The quiet cadence of prayer and fasting as Lent began was shattered with the invasion of Ukraine. Forgiveness Vespers was ridden with sorrow and disbelief. There was no escaping the sadness and helplessness as we prayed. As I quietly mouthed the words to “Open to Me the Gates of Repentance,” the full meaning of the words dawned on me. Until that moment, it had not occurred to me that we were averse to repenting, that we needed to pray that Christ may soften our hearts so we may return to him. I think of the words of my beloved spiritual father: “Where is Christ?” he would ask. In other words, he was asking, where was He in our lives, did we manifest His presence through our actions?
In Boston and New York, prayers were being offered for Ukraine at special services, but the news bore images that were daringly sacrilegious. The cold-blooded murder of sons and daughters and of children. As a mother of a son, I could not imagine what every Ukrainian and Russian mother was enduring. Everything I was feeling went against the beautiful prayer of St. Ephrem to which we prostrated every morning and evening at Holy Cross Chapel, Brookline. I had no right to be prostrating myself; I was so angry, so beside myself as I watched the script play out yet again. The countries of the Balkans, Palestine, Syria, Balochistan, Kashmir, Afghanistan, Burma, and countless peoples around the world whose right to freedom and land were being seized from them brutally.
Murder continues to be justified for political ends. In the midst of these atrocities, the icon of Christ crucified, His head bowed, His silence louder than words, His torment as brother murdered brother.
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