to share an idea at the same moment. I love that moment, the symphony of voices, the glowing faces, the clatter of china cups against the table, the hands moving to illustrate a point.

I am happy to announce that there are so many Orthodox writers and readers who want to participate in this series that I will be hosting two guests each month, instead of one. The series will run through next summer. Or maybe longer. I keep finding another great writer, and then another!