Phanourios

Great-martyr Phanurius the Newly Appeared of Rhodes

Commemorated on August 27 / September 9

O Lord, forgive the sins of Saint Phanourios’ mother, and Saint Phanourios help me, a sinner.

“Little is known of the holy Martyr Phanurius, except that which is depicted concerning his martyrdom on his holy icon, which was discovered in the year 1500 among the ruins of an ancient church on Rhodes, when the Moslems ruled there. Thus he is called “the Newly-Revealed.” The faithful pray to Saint Phanurius especially to help them recover things that have been lost, and because he has answered their prayers so often, the custom has arisen of baking the Phaneropita (‘Phanarius-Cake’) as a thank-offering.” (Great Horologion)

There is a tradition that his mother was a great sinner, and that he was unable to convert her in her lifetime. After her death he prayed more for her salvation than for his own. As he was being stoned to death, he prayed: ‘For the sake of these my sufferings, Lord, help all those who will pray to Thee for the salvation of Phanurius’ sinful mother.’ So, in Egypt, where he is much revered, many Christians pray ‘O Lord, save Phanurius’ mother and help me, a sinner.’

Fornødent

Han har jo ret:
Det kan kun siges
på denne ene måde.
På dette ene sprog.
Med denne ene tone.
Med denne tyngde
af selvindlysende lethed.
Med denne massive fylde
af cellernes tavse sug.

Det kan ikke være anderledes
uden at gå til grunde.
Ikke bæres oppe
af andet end dig selv.

Ikke at det er smukt
eller obskønt,
til forhandling
eller til grin.

Men det står der,
som en stråle
tværs igennem talrige verdener.
Det står her,
mejslet ind i blækkets spor!

One cannot love the thing which is not

“Quick,’ she said. ‘There is still time. Stop it. Stop it at once.’
‘Stop what?’
‘Using pity, other people’s pity, in the wrong way. We have all done it a bit on earth, you know. Pity was meant to be a spur that drives joy to help misery. But it can be used the wrong way round. It can be used for a kind of blackmailing. Those who choose misery can hold joy up to ransom, by pity. You see, I know now. Even as a child you did it. Instead of saying you were sorry, you went and sulked in the attic…because you knew that sooner or later one of your sisters would say, “I can’t bear to think of him sitting up there alone, crying.” You used their pity to blackmail them, and they gave in in the end. And afterwards, when we were married…oh, it doesn’t matter, if only you will stop it.’
“And that,’ said the Tragedian, ‘that is all you have understood of me, after all these years.’ I don’t know what had become of the Dwarf Ghost by now. Perhaps it was climbing up the chain like an insect: perhaps it was somehow absorbed into the chain.
‘No, Frank, not here,’ said the Lady. ‘Listen to reason. Did you think joy was created to live always under that threat? Always defenceless against those who would rather be miserable than have their self-will crossed? For it was real misery. I know that now. You made yourself really wretched. That you can still do. But you can no longer communicate your wretchedness. Everything becomes more and more itself. Here is joy that cannot be shaken. Our light can swallow up your darkness: but your darkness cannot now infect our light. No, no, no. Come to us. We will not go to you. Can you really have thought that love and joy would always be at the mercy of frowns and sighs? Did you not know they were stronger than their opposites?’
“Love? How dare you use that sacred word?’ said the Tragedian. At the same moment he gathered up the chain which had now for some time been swinging uselessly at his side, and somehow disposed of it. I am not quite sure, but I think he swallowed it. Then for the first time it became clear that the Lady saw and addressed him only.
‘Where is Frank?’ she said. ‘And who are you, Sir? I never knew you. Perhaps you had better leave me. Or stay, if you prefer. If it would help you and if it were possible I would go down with you into Hell: but you cannot bring Hell into me.’
‘You do not love me,’ said the Tragedian in a thin bat-like voice: and he was now very difficult to see.
‘I cannot love a lie,’ said the Lady. ‘I cannot love the thing which is not. I am in Love, and out of it I will not go.”

Excerpt From: C. S. Lewis. “The Great Divorce.” HarperCollins, 1946. iBooks.
This material may be protected by copyright.

Joy that cannot be shaken

“Listen to reason. Did you think joy was created to live always under that threat? Always defenceless against those who would rather be miserable than have their self-will crossed? For it was real misery. I know that now. You made yourself really wretched. That you can still do. But you can no longer communicate your wretchedness. Everything becomes more and more itself. Here is joy that cannot be shaken. Our light can swallow up your darkness: but your darkness cannot now infect our light. No, no, no. Come to us. We will not go to you. Can you really have thought that love and joy would always be at the mercy of frowns and sighs? Did you not know they were stronger than their opposites?”

Excerpt From: C. S. Lewis. “The Great Divorce.” HarperCollins, 1946. iBooks.
This material may be protected by copyright.

The Beheading of the Glorious Prophet, Forerunner, and Baptist John.

Troparion, in Tone II —

The Glorious Prophet, Forerunner, and Baptist John

The memory of the righteous is celebrated with hymns of praise,/ but the Lord’s witness is sufficient for thee, O forerunner./ Thou wast truly shown to be more honorable than the prophets,/ in that thou wast counted worthy to baptize in the streams Him Whom thou didst proclaim./ Wherefore, having suffered, rejoicing, for the truth,/ even unto those in hades thou didst proclaim God,/ Who had manifested Himself in the flesh,// Who taketh away the sin of the world and granteth us great mercy.

Continue reading “The Beheading of the Glorious Prophet, Forerunner, and Baptist John.”

Liv er ental

Der findes nogle ord, som ikke kan være i flertal. Salt, f.eks., eller vand eller luft. På engelsk kalder man sådanne ord “utællelige”, fordi det simpelt hen er umuligt at tælle antallet af sandkorn eller antallet af dråber vand (eller hvilken mindste enhed man hypotetisk set ville gå ned til, hvis man ville give sig af med at tælle vandet).

Sådan er det også med liv. Det er også utælleligt. Ikke fordi der, som i de andre tilfælde, er så mange, at det er uoverskueligt at tælle dem alle, men tvært imod fordi der kun er ét, og når der kun er det, så er det i sagens natur utælleligt. Continue reading “Liv er ental”

Let us scatter our love selflessly to all

Above everything is love. The thing that must concern you, my children, is love for the other person, for his soul. Whatever we do, whether it is prayer or offering advice or pointing out some error, let us do it with love. Without love prayer is of no benefit, advice is hurtful and pointing out errors is harmful and destructive to the other person who senses whether we love him or not and reacts accordingly. Love, love, love! Love for our brother prepare us to love Christ more. Isn’t that perfect? Continue reading “Let us scatter our love selflessly to all”

Pentecost – Holy Trinity Sunday

Pentecost, Troparion, Tone VIII —
Blessed art Thou, Christ our God, Who didst make the fishermen wise by sending down upon them the Holy Spirit, and through them didst draw the world into Thy net. Lover of men, glory to Thee.

Koniakion, Tone VIII —
When the Most High came down and confused the tongues, He divided the nations, but when He distributed the tongues of fire, He called all to unity. And with one accord we glorify the All-Holy Spirit.

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