An Eastern Orthodox Blog
After feeling like Jimmy Cagney all weekend (”Come and get me, you dirty coppers!”), I am happy to announce that the State of North Carolina has corrected my driving record and reinstated my license. I made them promise that they would never again print a citation with my license number on it.
But I was still very, very careful driving to our vesperal liturgy tonight for the Entry of the Theotokos. Just in case Georgia hadn’t yet gotten the word.
We always hear about people who have been caught in some web of confused identity. Certainly that is happening more and more often these days, as a result of identity theft and such. Sometimes, though, it happens the good old fashioned way — through simple error.
This afternoon I was sitting at my desk working when my wife called. She sounded stressed.
“There were three letters for you today, from the Department of Motor Vehicles. I went ahead and opened one of them.” She stopped.
“What did it say?” I asked. I was picturing some kind of insurance snafu. That has happened before.
“Your license is suspended for impaired driving,” she said. There was a pause. “Is there something I should know?”
“What..what…what?” was the best reply I could offer. My wife said she would bring them to my office.
My first thought was identity theft. The only thing on my driving record is a parking ticket I got in Wilmington, North Carolina, back in the late 90s, although I confess that I was once let off the hook in 1980 for running a stop sign at 2:00 a.m. on the campus of Wake Forest University. I was delivering pizzas — my part time law school job — and was in a hurry to get back to the shop. Campus security was very nice. I certainly had never been charged with, much less convicted of, impaired driving. I was at a loss as to how to proceed.
Fortunately, even though I no longer do criminal law, I know the people at the DA’s office. I called and asked a friend to get on the computer and try to find out what was up. My friend agreed, although not before laughing uproariously, and calling the news out to her co-workers. I am widely known for being boring, and I think the entire scenario amused her.
In any event, she got onto the system, and discovered that the suspension came out of a conviction of a 17 year old in a county in eastern North Carolina, several hundred miles from here. I am definitely not 17 years old. His name was nothing like mine, and the whole thing was apparently a clerical error. Ironically, on the date the offense was committed last February, I was in classes at Johnstown.
My friend suggested I call the Clerk’s office in the county where the case had been. I took her advice, and talked to a very nice lady named Joanne. I explained my problem.
At first she sounded a little doubtful. Clerks hear all kinds of stories, but she dutifully brought the information up on her computer. There was a moment of silence.
“Oh, my God,” I heard her say softly. More silence. Keys softly tapped. “Oh, my God,” she repeated.
I was anxious to get in on what was prompting this response, so I asked her what she had found.
“This is definitely not you,” she said. As we talked more, it became apparent that the citation number for the ticket that was written matched my drivers license number. When the conviction was reported to Raleigh, the citation number had been entered for the license number, and hence my interesting mail day. She told me she would call DMV, and get back to me.
It was only a few minutes later when she called again. She said that DMV had looked at it, and acknowledged that the error was theirs. It was, she said, safe to drive home.
At least I hope it is. I would feel better knowing that the records on the computer had already been changed. Sunday, I drive two hours into a different state to go to church. What if I get stopped at a checkpoint? Will the records that the police pull up still show that my license is suspended?
At this point there is no way of knowing. On Monday I can have my friend at the DA’s office check my record again, but until I know for sure, I may just be a marked man.
Even beyond that, this could be very much a mess. For example, the erroneous information has almost certainly been forwarded to my insurance company. Or, if all databases are not corrected, it could continue to be a problem for some time. Theoretically, I could fly into Pittsburgh on my Johnstown trip and be unable to get a rental car. The possibilities are not encouraging. Your prayer is coveted.
There was a fax — a new fax — on my desk this morning when I got in. It was from the husband of one of my clients, an elderly lady suffering from Parkinson’s disease. She has detailed some very serious accusations about what her husband has done to her in her largely helpless state. The husband was put out of the house, and nowadays I hear more from him than from his lawyer. He has a different theory every week to explain what happened to her. Drug interactions, interference by her son, a rich fantasy life — all of these have crossed my desk. This week’s theory was more interesting, although like the others it fails to explain things like abrasions.
He had talked to a neurologist somewhere, who told him that people with Parkinson’s have a very active dream life. He suggested that she had dreamed these events, as a result of her disease. The notion was at least interesting, and suggested that I should look at some of the literature. I found, in the first instance, nothing about such dreams in Parkinson’s, although I did find that some researchers believe there is a link between a sleep disorder involving active dreaming and the subsequent development of Parkinsons. That was more or less the reverse of the original suggestion.
But I did find a vaguely related notion, which made me sit up in interest, for a variety of reasons. There are studies that suggest that a fairly common feature of the disorder is hallucinations. And not just simple hallucinations either.
Essentially, some studies find that roughly a third of sufferers will have hallucinations, which a French study divided into three categories: presence hallucinations, passage hallucinations and auditory hallucinations. All three of them raised the hair on my neck.
Presence hallucinations are those where the patient perceives…something…in the room with them. Sometimes the presence is in back of them and cannot be seen, but is acutely felt. Other times they are visible, and may be reported as demons, guardian angels or deceased relatives. Passage hallucinations are those where something simply passes in front of the person, much like the fairly common experience of sensing something passing a doorway, just in the corner of one’s eye. For Parkinson’s sufferers, these are more explicit. A surprising number are reported as cats or dogs, commonly deceased pets. Other times, they are the same kind of thing reported as presence hallucinations. Finally, auditory hallucinations involve not just simple sounds, but often messages, usually from deceased relatives. For all of these the content is variable. At times, it is a living relative who is seen, although someone who is ordinarily very far away.
The French study noted that the hallucinations occurred both in people who were taking drugs prescribed for the disease and in those who were not taking medication. This was apparently directed at a theory that the visions were a side effect of drugs that are commonly prescribed to people with Parkinson’s.
I am a fairly rational kind of guy, but I always keep an eye open for the unnatural. Who can read the Desert Fathers without a healthy respect for the unseen world? What Saint’s vita does not include visions, an interface with the world which invisibly surrounds us?
So my first thought on reading about the unfortunate position of these people is this: does disease sometimes open the doors of perception? Not in the Aldous Huxley sense of pursuing experiences through drugs or whatnot, but by tearing the veil that hides that world from us? As Orthodox Christians, we share a recognition that there is much around us: angels and demons, and the saints that constitute that great cloud of witnesses. In our daily life we do not see these things, but there are those among us who do, those of great sanctity or equally great evil. And, perhaps, sometimes those who are simply vulnerable: the mentally ill, those suffering from Alzheimers, maybe those with Parkinson’s?
The idea opens up that whole arena that modern psychology and medicine are supposed to have closed. Sure, sometimes a disorder is just a disorder, and a disease is just a disease. But sometimes, just sometimes, might it not be something more? Something that demands our prayers, and our patience, and our love?
I read a weekly paper known as North Carolina Lawyer’s Weekly, a helpful tabloid that reports on important court decisions around our state, mostly in the appellate courts. Occasionally they will also report on cases at the trial level. In that event, there will usually be some twist in the matter which makes it particularly noteworthy.
Such a case landed on the front page of the November 6 issue. Unexpectedly, it should also be of interest to Orthodox Christians, because it involves a conflict between Orthodox belief and that of other traditions. It comes out of New Hanover County, which is Wilmington, North Carolina.
The fact scenario is a little tangled. A thirty year old man died in 2002, of liver cancer. The deceased man was Eastern Orthodox. His precise jurisdiction was not noted, but given the location, I am guessing that he was Greek Orthodox. His mother, the plaintiff in the lawsuit, is an Orthodox Jew. His fiancee is Baptist.
When the young man died, the funeral home took direction from the fiancee. She had held a durable power of attorney and health care power of attorney on the man. Those expired at his death, of course, but they seemed to the funeral home to extend legitimacy to her directions for the funeral. Those directions had been embodied in a pre-need contract which she purchased on his behalf several weeks before his death. That pre-need contract did not specify a religious preference, a place of burial or a time frame for burial. In accordance with the fiancee’s directions, the man’s body was embalmed, and he received a Baptist funeral more than three days after he died.
After his death, the funeral home did not contact his mother. She testified that she called the funeral home to talk to them about her son’s burial, but that her phone call was not returned. The funeral home insisted that they had never received a call from her.
The mother sued, alleging negligent mishandling of the corpse, as well as infliction of emotional distress. At trial, she presented evidence that both her son’s Orthodox faith as well as her own Orthodox Jewish faith forbade embalming, required that someone stay with the body and that the burial be accomplished within three days. The jury returned in the Plaintiff’s favor on the emotional distress claims, and awarded the mother $100,000 in compensatory damages and $400,000 in punitive damages. The awarding of punitive damages is a clear indication that the jury saw the funeral home’s behavior as beyond the pale and inexcusable. The case is presently on appeal to the North Carolina Court of Appeals.
This isn’t my area of law, so I can’t really comment on the case as a legal case. To be honest, what we might think of the lawsuit itself is beside the point. Instead, it should sharply bring into focus some issues that we as Orthodox need to be aware of.
First, of course, is the very sad state of family dynamics in this case. In one sense, it is an issue which arises from spouses or significant others who are not Orthodox. A great many converts enter the Church without their spouses, and certainly intermarriage in this day and age is a frequent and common occurrence. Our brothers and sisters who are Orthodox without their spouse carry a heavy burden, and deserve our respect and support. We should be sensitive to the stresses that they find themselves under.
In this case, had the young man’s fiancee been Orthodox, it seems likely that his priest would have been able to aid in making the specific directions for the funeral. There is no indication that a priest entered the picture at all, or was ever notified. Nor is there any indication that the young man was at all active in his faith.
Still, the greater aspect to all of this has to do with preparation. Our customs, traditions and beliefs about the handling of the reposed are often at odds with society as a whole. For Orthodox, it is vital that we be sent into the afterlife by a funeral in the Church, so that we go with the prayers and blessings of our Mother. Especially if you are unmarried or married to a non-Orthodox person, it makes sense to prepare directions now, so it is clear when you repose. This may be done by giving written instructions to your family, priest and funeral home. It would be a good idea to also include those instructions in the body of a health care power of attorney or will.
It is natural to want to postpone those decisions. Still, it is a hallmark of Orthodoxy, more than any other tradition, to be mindful of death. What do our saints tell us? What do we find in our prayers, both private and collective?
A Christian ending to our life: painless, blameless and peaceful; and a good defense before the dread judgment seat of Christ, let us ask of the Lord!
So we pray, and so we should be mindful. Talk to your family and to your priest now, so that there will be no error or indecision at the hour of your death.
This will strike you as utterly non-linear and, of course, it is. But bear with me and maybe my line of thought will become clear.
Tonight, as I was driving home from work, I took a notion to turn the radio to the local Moody Bible Christian radio station. I haven’t listened to it for four or five years, but I was suddenly curious to get the evangelical take on the elections. On NPR, I had just heard a commentator from Nation magazine say that the results were the product of the voters’ desire for economic justice. She had been followed by someone from the Wall Street Journal who opined that, no, the outcome was due to voters feeling betrayed by the Republican party for abandoning bedrock Republican economic policies. Neither one of those made much sense to me, so it struck me that it would be at least as edifying to see what the folks at Moody were saying.
Sadly, they weren’t saying much, at least about the election. There were a lot of commercial type interludes, followed by a Jesus-is-my-boyfriend song, followed by a piece talking about students at Moody Bible Institute pouring into the streets — or more accurately into Chicago’s gay bars — for a little face time with those who frequent those establishments. As the students were interviewed, I was hearing a lot of comments suggesting that God was telling each one who to talk to and what to say, including one fellow who enthused over a divine appointment with a transvestite who he said looked like Paris Hilton.
I assumed that was a good thing, but I’m not sure.
In any event, there was a lot of talk about that kind of thing — divine communication, not Paris Hilton — and then I got home and turned off the radio. Probably as soon as I switched off the truck they started talking about the election. I’ll never know.
Well, so much for that. Now for the excruciating details that will pull this essay together.
If you have read this blog for a while, you know that one of my favorite saints is our Holy Father Simon, founder of Simonopetra Monastery on Mount Athos. I spent a couple of days at Simonopetra once, and would gladly spend a couple of decades there, but what really impressed Simon on me was an hour or so that I spent more or less doubled over in a small cave, across a deep and precipitous ravine from the monastery itself. This cave was where Simon lived, praying and pursuing God alone as a hermit. Nothing will impress upon you the devotion of the saints as much as spending an uncomfortable hour in a place where the saint lived for years and years. I hope to someday find an icon of Simon. I have no idea where I would put him, but if you are Orthodox you know that once you find yourself devoted to a saint nothing will do except to add him or her to the rest of the throng in the icon corner.
Anyway, this evening, oddly enough, I found myself reading a life of St. Simon, contained in a book titled The Lives of the Monastery Builders of the Holy Mountain Athos, compiled and translated from Greek sources by Holy Apostles Convent. I was reading about how, after Simon had lived in his cave for a number of years, he gained a certain fame, in the sense that many people came to him for spiritual teaching and insight. Simon was immensely humble, and believed that he was not worthy of such attention, and so he began to think about leaving the cave and striking deeper into the Athonite wilderness. However, it was not God’s will that he leave that place:
One evening, as the righteous man was praying he beheld the cave lambent with a superabundance of divine light. The air was saturated with that ineffable scent, whilst he, too, sensed spiritual delight. He then heard a divine voice, speaking thus, “Simon, Simon, O faithful friend and worshipper of my Son, depart not this place. I have placed thee as a great light, and I shall both glorify this place and thy name.”
If Simon were a student at Moody Bible, I think we know he would have made a beeline for the radio station to reveal this wonderful experience. But no:
Simon, as one who was humble-minded, did not give credence to the vision, suspecting it to be an apparition or hallucination, that is, an artifice and snare of the evil one. Then again, perhaps, he thought, it could be some kind of divine test. Simon chose to be cautious, because he feared the word of the Apostle who warned, ‘Satan transforms himself into an angel of light’ (2 Cor 11:14). Due to this admonition, Simon continued pondering upon where he might go to find quietude.
God did not give up. The Nativity was approaching, and
One night, Simon exited the cave and beheld an awesome sight. It appeared as though a star was cut out of the heavens and made to stand above the rock. (Indeed, it stood fast in that place appointed to be the holy and august Monastery of Simonos Petras). Now the holy Simon beheld this vision frequently for many nights. However, again, as indicated earlier, he feared, perhaps this was an artifice of the devil to mislead him.
Finally, it was the Eve of the Nativity:
Then, when the solemn eve of the Nativity arrived, Simon not only beheld the star descend and stand over the high rock that lay opposite, but he heard a divine voice utter, “Here, thou must lay the foundation of thy coenobium, O Simon, for the salvation of souls. Rightly wast thou careful, but do not disbelieve as before; for I desire to be thy helper. Therefore, heed well and doubt not, lest thy suffer evil.” Simon heard the divine voice pronounce these words three times. Whereupon, trembling, he was in ecstasy inspired by God. Then it seemed to him that he found himself in Bethlehem of Judah. He was in the company of the shepherds who heard the angelic melody at the birth of the Savior when they chanted that grace-filled hymn, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men’; for the angel said unto them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.” The saint then admitted that his fear departed and was replaced with spiritual ecstasy and rejoicing. This took place when he beheld the Lady Theotokos, the righteous Joseph and his sons, and our Lord, as an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.
Now that’s a vision! But what the guys at Moody Bible could learn from St. Simon is this: never trust the voice you hear in your head. Oh, I think Christ wants us to talk to both Paris Hilton and transvestites who look like Paris Hilton. We are under a compulsion, a duty of love, to do precisely that. But we need to calm down, and not assume that every time we meet a tranvestite s/he was sent by God, particularly because of our holiness. Sometimes Paris Hilton is just Paris Hilton. Sometimes I’m just a jerk. That’s OK. God can put the two of us together in one place without anyone having to believe that it was a divine appointment. That doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t show her the love of Christ. It just means that we are to live as Christians, with all that being a Christian entails, without having to think that life isn’t worth living if we don’t have a direct pipeline to the Divine.
After all, God told George Bush to go to war. God told Pat Robertson to run for President. God told a friend of mine to move to Missouri about three years ago, and just recently told him to move to his fifth address in Missouri. I suspect that it is not that God needs to say less, but rather that we need to stop assuming that every voice in our head comes from God.
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