Holy Week
April 2020
Life has moved online, but it’s a poor substitute for what we had. Technology has failed to deliver on its promises. We use Zoom for school and private classes. Church services are streamed live. While better than nothing, it’s not an equivalent replacement. I miss the social connection that can’t be found through a computer screen even when the people I care about are on the other side.
The first week the teachers at the kids’ school started using video conferencing, the kids were entranced and needed no supervision. Now Jonah and Basil will turn on computer games in a little screen if no one is watching and they mess around with the backgrounds. Justin can watch movies for hours on end, but he squirms in his seat in front of his teacher after about half an hour and if there is any glitching he turns the video off and runs away. Xenia uses the name feature of the program to have running conversations, but every time I peak in, she seems engaged. She complains about her classmates. The nuances of social interaction are lost in the online connection which is a huge loss because one of the goals of a school education is learning to get along with others.
I enjoy Justin’s school, which most resembles the old days of homeschooling. I had read books with all the other five children, but somehow missed Justin. Together we are rediscovering the shelves of books upstairs full of titles from my youth. There is nothing like watching him sound out the words to a book by Syd Hoff or Arnold Lobel, listening to his predictions and hearing his laughter at the ironic turns of the tales.
That joy means little to me though when the cost is days of full education in the hands of his teacher and with the experience of being with his classmates. I can read books to Justin and listen to him read without throwing out the school experience. He’s getting a good enough end to his first grade year, but I can’t wait for him to go back to school.
My writing teacher offered me a chance to take her class which has also moved online. It’s a similar format as before. She teaches a short lesson and then all the students read something they have written and get critiqued. The main benefit remains the same, my writing levels have jumped once again, and Syra’s Scribbles III will be amazing for it. Still the chit chat at the beginning of class and around the dining room table during break is irreplaceable. I find it more difficult to criticize people I don’t have a connection with. I’m so happy that my friend Karen is there because I think we give each other the tools we need to rewrite in a much better way. Oh, and the snacks the teacher used to provide; I really miss the snacks.
Church isn’t the same either. So many churches are streaming their services, but until Holy Friday I couldn’t bring myself to watch even one. It’s hard to pay attention in church and I need all the action, incense, and iconography the church offers to keep my thoughts on holy things. We have compromised by printing out readers services for the day and finding the proper music from the Orthodox Church of America website. Mike is the senior reader. I’m the choir director and the choir. Jonah is the altar boy, and the rest of the kids are the congregation. The services are short highlights with our favorite troparion and kontakion for the day. I couldn’t find anything to replicate the Holy Friday service, seeing Jesus put in the tomb. The kids and I tried watching the service streaming live from our church, but the kids had a hard time sitting still. It didn’t feel real. I turned it off at the part of the service that demanded the most reverence because it felt too disrespectful to sit by in leisure while Jesus was laid in the tomb. I yearned to prostrate myself but that action in the living room in front of the laptop also felt wildly inappropriate.
The other Holy Week experiences were more successful. We sang the best hits from the services and let our imaginations and the memories of past years supplement that which we were unable to do. We are not saved alone, and it is a hardship to move through Holy Week without the church community at my side.
Inspired by stories of the Russian martyrs who were sent to prison camps, I’ve always thought about each Holy Week as a time to lay up memories against the day that I may not be able to be in church. Last year my friends in San Diego missed their Pascha because of a shooting. We never know when sickness or natural disaster may strike. This year it’s a pandemic.
This was the first Pascha in twenty years that I wasn’t in church, but the memories were strong. Esther was overcome with the disappointment of not being in church with her boyfriend in what was supposed to be their first Pascha together. She opted to look for a live stream service. Everyone else joined together in the front room at midnight to sing the selected songs of the resurrection. We sang the song of light in the dark house and lit our candles as we have always done, and memories of other years flooded me. That Pascha where I saw my first fireflies in Goshen, Indiana. The sense of family at the parish in San Jose, California. The sweet scented evening air in Poway, California. The nods of loving acknowledgement as we lit our candles and turned behind us to spread the light to others in Albuquerque, New Mexico.
We processed around the house three times. At one point I turned around and the sight of familiar candle lit faces reminded me that though the people in the parish are dear to me, it’s the faces of my husband and children that I seek out and am comforted to find on this night of nights. Basil ran ahead of us so that every light was on in the house when we entered. There was no priest to bang on the door, but Fr. Al at St. John of Damascus was on my mind. We sang, “Christ is Risen” and marched back to the icon corner. I had been suffering with postnasal drip and a cough from allergies for a week. It was worse that night. I led us in the most familiar of the Paschal hymns, but Mike read the majority of the service. We didn’t have a typica and missed the liturgy, the Homily by John Chrysostom and communion. We did greet each other joyfully and had a party afterwards. It was our traditional meal of Pascha cheese, croissants, clotted cream, and cherry preserves. We ate sausage and cheese and milk chocolate bunnies. Sophia and I had picked out a sour blue raspberry bunny for Basil and the genuine smile on his face will last me another year. He thought it was hilarious. The little children slipped off to bed one by one and even the die hard party mongers, those of us who usually come home at five in the morning from church on Pascha singing, “Christ is risen from the dead” at the top of our lungs, we went to bed by one thirty.
The next morning when I awoke, I walked through the house and reexperienced Pascha. Smells of beeswax and incense lingered at the coffee table littered with ashes and candles. At the music stand strains of hymns sung and read echoed from the past. The candle stubs stuck to paper plates as decorations for the dining room feast called forth memories of the candle lit faces of my loved ones glowing in the darkness. The mouthwatering leftover crumbs of croissant coated in creamy goodness lay strewn around on the table. I felt sad for all that was missed. I also felt tired but exultant the way I’ve often felt the morning after the Paschal service as I get ready for our breakfast of crepes and bacon. Holy week is at an end and Christ is risen! We are in a pandemic but Christ is triumphant. Joy prevailed as I pulled the batter from the refrigerator.
After breakfast I went back to bed and was feverish for the rest of the day. Mike and Sophia pulled off a feast of sous vide beef tenderloin and carrots which I ate in my room. I felt better by Tuesday when classes resumed.
We are back to the drudgery of school. I don’t like this life. School, classes, church all feel like a shadow of what they once were. It’s like expecting to attend a musical at Bass Hall in downtown Fort Worth and replacing it with listening to the best hits from the show’s playlist. We can spend educational time with the kids without ditching school. We can worship as a family while still attending church. This time at home has giving me an appreciation for being at home with my family, but I long to turn off the computer and return to what we had.
April 2020
Life has moved online, but it’s a poor substitute for what we had. Technology has failed to deliver on its promises. We use Zoom for school and private classes. Church services are streamed live. While better than nothing, it’s not an equivalent replacement. I miss the social connection that can’t be found through a computer screen even when the people I care about are on the other side.
The first week the teachers at the kids’ school started using video conferencing, the kids were entranced and needed no supervision. Now Jonah and Basil will turn on computer games in a little screen if no one is watching and they mess around with the backgrounds. Justin can watch movies for hours on end, but he squirms in his seat in front of his teacher after about half an hour and if there is any glitching he turns the video off and runs away. Xenia uses the name feature of the program to have running conversations, but every time I peak in, she seems engaged. She complains about her classmates. The nuances of social interaction are lost in the online connection which is a huge loss because one of the goals of a school education is learning to get along with others.
I enjoy Justin’s school, which most resembles the old days of homeschooling. I had read books with all the other five children, but somehow missed Justin. Together we are rediscovering the shelves of books upstairs full of titles from my youth. There is nothing like watching him sound out the words to a book by Syd Hoff or Arnold Lobel, listening to his predictions and hearing his laughter at the ironic turns of the tales.
That joy means little to me though when the cost is days of full education in the hands of his teacher and with the experience of being with his classmates. I can read books to Justin and listen to him read without throwing out the school experience. He’s getting a good enough end to his first grade year, but I can’t wait for him to go back to school.
My writing teacher offered me a chance to take her class which has also moved online. It’s a similar format as before. She teaches a short lesson and then all the students read something they have written and get critiqued. The main benefit remains the same, my writing levels have jumped once again, and Syra’s Scribbles III will be amazing for it. Still the chit chat at the beginning of class and around the dining room table during break is irreplaceable. I find it more difficult to criticize people I don’t have a connection with. I’m so happy that my friend Karen is there because I think we give each other the tools we need to rewrite in a much better way. Oh, and the snacks the teacher used to provide; I really miss the snacks.
Church isn’t the same either. So many churches are streaming their services, but until Holy Friday I couldn’t bring myself to watch even one. It’s hard to pay attention in church and I need all the action, incense, and iconography the church offers to keep my thoughts on holy things. We have compromised by printing out readers services for the day and finding the proper music from the Orthodox Church of America website. Mike is the senior reader. I’m the choir director and the choir. Jonah is the altar boy, and the rest of the kids are the congregation. The services are short highlights with our favorite troparion and kontakion for the day. I couldn’t find anything to replicate the Holy Friday service, seeing Jesus put in the tomb. The kids and I tried watching the service streaming live from our church, but the kids had a hard time sitting still. It didn’t feel real. I turned it off at the part of the service that demanded the most reverence because it felt too disrespectful to sit by in leisure while Jesus was laid in the tomb. I yearned to prostrate myself but that action in the living room in front of the laptop also felt wildly inappropriate.
The other Holy Week experiences were more successful. We sang the best hits from the services and let our imaginations and the memories of past years supplement that which we were unable to do. We are not saved alone, and it is a hardship to move through Holy Week without the church community at my side.
Inspired by stories of the Russian martyrs who were sent to prison camps, I’ve always thought about each Holy Week as a time to lay up memories against the day that I may not be able to be in church. Last year my friends in San Diego missed their Pascha because of a shooting. We never know when sickness or natural disaster may strike. This year it’s a pandemic.
This was the first Pascha in twenty years that I wasn’t in church, but the memories were strong. Esther was overcome with the disappointment of not being in church with her boyfriend in what was supposed to be their first Pascha together. She opted to look for a live stream service. Everyone else joined together in the front room at midnight to sing the selected songs of the resurrection. We sang the song of light in the dark house and lit our candles as we have always done, and memories of other years flooded me. That Pascha where I saw my first fireflies in Goshen, Indiana. The sense of family at the parish in San Jose, California. The sweet scented evening air in Poway, California. The nods of loving acknowledgement as we lit our candles and turned behind us to spread the light to others in Albuquerque, New Mexico.
We processed around the house three times. At one point I turned around and the sight of familiar candle lit faces reminded me that though the people in the parish are dear to me, it’s the faces of my husband and children that I seek out and am comforted to find on this night of nights. Basil ran ahead of us so that every light was on in the house when we entered. There was no priest to bang on the door, but Fr. Al at St. John of Damascus was on my mind. We sang, “Christ is Risen” and marched back to the icon corner. I had been suffering with postnasal drip and a cough from allergies for a week. It was worse that night. I led us in the most familiar of the Paschal hymns, but Mike read the majority of the service. We didn’t have a typica and missed the liturgy, the Homily by John Chrysostom and communion. We did greet each other joyfully and had a party afterwards. It was our traditional meal of Pascha cheese, croissants, clotted cream, and cherry preserves. We ate sausage and cheese and milk chocolate bunnies. Sophia and I had picked out a sour blue raspberry bunny for Basil and the genuine smile on his face will last me another year. He thought it was hilarious. The little children slipped off to bed one by one and even the die hard party mongers, those of us who usually come home at five in the morning from church on Pascha singing, “Christ is risen from the dead” at the top of our lungs, we went to bed by one thirty.
The next morning when I awoke, I walked through the house and reexperienced Pascha. Smells of beeswax and incense lingered at the coffee table littered with ashes and candles. At the music stand strains of hymns sung and read echoed from the past. The candle stubs stuck to paper plates as decorations for the dining room feast called forth memories of the candle lit faces of my loved ones glowing in the darkness. The mouthwatering leftover crumbs of croissant coated in creamy goodness lay strewn around on the table. I felt sad for all that was missed. I also felt tired but exultant the way I’ve often felt the morning after the Paschal service as I get ready for our breakfast of crepes and bacon. Holy week is at an end and Christ is risen! We are in a pandemic but Christ is triumphant. Joy prevailed as I pulled the batter from the refrigerator.
After breakfast I went back to bed and was feverish for the rest of the day. Mike and Sophia pulled off a feast of sous vide beef tenderloin and carrots which I ate in my room. I felt better by Tuesday when classes resumed.
We are back to the drudgery of school. I don’t like this life. School, classes, church all feel like a shadow of what they once were. It’s like expecting to attend a musical at Bass Hall in downtown Fort Worth and replacing it with listening to the best hits from the show’s playlist. We can spend educational time with the kids without ditching school. We can worship as a family while still attending church. This time at home has giving me an appreciation for being at home with my family, but I long to turn off the computer and return to what we had.