“You are worthy to be praised at all times by happy voices, O Son of God, O Giver of Life…”
I wonder what resonates with you today from this rich and ancient prayer. My friend and October research trip travel buddy Leah opened the first chapter of her book Sun in Slender Glass with 4th century proto-monastic Macrina praying this and wrestling with God over famine and a drought that wouldn’t break. Since then, I’ve watched as these words have made their way into Leah’s and my evening rhythms.
Sometimes it’s the juxtaposition of Christ’s gladdening splendor and the bleak unknowing of approaching night that moves me. Other times, I’m delighted by the multi-colored translation range of hilaron: joyous, gentle, gracious, gladsome — and that’s just in the English!
For the last several months, it’s been the reference to happy voices that arrests my attention. Which happy voices, Lord? There are the living relatives of the 50,000 earthquake dead in Türkiye and 6,000 in Syria. In the midst of grief and loss, they are further confronted with ongoing tragedies like frigid temperatures, lack of aid, bureaucratic corruption, violence, homelessness or a return to untenably high rents…and the list goes on. The Turkish and Syrian peoples will feel the economic and emotional effects of this tragedy for decades to come.
God is no stranger to such anguish, nor are God’s people. Centuries of believers have prayed the Phos Hilaron in tandem with nightly pleas like this one:
Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love’s sake. Amen.
I was sharing my sorrow over the earthquakes with some dear 3rd grade students three days after February 6th. Their response moved me so much that I wanted to share it with you. These eight-year-olds began to imagine aloud what it would feel like to suddenly lose their homes, their families, their possessions. They began writing letters to victims and drawing pictures of what they would need if their homes were suddenly destroyed in an earthquake. Here are a few:
I told them I would publish their pictures (providing that parental consent was given) in an article asking for people to donate to Türkiye relief organizations. They have checked in with me every single week since then. (There’s nothing like student accountability to light a fire under this teacher!)
So here I am, writing an unexpected and sober addendum to Cappadocian Chronicles, six months since Leah and I returned from our research trip. We’ve researched reputable relief organizations and thought creatively on how to make this easy for you to participate.
We originally planned to put various pieces of pottery up for raffle over the next several weeks, only to learn that we’d need an official government license to do so. Alas for bureaucracy.
The new plan is this: donate directly to one of the organizations listed at the bottom of this page and send me a screenshot (prakunpottery@icloud.com). For every increment of $10, I’ll enter one ticket with your name into a drawing. The first mug and platter are shown below (cookies possibly included if you win); you have until Sunday at midnight to enter. Please specify in your email which pottery piece you’re hoping to win.
I’ll announce the winners on Monday morning, and the next pieces will go live soon after. We’ll run this for three weeks and see where that gets us. It would be a beautiful thing to reach a $1000.