Tuesday, July 14, 2015
Tuesday to go
New Zealand, March 2015
Our goal should be to live life in radical amazement.
Get up in the morning and look at the world in a way that takes nothing for granted. Everything is phenomenal; everything is incredible; never treat life casually. To be spiritual is to be amazed.
Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, From Jewish Mindfulness, January 1, 12015
Letting go-from Godspace
We want to control what the day holds, stick to our schedules and not allow anything to disrupt our well thought out plans. We want to control relationships, often attempting to manipulate friends and family so that we get what we want from them. When people don’t respond in the expected way we often get angry because we have lost control.
We want to control ourselves too. We exercise, eat, pray and work so that life can be good and follow certain patterns. Losing control is scary for us because it pushes us into the unknown, but it here that we come to know the unknowable God.
What if we allowed ourselves to let go and trusted in God instead? What if we admitted that we don’t know the answers and that we don’t always know what is best? What if we let go and let God? That is the path to freedom.
1. It frees us of unnecessary worries. The desire for control adds so many worries to our lives – worries about how we look, how people perceive us, what we should accomplish in a day. Many of us are driven to accomplish far more than we should because we are afraid of the consequences of losing control.
2. It frees us to be seen as we really are. We sometimes try to control a situation by telling people what we think they want to hear rather than what we really believe. We want them to like us, or think us important, or knowledgeable. To be ourselves we must be willing to lose control of what people think of us. Yet to honest people are more likely to like us when we are honest even when they don’t agree with what we say.
3. It frees you to live in the present moment rather than in the past or the future. Being in control blinds us to the beauty around us because we think we know what is going to happen. It proscribes our choices and limits our options. Letting go relaxes us, gives more space to the moment and allows us to see the world around us clearly.
4. It frees us to listen to the spirit of God. The moment we let go of our desire for control, we can allow the spirit to guide us but that is indeed a journey into the unknown.
5. It frees us to enjoy the unexpected surprises and spontaneity of life. When we let go, we are liberated from the rigidity of life as we think it should be and freed to experience life as it can be. It is like taking off a constricting corset and allowing ourselves to breathe deeply.
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
The Hidden Soul and the Weight of Glory Fr. Stephen Freeman
The Hidden Soul and the Weight of Glory
Fr. Stephen Freeman
hidden soul
From a Facebook conversation:
Though I wish I believed otherwise, in the depths of my being, I do not believe any part of us survives death. I am, at the center of my consciousness, a materialist, and a reluctant atheist still. I fight this disposition daily, and it is becoming an enormous burden that I wish I could throw off. There are days where my doubt and despair far eclipse my hope that someday, God will really let me know it’s “not all in my head”, or that He will somehow bless me with a profound Athonite experience to solidify and settle my gnawing pessimism, and to extinguish the flames of absurdity and unbelief that engulf my existence. I am really trying to believe. I desperately want to truly believe. I want it more than anything. I desire an authentic faith. I do not however, want to believe something just so I can sleep at night. This struggle is not unique to myself, I realize that, and I take comfort in knowing many a person, way more intelligent than I, has also struggled profoundly with nihilism, and come out from under the weight of it to become a saint.
This is a quote from a Facebook friend, and I deeply admire the honesty and anguish in his statement. It was occasioned by some questioning that I posted myself. And so I take it upon myself to offer some reflections. I hope they are of help to him and others.
The first observation I want to make is on the assurance with which we experience the materialist option. I never seem to encounter anyone who doubts the materiality of their existence. Some will doubt that there is anything other than a material existence – but they always seem certain of that much. I would add that we seem to think we know what a material existence is, and that its existence is rather obvious and its persistence guaranteed.
In point of fact, although materiality is easily observed, it is not easily explained, nor is its persistence guaranteed. Everything about the universe we inhabit is strikingly precise in the most delicate balance imaginable – far beyond random chance. Any variation in the most primitive forces (those that came about in the first moments of the “big bang”) would have resulted in no universe rather than some other universe. There are compelling reasons to say that we are “meant” to be here.
The continued existence of our world (its persistence) is equally astounding. The world to which we awaken everyday is not a testimony to its inherent stability, but to an inherent providence that sustains us in existence. We should wonder not only that the universe exists, but that it continues to exist.
It is possible (of course) to view the material universe as a sort of given, something that can be taken for granted, but doing so is neither philosophically nor scientifically sound. “It is only wonder that understands anything,” in the words of St. Gregory.
“I do not believe any part of us survives death.”
Though death is a great test and visits destruction on our material form, yet it is no greater test of faith than our present existence in a material form. For our very nature is nothingness, and that nothingness should speak and think and long and pray at any given moment is truly a wonder. And it is no greater wonder or test of faith to believe that existence might be given us beyond the nothingness of death itself.
I will press this a bit further. Much that we take to be our “selves” in our material experience shows itself to be quite ephemeral and illusory when it’s examined more closely. And, on the other hand, there is something that has a dogged persistence regardless of how closely it is scrutinized. Observing this yields something of a glimpse of the “soul,” and directs our attention to its proper place.
What do we mean when we speak of the personality? Do we mean a certain set of memories? A collection of experiences and preferences? Is it our set of skills and techniques? How many of these would we have to lose for the personality and personhood to disappear? As a man in his early 60’s, I have already forgotten more than I can remember. Names escape me. I notice that my memory of things is quite selective, and that some of my stories have become suspect (even to myself). My skills are diminished. My hands struggle to find their place on a keyboard and my fingers move ever more slowly. And though I once gloried in my children, they are now adults. I love them, of course, but the children whom I knew are now disappearing within the mists of my mind. The social relations that so often define us are constantly changing. People who once mattered in my life are now dead, while others live at a distance and probably never give me a thought. Our tastes and proclivities shift constantly. Cigarettes, once a constant presence in my life, have been missing for nearly 30 years.
But there is something that remains and seems to have changed in no way whatsoever. That something is not the object of my consideration, but the subject who considers. The old man who now thinks and writes and groans in the morning, is identical with the child who ran with ease and played his games. That subject is the one who remembers, who experiences, who thinks, who decides. But that subject is not itself the memory, the experience, the thought or the decision. Indeed, it would be possible to imagine that subject with a completely different set of memories, etc., yet still being the same subject!
When we do indeed turn our attention directly to that subject, and away from experiences, memories, etc., we come to a very different place. It is quite possible to simply be aware, to be present with no regard to memory, etc. Indeed, such present awareness is often describe as a “higher” state of consciousness. Prayer, in its most mature forms, has this form of awareness as an almost inherent characteristic.
What is the relationship between this subject, this awareness, and our material existence? Again, its persistence argues for some separation from a purely material account. For, as noted, the subject of a five-year-old is the same subject when it is sixty-years-old, while the material reality will have completely changed many times over. This doesn’t suggest that our material existence is merely a vehicle, but it certainly suggests that the subject that we call the ‘self’ transcends our materiality in some manner.
There is a link. On the whole, the awareness we have as subject is centered in our materiality. We may even think of ourselves, miraculously, as matter that has become aware. When the Church speaks of the soul, we must remember that it does not mean something that is utterly separate from the body:
Spirit and matter are not mutually exclusive. On the contrary, they are interdependent; they interpenetrate and interact. When speaking, therefore, of the human person, we are not to think of the soul and the body as two separable «parts» which together comprise a greater whole. The soul, so far from being a «part» of the person, is an expression and manifestation of the totality of our human personhood, when viewed from a particular point of view. The body is likewise an expression of our total personhood, viewed from another point of view – from a point of view that, although different from the first, is complementary to it and in no respect contrary. «Body» and «soul» are thus two ways of describing the energies of a single and undivided whole. A truly Christian view of human nature needs always to be unitary and holistic. (from a 2002 publication by the Holy Synod of the Church of Greece)
So, when we think of many things that make up our experience, and certainly things that color and shape our experiences, we must consider many known aspects of the body, particularly the brain. Our present science makes us increasingly aware of various conditions that are rooted in the brain and its neurochemistry. Anyone with knowledge of these things who is also a pastor/confessor cannot help but ponder their relationship to the soul. A very helpful image is found in a conversation with the Elder Epiphanios Theodoropoulos:
The image which we can use to describe the relationship of soul and brain is the violin with the violinist. Just as even the best musician cannot make good music if the violin is broken or unstrung, in the same manner a man’s behavior will not be whole (see 2 Tim 3:17) if his brain presents a certain disturbance, in which case the soul cannot be expressed correctly. It is precisely this disturbance of the brain that certain medicines help correct and so aid the soul in expressing itself correctly.
My own take in this is to reflect on the hidden struggle of the soul, often masked by the brain and its disorders. For a person who is biologically prone to depression or any number of problems (for which the Elder strongly recommended medication) there can be a daily, even a moment-by-moment struggle, unseen by the surrounding world – even largely hidden from the individual himself. St. Paul reminds us:
Therefore we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day. For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory, (2Co 4:16-17)
I can only add to this, that, for some, the affliction is far from light and can last a life time. But the weight of glory remains eternal.
The soul (when viewed rightly), represents “an expression of the totality of our human personhood” (as is the body). But the soul frequently remains hidden. Prayer, repentance, silence, stillness and many other spiritual disciplines can help reveal the soul to the subject (the true self) of our life.
So, the end of the matter is a certain attentiveness. We should pay attention to the true nature of the material world in which we live – it is a shimmering moment on the razor’s edge of existence, an enduring testimony to its Creator. At the same time we should pay attention to the true character of our own existence and aspects that clearly reach beyond pure materiality. We are fearfully and wonderfully made, and, if we can be still and listen, we will hear the sound of an eternal weight of glory singing deeply in the heart of all things. It says, “Glory to God for all things.”
Fr. Stephen Freeman
hidden soul
From a Facebook conversation:
Though I wish I believed otherwise, in the depths of my being, I do not believe any part of us survives death. I am, at the center of my consciousness, a materialist, and a reluctant atheist still. I fight this disposition daily, and it is becoming an enormous burden that I wish I could throw off. There are days where my doubt and despair far eclipse my hope that someday, God will really let me know it’s “not all in my head”, or that He will somehow bless me with a profound Athonite experience to solidify and settle my gnawing pessimism, and to extinguish the flames of absurdity and unbelief that engulf my existence. I am really trying to believe. I desperately want to truly believe. I want it more than anything. I desire an authentic faith. I do not however, want to believe something just so I can sleep at night. This struggle is not unique to myself, I realize that, and I take comfort in knowing many a person, way more intelligent than I, has also struggled profoundly with nihilism, and come out from under the weight of it to become a saint.
This is a quote from a Facebook friend, and I deeply admire the honesty and anguish in his statement. It was occasioned by some questioning that I posted myself. And so I take it upon myself to offer some reflections. I hope they are of help to him and others.
The first observation I want to make is on the assurance with which we experience the materialist option. I never seem to encounter anyone who doubts the materiality of their existence. Some will doubt that there is anything other than a material existence – but they always seem certain of that much. I would add that we seem to think we know what a material existence is, and that its existence is rather obvious and its persistence guaranteed.
In point of fact, although materiality is easily observed, it is not easily explained, nor is its persistence guaranteed. Everything about the universe we inhabit is strikingly precise in the most delicate balance imaginable – far beyond random chance. Any variation in the most primitive forces (those that came about in the first moments of the “big bang”) would have resulted in no universe rather than some other universe. There are compelling reasons to say that we are “meant” to be here.
The continued existence of our world (its persistence) is equally astounding. The world to which we awaken everyday is not a testimony to its inherent stability, but to an inherent providence that sustains us in existence. We should wonder not only that the universe exists, but that it continues to exist.
It is possible (of course) to view the material universe as a sort of given, something that can be taken for granted, but doing so is neither philosophically nor scientifically sound. “It is only wonder that understands anything,” in the words of St. Gregory.
“I do not believe any part of us survives death.”
Though death is a great test and visits destruction on our material form, yet it is no greater test of faith than our present existence in a material form. For our very nature is nothingness, and that nothingness should speak and think and long and pray at any given moment is truly a wonder. And it is no greater wonder or test of faith to believe that existence might be given us beyond the nothingness of death itself.
I will press this a bit further. Much that we take to be our “selves” in our material experience shows itself to be quite ephemeral and illusory when it’s examined more closely. And, on the other hand, there is something that has a dogged persistence regardless of how closely it is scrutinized. Observing this yields something of a glimpse of the “soul,” and directs our attention to its proper place.
What do we mean when we speak of the personality? Do we mean a certain set of memories? A collection of experiences and preferences? Is it our set of skills and techniques? How many of these would we have to lose for the personality and personhood to disappear? As a man in his early 60’s, I have already forgotten more than I can remember. Names escape me. I notice that my memory of things is quite selective, and that some of my stories have become suspect (even to myself). My skills are diminished. My hands struggle to find their place on a keyboard and my fingers move ever more slowly. And though I once gloried in my children, they are now adults. I love them, of course, but the children whom I knew are now disappearing within the mists of my mind. The social relations that so often define us are constantly changing. People who once mattered in my life are now dead, while others live at a distance and probably never give me a thought. Our tastes and proclivities shift constantly. Cigarettes, once a constant presence in my life, have been missing for nearly 30 years.
But there is something that remains and seems to have changed in no way whatsoever. That something is not the object of my consideration, but the subject who considers. The old man who now thinks and writes and groans in the morning, is identical with the child who ran with ease and played his games. That subject is the one who remembers, who experiences, who thinks, who decides. But that subject is not itself the memory, the experience, the thought or the decision. Indeed, it would be possible to imagine that subject with a completely different set of memories, etc., yet still being the same subject!
When we do indeed turn our attention directly to that subject, and away from experiences, memories, etc., we come to a very different place. It is quite possible to simply be aware, to be present with no regard to memory, etc. Indeed, such present awareness is often describe as a “higher” state of consciousness. Prayer, in its most mature forms, has this form of awareness as an almost inherent characteristic.
What is the relationship between this subject, this awareness, and our material existence? Again, its persistence argues for some separation from a purely material account. For, as noted, the subject of a five-year-old is the same subject when it is sixty-years-old, while the material reality will have completely changed many times over. This doesn’t suggest that our material existence is merely a vehicle, but it certainly suggests that the subject that we call the ‘self’ transcends our materiality in some manner.
There is a link. On the whole, the awareness we have as subject is centered in our materiality. We may even think of ourselves, miraculously, as matter that has become aware. When the Church speaks of the soul, we must remember that it does not mean something that is utterly separate from the body:
Spirit and matter are not mutually exclusive. On the contrary, they are interdependent; they interpenetrate and interact. When speaking, therefore, of the human person, we are not to think of the soul and the body as two separable «parts» which together comprise a greater whole. The soul, so far from being a «part» of the person, is an expression and manifestation of the totality of our human personhood, when viewed from a particular point of view. The body is likewise an expression of our total personhood, viewed from another point of view – from a point of view that, although different from the first, is complementary to it and in no respect contrary. «Body» and «soul» are thus two ways of describing the energies of a single and undivided whole. A truly Christian view of human nature needs always to be unitary and holistic. (from a 2002 publication by the Holy Synod of the Church of Greece)
So, when we think of many things that make up our experience, and certainly things that color and shape our experiences, we must consider many known aspects of the body, particularly the brain. Our present science makes us increasingly aware of various conditions that are rooted in the brain and its neurochemistry. Anyone with knowledge of these things who is also a pastor/confessor cannot help but ponder their relationship to the soul. A very helpful image is found in a conversation with the Elder Epiphanios Theodoropoulos:
The image which we can use to describe the relationship of soul and brain is the violin with the violinist. Just as even the best musician cannot make good music if the violin is broken or unstrung, in the same manner a man’s behavior will not be whole (see 2 Tim 3:17) if his brain presents a certain disturbance, in which case the soul cannot be expressed correctly. It is precisely this disturbance of the brain that certain medicines help correct and so aid the soul in expressing itself correctly.
My own take in this is to reflect on the hidden struggle of the soul, often masked by the brain and its disorders. For a person who is biologically prone to depression or any number of problems (for which the Elder strongly recommended medication) there can be a daily, even a moment-by-moment struggle, unseen by the surrounding world – even largely hidden from the individual himself. St. Paul reminds us:
Therefore we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day. For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory, (2Co 4:16-17)
I can only add to this, that, for some, the affliction is far from light and can last a life time. But the weight of glory remains eternal.
The soul (when viewed rightly), represents “an expression of the totality of our human personhood” (as is the body). But the soul frequently remains hidden. Prayer, repentance, silence, stillness and many other spiritual disciplines can help reveal the soul to the subject (the true self) of our life.
So, the end of the matter is a certain attentiveness. We should pay attention to the true nature of the material world in which we live – it is a shimmering moment on the razor’s edge of existence, an enduring testimony to its Creator. At the same time we should pay attention to the true character of our own existence and aspects that clearly reach beyond pure materiality. We are fearfully and wonderfully made, and, if we can be still and listen, we will hear the sound of an eternal weight of glory singing deeply in the heart of all things. It says, “Glory to God for all things.”
Monday, April 6, 2015
The Mystical Reality of Holy Week by Fr. Stephen Freeman
The Mystical Reality of Holy Week
As we journey through Holy Week
…
…
For if the dead do not rise, then Christ is not risen. And if Christ is not risen, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins! Then also those who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished. If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men the most pitiable. (1Co 15:16-19 NKJ)
Earlier this Spring, two Jehovah’s Witnesses came to my door. They were pleasant as always and as always had literature to offer. A sweet lady extended a brochure to me with the words, “This year we are having a world-wide day in honor of Jesus’ death.” I was taken aback. My mind immediately raced to the notion of a memorial service for our poor friend Jesus who died so long ago and so tragically. The rest of the conversation will not be repeated here. But the thought is germane. Why do Orthodox Christians keep Holy Week? Are we engaging in services to “honor” Christ’s death and resurrection? Is Holy Week an annual memorial? Or is there something deeper involved?
The answer can be found by thinking of the mystery of Holy Baptism, for in many respects, Holy Week and Pascha are the great feast of Christian Baptism.
Do you not know that as many of us as were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into His death? Therefore we were buried with Him through baptism into death, that just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life. For if we have been united together in the likeness of His death, certainly we also shall be in the likeness of His resurrection (Rom 6:3-5 NKJ).
We are not Baptized into the “memory” of Christ’s death. Baptism is not a mere “act of obedience,” an “ordinance,” as some call it. Such a notion is the weakest possible reading of St. Paul, one of the worst examples of the psychologization of the Christian mystery.
For St. Paul, and the Christian faith, we are truly and mystically united with Christ’s death in our Baptism as we are equally united with His resurrection: this nothing less than our salvation. This mystical union is not magic – its effectual working in us requires our cooperation. The choices we make, the prayers we offer, our engagement with sin and the powers of evil, through the grace of the Holy Spirit, works in us the increasing image of Christ, “from glory to glory.”
The liturgical work of Holy Week (and I emphasize work!) is an extended practice of the Baptismal union. In Baptism we are crucified with Christ. In Holy Week, the drama of that crucifixion and the events that lead up to it are engaged in the labor of worship, anamnesis – effective remembrance. We see ourselves in the person of Christ as He enters Jerusalem and in the persons of the people who welcome Him. We also see within ourselves those who judge Him, plot to kill Him and casually betray Him (for this is the inner war that rages within). We not only see these things so that we can meditate on them – they become true within us, in the same manner as the truth of our Baptism. With Christ we truly die and lie in the tomb. In many congregations, people keep watch before the tomb of Christ, praying the Psalms, even as we do over the bodies of the faithful who die. With growing joy and anticipation we mark Christ’s descent into Hades and His trampling down death by death. And with shout of festal joy we greet His resurrection, for it is our resurrection as well. The life to come becomes the life we live.
The words of the services are always expressed in this mystical realism. We do not sing about the past.
Today Judas watches to betray the Lord, the Saviour of the world before the ages, who satisfied multitudes from five loaves. Today the transgressor denies the Teacher; though a disciple he betrayed the Master; for silver he sold the One who satisfied humankind with manna.Today the Jews nailed to the Cross the Lord who parted the sea with a staff and led them through the desert. Today with a lance they pierced the side of the One who scourged Egypt with plagues for their sake, and they gave vinegar as drink to the One who rained down the manna as nourishment.
And in perhaps one of the most exquisite hymns of the week:
Today he who hung the earth upon the waters is hung upon a Tree, He who is King of the Angels is arrayed in a crown of thorns. He who wraps the heaven in clouds is wrapped in mocking purple. He who freed Adam in the Jordan receives a blow on the face. The Bridegroom of the Church is transfixed with nails. The Son of the Virgin is pierced by a lance. We worship your Sufferings, O Christ. Show us also your glorious Resurrection.From the antiphons of the Matins of Holy Friday
Everything is “today.” We do not sing at Pascha, “Christ has risen from the dead.” For Christ is risen from the dead. That day, the day of days, is the last day, the eternal day, the day in which all time is ended (just as death is destroyed). The Church enters that “Eighth Day,” and in it forgives all by the resurrection. In the resurrection, debts and grievances become absurd. Pascha swallows up all that is not good and holy.
Learning to live in the eternal day is the life of mystical union with Christ. It is the meaning of St. Paul’s confession that he “is crucified with Christ.” Holy Week is not an exercise in sentimentality, a memorial service for things that are past. It is the joyful celebration and mystical participation in that which alone is real, and by its presence grants reality to everything that participates in it.
St. John offers this:
If we walk in the light as He is in the light, we have participation in one another, and the blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanses us from all sin. (1Jo 1:7 NKJ)
May God grant us to to walk together in love in union with Christ as we mark our way to Golgotha, the Tomb and Paradise! Glory to God for all things!
Saturday, February 28, 2015
The Icon of Music
Fr. Stephen Freeman
This Sunday, the First Sunday of Great Lent, marks the return of the holy icons to the Churches in 843 A.D. It is celebrated as the “Sundayof Orthodoxy.” This article offers a reflection on a different form of the icon – of equal importance – and equally worth protection and care.
Orthodox theology is a “seamless garment”: no part of Orthodox doctrine, worship, prayer or life stands in a category of its own. Everything refers and reveals the one thing in Christ – our salvation. Even the doctrine of the Trinity, as utterly sublime as it is, remains a matter revealed for our salvation. Because this inter-relatedness is true, it is possible to speak of Scripture as a “verbal icon” (Florovsky), or to say that “icons do with color what Scripture does with words” (Seventh Council), or that “one who prays is a theologian and a theologian is one who prays.” In my limited reading I have never read any particular commentary that spoke of the music of the Church as an icon, but I feel confident in describing it in that manner. It is possible to say this, at the very least, because all of creation can properly be seen as icon – a window to heaven.
To say that music is an icon is not to have said all there is to say about music. But it does say something about the proper place of music in the Church. Music is not about us. Music in the Church does not exist for our enjoyment or entertainment, even though the joy associated with it may at times be exquisite.
Archimandrite Zacharias (of St. John’s Monastery in Essex) describes the heart of worship as “exchange.” It is not an exchange in the sense that we offer something in “trade” with God. Rather, it is an exchange that is also named “communion” and “participation.” God becomes what we are and in and through Him (by grace) we become what He is. This “exchange” isour salvation. In the mystery of Holy Baptism the candidate is asked, “Do you unite yourself to Christ?” The union which is brought about in Holy Baptism (Romans 6:3-4) is our salvation, “newness of life.” All that takes place within the Christian life is union and exchange – it is the means and manner of our salvation.
Music exists for exchange and union. It is the sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving in which we unite ourselves in offering our bodies (the voice) as a living sacrifice to God.
Let us who mystically represent the Cherubim,
And who sing the thrice holy hymn
to the life-creating Trinity,
now lay aside all earthly cares.
That we may receive the King of All,
Who comes invisibly upborne
by the angelic hosts,
Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.
(Cherubic Hymn from the Divine Liturgy)
And who sing the thrice holy hymn
to the life-creating Trinity,
now lay aside all earthly cares.
That we may receive the King of All,
Who comes invisibly upborne
by the angelic hosts,
Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.
(Cherubic Hymn from the Divine Liturgy)
Not all paintings are icons. Not all music is iconic. Not every voice is raised in union with the heavenly hosts. To write a true icon is a great and holy thing. To sing in a manner that reveals heaven and unites us with the heavenly hosts is a great thing indeed. We were created to sing in just such a manner.
Lest I be misunderstood, I do not claim that all music in Orthodox Churches is iconic in character. Many Churches are decorated with religious art, which, though beautiful, is not iconic. Some music falls short of its intent within the Tradition. By the same token, there is music outside of the Orthodox Church that is iconic – both by accident and by intention.
Music that renders heaven opaque – particularly music presented as Christian – is tragic. We were meant to sing with angels – just as they delight in singing with us.
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