I'm Really Digging CommonCraft

If you're like me, you used to bookmark webpages and blogs that you liked to read, and individually click on each page every so often to see what was new.  Or, maybe you even take the time to commit the url to memory and type it in every time. 

Ever wish there was one place you could go to see all the new updates from all of your favorite weblogs?  Apparently, this has been possible for, like, practically a decade.  Ever see that little orange icon that says "RSS"  (There's one at the bottom of this page if you need a reminder.)  There's a neat-o video by a company called CommonCraft that opened my eyes to the world of RSS and feed readers called RSS In Plain English.  I definitely recommend it and look forward to watching their other videos.  Especially this one.

Now, one reason I'm sharing this with you is that I'm not very likely to update this blog every day.  Maybe not even every week.  So, if you like it, and don't want to keep clicking back here to see the same old page, you might consider subscribing.  That way, you'll know when things get updated, and you can either read the post in your feed reader or click on back over here. 

Or, if you use Google or check Blogger regularly, you can click at left to be a Relishing Crumbs "Follower."  Somebody out there reading this will know better than me what the difference is, but essentially it seems like this is Blogger's way of providing its own little feed reader.  Plus, we can see all of the other people who are followers of the blog.  Everybody can congratulate my good pal Susy for being the very first Follower!  Thanks, Susy!

Greetings and Explanations

It surprises me a little bit that I'm entering the blog-o-sphere.  There is already such a cacophony of voices out here, and I don't really need to contribute to the noise.  But, the idea of having a place to write a little and have some focused conversations with friends is appealing, so I decided to take the plunge. 

To kick things off, I'll try to explain why I chose this blog title.  I was racking my brain for inspiration when I thought of the passage from St. Matthew's gospel that I quoted at the top of the page.  It describes a woman of remarkable faith and humility.  She was filled with compassion for her child, probably desperately fed-up with and exhausted by her daughter's condition, and knew Christ Jesus had the power to help her.  I want to be like her--the kind of person who perseveres in prayer;  the kind who is patient enough to let the Lord work in His time;  the kind who sees herself as completely unworthy and undeserving of miracles but who can persist in the battle against the demons anyway.  I want to be the kind of woman who trusts Christ Jesus with all of her own pain and problems, and who loves others enough to pray for them consistently and fervently. 

This Gentile woman was begging even for the Jews' "leftover" miracles.  And that got me to thinking a little about prosphora (the bread we offer at the Divine Liturgy, our Eucharistic service).  The whole loaf is blessed, but only a very small portion actually makes it into the chalice.   After communion, the priest and the deacon take the chalice back into the altar and eat up all that is left.  They do this with great care, making sure none is spilled or left behind.  The rest of the bread, the antidoron--the part that did not become the Lord's body--is distributed to the faithful at the end of the Liturgy.  Extra antidoron might be sent home with a person who needs extra blessings during the week, such as a pregnant woman or someone in poor health.  Even though it is still bread, it is blessed bread, and it is important not to let any crumbs fall to the floor; ideally, it should be eaten outdoors so that any crumbs that do fall may be consumed by the birds or other creatures.  Even the leftovers of the leftovers are important when it comes to such miracles and blessings, and should not be taken lightly.  I think I need the reminder to treasure even the smallest ones.

What to Do with our Pain

The online journal my priest kept several years ago has recently been published in book form.  (You can order a copy online at  www.conciliarpress.com/aidans-song.html.)  I used to look forward to reading the new posts every month, and now that I have it in my hands, it is easy to remember why.  There are a couple of passages on suffering that have stood out especially so far. Like this one on the transformation of our sufferings, written on the eve of Theophany (all emphasis in the quotes here is mine):

“In the presence of the Most Holy Trinity, it is always Today; it is always Now. So, in the fullness of time, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit behold the entire history of humanity and my whole life… . But this experience of time’s plentitude doesn’t shield us from pain or sorrow. If anything, pain and sorrow are intensified by this experience…..So the fullness of time is not a refuge. It’s not a pain-free zone that we can step into in order to escape from this life. If anything, it’s where we can take on the full significance of sorrow and the raw agonies of pain. And I think that is one of the greatest gifts we Orthodox can give to the world. We can take upon ourselves all the horrors and heartaches of this world without minimizing any of it, without attempting to explain it away, without holding it at arm’s length through abstraction or argument. We can take it upon ourselves, and we can take it all, through prayer, into the fullness of time, into the presence of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and it will all be healed. It will all be transformed just as surely as the waters were Today made holy.”

And just precisely how do we do that? Why does he say this is something that Orthodox do? One of the most significant ways we can do this is by praying at the Divine Liturgy. When we step through the doors of the nave, it’s like entering a different time zone. We are stepping into Heavenly Time, the “Today” Father Aidan mentions above. And when we offer to God the Father the fruits of our labors, our crudely transformed version of creation (His wheat in the form of bread, His grapes in the form of wine), The Most Holy Trinity offer them back to us perfectly transformed (the body of Christ Jesus broken for us, His blood shed for us). When we present, through prayer, our hurts and our joys and our despondency and our hopes alongside our gifts at the Divine Liturgy, The Most Holy Trinity transfigures them for us, too; they also become filled with the work of Divine Grace. 

Here is how Father Aidan describes this work in a passage on preparing the gifts:

“Thus, what the offering of bread and wine symbolizes is our opportunity to be united with Christ Jesus in His birth and His death, an opportunity to unite our suffering with His and thereby join with Him in redeeming the world….But the service becomes even more compelling and even more poignant when we begin the commemorations. We pray for hundreds of people at this point in the service, and each time, with each name, as I thrust the spear into the soft crust of the bread, I physically evoke the suffering of our Lord and Master, and I pray that the life of each person may be united with the Life of the One who is ‘alive for evermore and who holds the keys of Death and Hades.’

“But--and this is the most wondrous thing of all--it is precisely through suffering that this union takes place. It’s through our suffering--and there’s hardly anything noble about it. It’s ordinary, everyday misery. A lot of it is self-inflicted; hardly any of it makes sense. But as I remember each person and every situation--the girl who just survived her second suicide attempt, the woman who’s so worried that she’s having trouble sleeping, the man who’s not sure he can continue to stay married, the young man who can’t stop looking at pornography, the woman who’s just now coming to grips with how abusive her mother is; as I place crumb after crumb on the diskos plate--for the woman who isn’t sure how much longer her husband is going to hang around, for the father who is going to be traveling abroad this week, for the widowers who miss their wives, for the grandmother who wonders what will happen to her autistic granddaughter, for the man who’s recovering from a stroke and scared that he’s going to have another one, for the women who have cancer, for the young woman who is waiting for someone to tell her what she does have--all of it is transformed. It’s transformed because it has become an offering, an offering that we make in union with the sacrifice Christ Jesus has made to God the Father on behalf of each of us.


“And through this offering, we are also transformed. Through this offering, we become the Church…And with that, a new creation, an new heaven and a new earth called the Church is present in the world, and Fr. Deacon and I finish the prayers; we bless this new world and offer it back up to the Most Holy Trinity….It’s the same day, but it’s also different. It’s Sunday morning, but it’s also the Eighth Day. It’s Cedar Park, but it’s also the Kingdom of Heaven. Because we are the Church, and the bread and the wine are ready, and we are about to join together in the Great Marriage Supper of the Lamb.”

So if any of you have asked for prayers, know that this is what I mean when I say I will pray for you: Not only will I remember you at home, but I will take your needs with me when I step into the fullness of time at the Divine Liturgy. You are not suffering alone; your pain will be mystically united to the suffering of Christ Jesus, and transformed by His glorious Resurrection.