The Journals of Father Alexander Schmemann

The Journals of Father Alexander Schmemann is a book I pull out now and then to remind myself of certain things I perceive to be true, but don't often hear stated openly. Father Schmemman was a Russian Orthodox priest who loved his church, country (Russia), and adopted countries (France and the U.S.) greatly, but was also honest to himself about their problems. Father Schmemann's journals are also full of intimate and loving comments about his family, close friends, and the weather. These latter are all ordinary sorts of observations, but they made the journals very personal, and after you've read a number of them, you feel glad to have known Father Schmemann through his writing.

Some of my favorite passages are brief notes about clouds, or a one sentence mention of a friend. Here's a typical example from the beginning of the book:

"I spent the whole morning at home. After a week in California, after the feast in Wilkes-Barre (consecration of Bishop Herman), after a trip to Philadelphia (funeral of Ivan Czap). What pure joy! Working in the dining room is Tom Hopko [later his son-in-law], with whom I always feel the presence of light and goodness. Snow outside my window."

See what I mean? All it takes to make him (and me, which is why I like this book) happy is a bit of rest at home, a friend or two in whose presence one can feel comfortable, and the ability to notice his natural surroundings.

Yet here are two observations about Americans in churches that I came across this morning:

Nowadays, especially in the U.S., the Church is perceived as an enterprise, an activity. The priest constantly harasses people to do something for the Church. And their activism is measured in quantitative criteria: how many meetings, how much money, how much "doing." I'm not sure it is all necessary. What is dangerous is not the activity itself, but the reduction of the Church, the identification of this activity with life in the Church."

and these fragmented notes after a meeting with a seminarian:

Pathological fear of not being popular, of falling out of the social micro-organism to which one belongs. How much in America depends on pseudo-friendship, pseudo-interest in each other, on a sort of ritual, symbolical unity. All of it comes from a pathological fear of being alone, even for a short time. There is so little inner life in people in these times. It is stifled by this necessity to be "with it." And when an inner life manages to break through, man is seized by total panic and rushes to some analyst....The reason is the pursuit from childhood of an adjusted life. People are taught about it in their family, in kindergarten, in school and in college, so that any falling out of the established "socium" is perceived as a threatening symptom of maladjustment, demanding an immediate cure. I often ask myself--even wrote about it: Why is there so much tension at the seminary? The answer is simple, I think. Because everyone lives depending on the other. They think it's Christian love. But it's neither Christian, nor love. It is a selfish concern and fear about one's self; a fear of not having a witness in the other, a confirmation of one's own existence.

Now it's not quite fair of me to quote these two criticisms in the midst of a book that has so much to say that's positive and loving. It may give an impression that is disproportionate. And so might my commentary. But I do think that these criticisms, made in 1982, still hold for many churches. I think they apply to modern education, too. And they are especially telling next to his positive comments about secure relationships and home life.

Since we got back from our trip to Georgia, I've been mostly by myself--that is to say, I've not sought out any social events--and I've really enjoyed the quiet. Now that it's finally calm at home, C.Z. has been entertaining herself quite well with various interests, and sometimes we go out to a museum or a park together for a change of scenery. She's also been biking with Bob (I don't have a bike yet).

I've been surrounded by people the whole time, of course. One always is in Manhattan. I interact with grocery clerks and people at the farmers' market, Audubon volunteers, our summer violin teacher, neighbors I see in the hallway, and our doormen, and we shake hands with the people around us at church. I had one phone call from a local friend about some plans, and left a message for another just to catch up. I've gotten some group e-mails and corresponded a bit privately, and Bob and I have spoken to our parents on a regular basis. My point is that, if I didn't seek people out actively by joining things, my life might easily continue on like this indefinitely. Would that be so bad? Is it Christian enough?

It's not that I mind doing things for others, or being with others, including new acquaintances. Sometimes I enjoy it very much. But if the atmosphere around me seems to place a primary emphasis on activity, and my ordinary life doesn't bring me into close contact with others, it's really no wonder that I enjoy being alone. I'm not going to go out and seek company just to measure up to someone else's idea of a well-adjusted life. No, I think I'll stay home and pray instead, and see what God has for me. It could eventually be an activity, just not right now.

Thanks Susan for recommending this book. You're welcome to sit at my dining room table (such as it is) anytime!