When you got nuthin’, Part 2
Annnnd we’re still out here on the road, traveling between Pascha and Pentecost.
We’re making this trip because we want to encourage all of you to become LLHs—Liturgical Long Haulers. An LLH is someone who can pray with persistence, and, in the Church, that’s an essential skillset. After all, it’s only through that kind of prayer that we will be able to support all of our long-term Kingdom projects.
And there are a lot of those projects: the transfiguration of this entire planet, the salvation of all humanity, our own personal sanctification, and—yes, a new temple for the Parish of St John the Forerunner in Cedar Park, Texas.
But, as we’ve pointed out time and again, folks who practice persistent prayer are going to encounter all sorts of problems, and, in our last post, we promised that, during today’s road session, we would focus on what is, for most folks, the biggest challenge of all.
It’s when you get to the point in your life when you’ve just got nuthin’.
And we’re not talking about the fatigue that weighs on you after finishing a big project at work while also fighting off a bad cold; most people can power through that. We’re not talking about the wild mix of emotions you experience during a week-long fight with your teenager; most people can sort through that.
No, what we’re talking about are those moments when you learn
that your spouse is having an affair,
that you’re going to lose your job,
that your mom has cancer,
that your grandchild has been arrested,
because even if you can summon the energy or the presence of mind to place yourself in front of an icon or to pick up a prayer book you know there is nothing you can say or do or think or feel that’s going to come anywhere close to capturing just how awful it all is.
In our last post, we talked about how we offer everything in our lives to the Most Holy Trinity—all of our joys, all of our sorrows, all of our hopes, all of our fears. But this kind of experience is so devastating, it’s so overwhelming, it can’t even be fit into one of those categories; it’s more like a deficit or an emptiness or a void.
So how do you offer up that kind of nothing?
That’s why the Church has us all wear a baptismal cross.
That’s why it’s always a good idea to have a crucifix in our icon corner.
Because, in Holy Orthodoxy, what we proclaim is that the Glory of the Most Holy Trinity is most fully revealed in and through the dead Body of our Lord and Master.
Through a corpse. A zero.
And because the transformation of this entire planet is, ultimately, sourced in that nothingness, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit can also use whatever void may appear in our lives in a way that is every bit as redemptive.
Now, that’s not going to make the experience any easier. But it does mean there will never be anything that happens to us that is simply meaningless.
Of course, we shouldn’t try to figure out what the death of our brother-in-law in a motorcycle accident ‘means’. That sort of thing is always going to be beyond our pay grade. But if we can offer to the Most Holy Trinity even our inability to pray, then we will always have a connection to the Kingdom, and that connection will be a source of peace and hope and quiet joy.
But, at this point in the post, you’re most likely thinking, “Well, all that sounds good, but it also sounds really theoretical. I get the connection with the cross and all, but what does all this look like on a practical basis?”
Fair enough.
So, let’s say your kid sister has just been kicked out of rehab again, and you thought this was going to be the program that helped her turn her life around. The rest of the family has washed their hands of her, and you know better than to try and have her stay at your place, but you can’t afford to keep her in that cheap motel more than a week, and she’s already talking about going back to the guy that put her in the hospital six months ago.
What does persistent prayer look like in those circumstances?
It starts with you sitting in the car before you head into work. You’re holding your baptismal cross in your hand, and, honestly, you’re just doing your best not to cry, but, when you have to go clock in, your put the cross around your neck and, throughout the day, whenever you think about your sister and her situation, your also touch the cross that hangs at your throat.
When you get home, your kids have karate practice, and then there’s dinner and homework, and by the time you get a moment to yourself, you’re worn out, but instead of firing up a screen, you sit on the edge of the bed, and you look at the crucifix that is hanging next to your night stand, and you allow yourself to cry a little bit, and then you go to bed.
That’s what it means to be a Liturgical Long Hauler when you just don’t have anything—anything—left to give. You hold on to the cross—literally, if necessary—and you offer our Lord and Master even the emptiness that you’ve got in your heart.
And He will use that emptiness to make All Things New.
Speaking of hearts, we’ve got “Expressway to Your Heart” all queued up, but before we spin that track, don’t forget that there are all sorts of ways you can support our temple project: you can upgrade your Substack subscription to paid; you can purchase some Come See Something Beautiful clothing; you can commission an image in the Calming Room of our new temple; you can make a direct donation to our Building Fund.
And most important of all, you can join us in offering the Akathist for a New Temple on a regular basis (PDF/video).
We’ll sign off now with the Soul Survivors, and we’ll look for you further on down the road.