Quote of the Day: Fr. Alexander Elchaninov

Only the first steps in the approach to God are easy; the feeling that we have wings, the enthusiasm caused by the certainty that we are approaching God, are followed by a gradual cooling down, by doubt. In order to sustain our faith, it is necessary to make an effort, to struggle, to fight for it.

From page 98 of "The Diary of a Russian Priest," a posthumous compilation of the notes of Fr. Alexander, who served as a priest in a Russian Orthodox parish in the south of France after the Bolshevik Revolution.

"I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud"

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

The picture is from the area around Maryhill, Washington, in the Columbia Gorge. This poem (by William Wordsworth) seems especially true right now as I begin to close the door on this latest phase of my life's journey and prepare to reopen the door to another. What 'loneliness and toil' there has been, but what incredible beauty too...

Quote of the Day: Fr. Alexander Elchaninov

"In our present life everything is so uncertain, insecure, painful, almost intolerable, that death in no way appears as something terrifying. I often think of death as a calm and luminous haven, where there is no sickness, no sadness and, in particular, no parting. When, during morning and evening prayers, I pray for my loved ones in minutes of sadness, I am almost glad to think that I will soon be with them, and their life seems more certain than our phantom existence."

From page 117 of "The Diary of a Russian Priest," a posthumous compilation of the notes of Fr. Alexander Elchaninov, a Russian Orthodox priest who served in the south of France after the Bolshevik Revolution.

"Queen of things! I dare not die..."

All that's good and great with thee
Stands in deep conspiracy.
Thou hast bribed the dark and lonely
To report thy features only,
And the cold and purple morning
Itself with thoughts of thee adorning,
The leafy dell, the city mart,
Equal trophies of thine art,
E'en the flowing azure air
Thou hast touched for my despair,
And if I languish into dreams,
Again I meet the ardent beams.
Queen of things! I dare not die
In Being's deeps past ear and eye,
Lest there I find the same deceiver,
And be the sport of Fate forever.
Dread power, but dear! if God thou be,
Unmake me quite, or give thyself to me.

From Ralph Waldo Emerson's "Ode to Beauty."

Quote of the Day: Francis de Sales

It is too true that I who write about the devout life am not myself devout, but most certainly I am not without the wish to become so, and it is this wish which encourages me to teach you. A notable literary man has said that a good way to learn is to study, a better to listen, and the best to teach. And St. Augustine, writing to the devout Flora, says that giving is a claim to receive and teaching a way to learn.

A beautiful quote from Bishop Francis de Sales of Geneva, a Roman Catholic saint who worked to bring Protestants back into the Church of Rome.

"Loss and Gain"

When I compare
What I have lost with what I have gained,
What I have missed with what attained,
Little room do I find for pride.

I am aware
How many days have been idly spent;
How like an arrow the good intent
Has fallen short or been turned aside.

But who shall dare
To measure loss and gain in this wise?
Defeat may be victory in disguise;
The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.

A poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.