Yesterday was the Sunday of Orthodoxy, which celebrates the triumph of icons over the iconoclasts, reinstating them for use in the liturgical worship of the Church. As I watched dozens of children from three different Orthodox churches here in Memphis process around the nave at Annunciation Greek Orthodox Church and heard the proclamation, “This is the Faith of the Apostles, this is the Faith of the Fathers,” I felt a strange mix of joy and sadness wash over me.
Over the past couple of years, I’ve had a number of folks ask me if I’m still doing icons on commission. And just last week I had a request from a potential student for another icon workshop. I always answer these questions with a vague reply like, “I’m not really doing iconography any more,” or “I’m not leading workshops any more,” but I never give a more specific answer. Because it’s complicated. But today I want to write about it. Maybe it’s because I’m about to “take down” my icon studio, which covers the second floor landing above the den in our home, which I’m staging to put on the market soon, possibly by summer. (We’re looking for a house for this stage of our life—fewer bedrooms, larger entertaining area, and separate office/workspaces for my husband and me.)
So, here goes. First a little background on why I began studying iconography. (And here’s a link to an article I wrote that was published in First Things back in 2007: “Icons Will Save the World,” for those who want to read more.) In the mid 1990s I went through what I call the “nun phase” of my spiritual life. Having come out of a dark time, spiritually, I threw myself into a radical, ascetic lifestyle for about five years. It was my way of going to the desert, like my patron saint, Mary of Egypt. During those years I removed myself from secular life, spending as much time as possible reading spiritual literature, praying, visiting monasteries, going to Church every day, wearing a head covering, no makeup, plain clothes, and basically withdrawing from worldly activities as much as possible. Maybe some of that was helpful in healing the wounds from my dark years, but in retrospect, I’m not sure how authentic some of those practices were. I recently heard Father Thomas Hopko speak about the “Vices and Virtues,” and he warned about using religion as a vice. He spoke about the dangers of over-emersion in religious activities, including clergy in his concerns. He spoke about dealing with our own personal histories and bringing our whole selves to be healed. And although I think that’s what I was trying to do during those years, somehow I found myself still trying to please people, rather than God.
I have always wanted to write. And paint. I’ve been drawn to abstract art all my life, and to novels. But some of the more severe Orthodox spiritual literature warns against these activities, and so I felt uncomfortable pursing secular art and writing for most of my life. Even as I began to come out of my “nun phase,” in the late 1990s, I looked for a place to pursue my art that would be “approved.” And so I began to study iconography. Painting icons is called “writing” because you are writing the life of the saint who is portrayed in the icon (or of Christ or the Mother of God, etc.) but you are writing it with color rather than with words. I studied under Russians, Romanians, Greeks and Americans over a period of years, and then I began to do commissioned icons and to teach icon classes in my home studio and workshops at St. John Orthodox Church, my parish. (Read about one of those workshops here,here, here,and here.) 
I painted over 40 icons during those years, and taught dozens of students in my workshops. I gave presentations on iconography at churches, college, and schools. And yes, there was great blessing in doing this. But I also began to realize that writing icons is so tied into my spiritual life that there were even times when I felt “blocked” from writing icons. My essay, “Blocked,” which addresses this, was a finalist in the 2007 Santa Fe Writers Project’s Literary Awards.
The more I moved back “towards center” in my personal, spiritual, and emotional/psychological life, the more I realized that I had backed into iconography, doing “the approved art” rather than what I really wanted to do. And so I began to experiment with abstract art a bit, and representational art using gouache (opaque water color) but quickly realized that I didn’t have the training for it. (In order to abstract something, you must first know how to paint it classically. Picasso and most of the other great abstract painters were first classical painters.) I did enjoy a few monthly gatherings with the “Mixed Bag Ladies,” who are all serious, trained artists, but welcomed me into the fold.
And so I returned to my love for writing, which had been there all along. I started by writing a novel, in 2006. (It’s in a drawer, needing much work.) Then I began to write essays. (8 have been published.) Then memoirs (two are in drawers) and finally another novel, which is in the works now. Then blogging (Pen and Palette plus two blogs where I guest post monthly). Then organizing writing conferences and workshops. And so I’ve come to realize that I can’t do both—write books and icons. And I’m really not in a place, spiritually, to continue to write icons. Traditionally this work has been done by monastics, who focus on fasting and prayer and the strict ascetic life that lends itself to the liturgical art that iconography is. While I’m thankful for everything I learned during those years of studying and sharing this spiritual art with others, it’s time for me to leave it to others. It’s time for me to clean out my icon studio, physically, and to mentally prepare the space that iconography has taken up in my heart for the words that I long to write and to publish. I still love icons. I say my morning and evening prayers before the icons in the corner of our dining room, and I venerate the icons when I worship at church. They will always be “windows to heaven” and an important part of my spiritual life.
Check out Darrelyn Saloom's wonderful post, "The Best Education for Writing Memoir."
Busy week for me and not much time for another blog post, so today I offer you links to several other blogs you might enjoy. Kind of a “blog crawl.” There’s lots of diversity here—some about Lent and spirituality, others about writing, others humorous—so if you don’t like something, just quit reading it and click on the next one. 
And then my sweet husband brought me coffee in bed, followed by more singing, a wonderful “Grey’s Anatomy” birthday card (which plays “Cosy in the Rockets” when you open it—the soundtrack from the show) The inside says, "I recommend the second, but that's just my professional opinion."
And then came the presentation of the gift Daphne had left for me when she was here this weekend, with instructions to open it on my birthday. Inside the box was a beautiful peacock lamp. The peacock—a symbol of the resurrection. Perfect. (She and I collect peacocks.)
And so as I continue my rebirth, I will try very hard to feel and practice kindness. Like my husband and daughter and friends practiced kindness to me with all the gifts and celebrations this weekend, including an amazing dinner at Flight on Saturday evening...
... and a surprise party at my Goddaughter, Sophie's house on Sunday afternoon. (We didn't think to take a photo of the group until a number of people had already left. Thanks for the amazing food, wine, and kindness, Reem and Nawar!) 
My daughter brought with her (from Denver) a hand-made (by her!) printer’s tray, with sixty little windows in it, each containing an element that represented something significant from those sixty years—a picture of my daughter and me on her first morning in this country from South Korea, a soccer ball to remind me of my years as her soccer mom, a Mary Chapin Carpenter album cover, a car, a paint palette, an icon—all beautiful handmade and placed inside the printer’s tray.
And then she made this beautiful little book which had an explanation about each of the 60 pieces in the tray, and a personal note and a quote to go with each, and computer art throughout the book. She hand-stitched the book together. I think my favorite quote is on page 53:
Oh, and then there’s the “lei” that Beth made me, from 60 origami cranes (she folded them all) tied together on a string. The Japanese believe that the crane is the symbol for prosperity and good health and long life. Cranes are also said to symbolize arcane wisdom, balance, communication, independence, knowledge, solitude, and vigilance. They are often used as symbolic decorations at weddings, to bless the life of the couple being married. 
I love this origami crane tattoo…. (No, that’s not me... but then again....)
My monthly guest post is up at Jane Friedman's Writer's Digest blog, "There Are No Rules."
As I mentioned on Friday, I'm writing today about the Winter Retreat I went to this weekend at Holy Trinity Greek Orthodox Cathedral in Birmingham, Alabama for their Winter Retreat featuring Father Thomas Hopko Father Hopko spoke on “Vices and Virtues.” It was a distillation of a twelve-week course he taught at St. Vladimir’s Seminary (where he taught for 35 years) and we got three one-hour lectures. (Father Hopko has many podcasts available at Ancient Faith Radio on various subjects.) 
I feel very inadequate to write about this weekend. It was transforming for me in many ways, but I’m still processing the treasures that Fr. Hopko shared with us. Some if it wasn’t new to me, as an Orthodox Christian:
All I know is that for me, cleaning up the mess in my own broken humanity is all I can deal with for now. And the next generation is helping me. The love of my children and Godchildren is sometimes the only thing that keeps me from going into the depths of despair. When I’m in the grip of depression, I don’t want to even get out of bed, much less go to church. So, yesterday morning, my motivation for going to church was my Goddaughter, Sophie. My husband and I had planned to take her out after church to celebrate her 8th birthday. She was counting on me, and so I showed up. I was late, and I didn’t take communion, but I showed up for Sophie. 
And then she brought me the first laughter and smiles I’ve felt in a long while, as we danced to the music of Memphis music legend Joyce Cobb at the jazz brunch at Bosco’s Squared in midtown. 
I watched with joy as Joyce let Sophie play percussion with the band, and then as the band sang the Beatles’ song, “You Say It’s Your Birthday,” and then “Happy Birthday to You” to Sophie and the whole restaurant clapped for Sophie and she beamed. 
She ordered ribeye steak and Caesar salad and ate every bite. She opened her gifts from us and hugged us and thanked us over and over. She told us, word-for-word, the story of the Bremen Town Musicians, and then the folk story that she wrote. After we took her home and were driving back to our house, I thought about how much more she is saving me than I am saving her. And yet I’m called to “clean up the mess” for Sophie and for my own children and grandchildren. And to "sanctify humanity" for the next generation. May God have mercy and help me.
Our women’s group at St. John Orthodox Church has been studying a book on the spiritual life by a twentieth century Serbian Elder, Thaddeus of Vitovnica: Our Thoughts Determine Our Lives: The Life and Teachings of Elder Thaddeus of Vitovnica 
Elder Thaddeus of Vitovnica was one of the most renowned spiritual guides of Serbia in the twentieth century. As a novice he lived in obedience to Elder Ambrose of Miljkovo Monastery, a disciple of the Optina Elders. From him Fr. Thaddeus learned the Prayer of the Heart and the selfless love that came to characterize his whole ministry to the suffering Serbian people. Born in 1914, Elder Thaddeus lived through all the suffering endured by Serbia in the twentieth century. Over the course of two World Wars, during the Communist takeover, and through the NATO bombings of 1999, he co-suffered with his people. He taught, counseled, and prayed for all who came to him in pain and sorrow. His words of love and hope provided spiritual balm for people from all classes of society. In 2002 Elder Thaddeus reposed, leaving behind a large collection of his teachings, preserved by his faithful spiritual children. His life, teachings, and spiritual conversations are here presented for the first time in English.
The premise of the book comes from Elder Thaddeus’ teaching on thoughts:
There are times when people become depressed and despondent, which is a type of pride in its own way. If a person loves the things of this world, this will invariably lead to despondency, for he will not find God in them. Each human being feels lonely at times, even when he is among people, until the moment he becomes free from the things of this world. At that point, God comes to comfort him.
I have a hard time with this passage, because the Elder seems to be saying that God only comes to comfort a person “the moment he becomes free from the things of this world.” But what if a person is so depressed that he can’t free himself? Won’t God come to him in his depression? And how is that depression a type of pride? I’ve read in some of the Church fathers that it’s a form of pride because it (depression) comes from focusing on ourselves, rather than on God and others. But is it really so simple? And I’m not sure how to clearly delineate between “depression” and “despondency” or “acedia”—and which are emotional or chemical imbalances and which are more spiritual in nature, and therefore more a reflection of our spiritual state. I did a series of posts about a year ago on Kathleen Norris’ book, Acedia & Me, that address these issues.
With Great Lent just around the corner (it begins on March 7 for the Orthodox Church) I have a measure of anxiety about how my struggle will proceed this year. But I’m not going to begin the journey alone. This afternoon I’m traveling to Birmingham, Alabama, with two dear friends to attend a retreat at Holy Trinity Greek Orthodox Church. The speaker will be Father Thomas Hopko and the topic is “Vices & Virtues.” It’s interesting that in the list of vices included in the retreat material, “akedia” (listlessness or lethargy or a sense of futility) is a separate vice from “lype” (sadness or dejection or gloominess or ungodly grief), and “hyperephania” (pride) is another vice altogether. 
My husband and I went to New Jersey and Pennsylvania this past weekend for the wedding of my Goddaughter, Julie Stanek, to Benjamin Stell. (Wedding in Princeton and reception/dinner in nearby Yardley, Pennsylvania.) It’s a second marriage for each of them, and their five grown children participated in the ceremony. It took place in a beautiful temporary chapel of the Mother of God Orthodox Church in Princeton, New Jersey. The small parish there has been using space within the former location of St. Joseph Catholic Seminary. The small basement chapel where the parish meets is lovely. (The parish has bought land and plans to build their own temple soon.)
After the Crowning comes the Dance of Isaiah, which symbolizes the couple's first steps taken together as a married couple. In some traditions the sponsors (Man and Maid of Honor) accompany them, along with the priest(s) in this “dance.” You can watch several more examples of this tradition here. Here’s a picture of Julie and Ben in the Dance of Isaiah.
I miss Julie since she moved from Memphis in 2009, but it’s obvious that she’s right at home back up north near her roots. And I loved meeting her friends from the early years of her spiritual journey, which paralleled mine in many ways. Julie’s dear friend from Boston, Susan Kon (wife of Father Michael Kon of Holy Resurrection Orthodox Church in Boston) and I were instant soul sisters. Here we are with Julie, at the reception.
I’ll just leave a few more photos here for those who know these folks, and for others who just enjoy peeking into spiritual celebrations. Like this one, of the Bridesmaids (the daughters of bride and groom) and the Maid of Honor.
Here are Julie and Ben with their sponsors, at the reception/dinner later.
For most of January and the first couple of weeks of February, I've been blue. That's what my mother would call it. Probably my deepest bout of depression in many years, or possibly ever. Just feeling sad (and yes, some of it probably was SAD--Seasonal Affective Disorder.)I've been exhausted, weepy, achy. And then the sun came out and the temps rose, and I made another trip to Jackson (Mississippi) to visit my mother, and it was 74 degrees and sunny. I went to dinner with a group of ladies in a wonderful book club in Jackson and spent the night with one of them. Jonni is a potter, and I enjoyed watching her work in her studio the next morning. My two days in Jackson definitely lifted my spirits, and hopefully I brought a bit of that sunshine back to Memphis with me. I'm bracing myself for a return to the cold as I fly to Pennsylvania this weekend for a friend's wedding.
