Robin Williams, Mental Illness, and Suicide

A lot of attention has been given to Robin William's tragic death. As late as yesterday I saw a magazine at the store with the headline "He could have been saved". I am glad to see that this sad event brings some attention to the issue of mental health and to the tremendous suffering that persons with mental illness go through regularly. Williams was a brilliant man, so very gifted, so very deep and thoughtful, and he gave us much to ponder in his highly energetic performances on screen. I loved his Dead Poet Society performance. It is a movie I want to revisit one of these days. However, my favorite role for him was in the irascible Genie in the cartoon Aladdin. His energy is contagious, his cheer and his spirit leave us laughing and asking for more. He is/was truly tremendous in what he could deliver to us. We are inspired when we see him at work

Now, while I lament his sad ending, and while I wish as much as anyone else that he could have been saved, there is a lot more to the story from the perspective of those who may supposedly been within reach to 'save him'.

Those of us who have lived with family members who are mentally ill know the toll it takes on everyone in the household. (I am going to designate the mentally ill person as 'he' in this blog, but it could just as well be a 'she'). The mentally ill person is immeasurably difficult to live with, both in his manic phases as well as during his depressive episodes.

During the manic phases, anything is possible if he just puts in enough effort, nothing is impossible as long as he just keeps pushing and trying, and while the person's energies seem inexhaustible, while he tries to fix all he neglects during his depressive episodes, the family members surrounding this person are not in possession of those quantities of energies, and they just stand by mutely watching him steer the Titanic into yet another iceberg. They know it is just a matter of time. They know the sinking of the ship is imminent, but they are powerless to stop him, to help him see reason, or to get him to calm down and channel his energies rationally. Rationality is not part of the picture and often during this manic cycle much that will later be difficult to repair is effected and put into action.

During the depressive cycles, all that manic energy is spent, and the person can barely get up in the morning, the family walks on eggshells for fear of triggering what little energy of anger he can muster while he defends his inactivity, lays back down, unable to sleep and unable to get even the most basic tasks done.

In the depressive phase, the person has almost no sense of how he is affecting the rest of the household. His burden of pain is so excessive that he is not able to consider the feelings of others, their needs, or how he is taxing the resources of whomever he is living with. His inability to stay employed due to his cycling energy levels can result in additional pressures on the family as they go through yet another job loss, followed by an even more severe depression before the manic energies return in sufficient quantities to secure employment for said individual.

I am not criticizing Robin Williams or what he suffered. May God rest his soul. What I am trying to say is that for all that many think he could have been saved and that there were 'someones' around him who dropped the ball and did not rise to the occasion of delivering what he needed  when he himself had nothing to give, those around him were likely exhausted. They had likely lived through multiple cycles with him. During those cycles, they had tried this and that and the other, over and over again. At some point, as a significant other to a person who cycles, one steps aside, sits down, perhaps even cries. Then one takes a breaker to watch (with fear and trembling) and see what the loved one with mental illness will do during this time.

There is a strong desire on the part of the family of a person with mental illness to break the cycle, and to urge the person with mental illness to be responsible for his own behavior and for his own well-being.  Breaking the cycle means taking risks. Breaking the cycle means that the family is responding to a depressive cycle by not doing the same thing they did last time (and the time before, and the time before, and the time before). It also means that the mentally ill person will flip out and do new things to act out to get the attention he feels he needs, since the pattern he is comfortable existing in has been denied him, and that is scary! His cycles, while erratic and unbearably painful to the family, are predictable to him. He is the one that generates the behavior, and he feeds on the emotional ups and downs these cycles produce.They are an essential part of his existence. A complete downer  is followed by soaring into another manic phase. THIS is euphoria to him... while it lasts. But this time ... because the family suddenly responds differently to his cycle , the person with mental illness must write a new script for how to get through this cycle. They have denied him what he needs most!! It is like drug withdrawal to him. It is time to do something radical to teach them how they must respond. He can't live without this regularity.  If they act like this, they don't love him. Nobody cares. The whole world hates him.  -- Sometimes this is where the suicide (or suicide attempt, or suicide threat, or harm to self)  comes in--- yes, the cycle was broken, but not the way anyone intended it to be.

I am not discounting that we need to have sympathy for the person with mental illness, but .... the cost to the spouse, the cost to the children, to the immediate family and friends is prohibitive. Sometimes the family members are no longer able pay that price, and sometimes the person with mental illness is unendurable to live with.

I guess I am discounting unconditional love. With mental illness comes a great deal of emotional abuse for the rest of the family. The home may not be an emotional safe place to exist in. If the episodes of manic or depressive moods are cycling fast and furiously, there is no respite for the family, just a constant unpredictable roller coaster ride, and that takes unspeakable toll as the mentally ill person is extremely difficult to reason with and may require so much of his surroundings that often children  suffer and may, in some of the worse cases, develop their own form of mentally ill coping mechanisms in response to the constant pressure, neglect, and lack of reality they are surrounded by.  

In short, the Robin Williamses of this world, are gifted and talented, and to those of us who do not live with them, we--the public--enjoy the fruits of the productive labor that the Robin Williamses of this world create, when they function well enough to produce something. But the close friends and families of a Robin Williams suffer greatly, suffer unpredictably because of the massive and varying needs of his erratic genius.

The Day the Music Died - dedicated to the St. Luke Choir

Today our music died. And part of us died with it, as we all must die a little bit, every day, until it is our turn to go.

Like the proverbial 'fat lady' we in the choir have sung, and it's curtains.

Today we died not just a little bit, we died a lot. And with that lot died not just cherubic hymns and Christmas Kontakia, but whole Divine Liturgies.  With that lot died a humble man--stiff backed and slow to move, ... yet--musically among the most limber, a master craftsman of sound.

With that lot, also, died the delight of Wednesday night rehearsals.

Good bye to Ole and Lena jokes. Good bye to phrases like "If you sing it too smoothly, I will let you know" or "Here is a nickel that says you can't get through that without me stopping you".  Good bye to the endless patience of a man who had worked with the best of the best in Carnegie Hall and yet preferred helping his small choir of unschooled amateurs sound like the angels in heaven.

36 hours before he died, some of his last words to me--spoken through parched lips that were barely able to move -- were, "Lene, the basses, do you hear the basses?" and then he moved his hands as if he were conducting. In his face I caught a glimpse of  that contagious joy that we witnessed Sunday after Sunday whenever he conducted the Divine Liturgy.

Our dear friend has passed on. We will meet him again.... as the hymn says,

"In the sweet by and by  [...]
We shall sing on that beautiful shore
The melodious songs of the blessed;
And our spirits shall sorrow no more"

In the meantime -- we must continue to sing .... until it is so smooth that he lets us know.

Living in the Gap: My 30 years in the United States

I moved to the United States in June 1984. My native country is Denmark.

I left because I could. I left because of money.

Can you believe that??

The United States offered me a sizable merit based scholarship. My home country never offered me a dime based on merit -- and I was one of those straight A students, never missed an essay, always did all the assignments. You know the student you hated in high school, who always read ahead and had all the answers.

Thanks to the Rotary Foundation, I got my start in the US at the University of Arizona in June 1984. I proceeded all the way to a Ph. D. in physics --and graduated without a dime in student loans in 1993. Thank you, United States of America. I could not have done what I did here in Denmark --- not without debt.

Now, I am caught in the gap between two cultures, two political systems, two value systems. And I don't belong to either. When I am in Denmark, I remember keenly, on occasion, why I chose to live in the United States. When I am in the United States, I often miss Denmark, the people, the nuances in political debates, the consideration for the 'least of these'--- all the things that make Danes the most contented people in the world, and Copenhagen once again in 2014 the best city in the world to live in.

The truth is ex-patriots like myself do not belong anywhere.

For example, after 30 years in the US, I still do not AT ALL understand the South, its values, its history, its people--nor their lifestyle --- seriously!!They are lovely, hospitable people, but they play by rules I do not get.  The best bet for me is to avoid Southerners. I get in trouble when I deal with them. Their indirect culture, their (what I perceive as 'veneer' of) politeness so flies in the face of my direct outspoken Danishness.

Living in the gap is particularly painful with respect to values.

Americans hold their values very close to their hearts -- family, faith, football and something about the Constitution and its original intent and so forth. When you are a foreigner here you were not raised with their inherent respect  for certain 'pieces of paper', nor do you find them all equally divinely inspired. When at times you do not sufficiently produce that respect for said documents, you teeter on the brink of metaphorical 'flag burning' to Americans.

In particular, American conservatism--which I have lived in and with and amongst most of my time here-- tends to be viewed comprehensivelt, not issue-by-issue. It is ideologically complete, so it is thought, an elephant (pun intended) that you have to swallow whole--not as points worthy of political compromise. Many people struggle to understand why you (the foreigner) opt to partition out the trunk and one of the tusks, even if you will swallow most of the rest. It's all or nothing, baby. Every key issue held feels like a lithmus test to your authenticity and trustworthiness both in matters political and in matters religious.

My vague comments on politics aside... then there is just living with the people, or getting along with the people, on either side of the pond we call the Atlantic Ocean.

After 30 years in the US, when I return to Denmark, I don't understand the Danes much either. For example, during one memorable visit with my parents' neighbors I was offered a martini. I declined. I was offered beer, wine, pop, coffee, tea, water, and then finally he said with an offended air, "OK, fine. Nothing, then." I had completely forgotten that you really need to take something, and it was not until he relented that it occurred to me how rude I had been. In the United States, when you enter a house, and someone offers you something and you decline one or two things, the message is that I am fine, and the host is no longer obligated to offer you anything.

On another occasion here in the US, I had Danes over for lunch. I offered soup, and was told that "one does not eat soup during the summer. It is a winter dish." Sorry, I forgot, but now that they tell me, I DO remember.

Thankfully, in the US, there are no seasons for foods. One just eats whatever one feels like, any time one feels like it. Yeah!!

In Denmark at a dinner, you never touch the glass until the host gives the first toast. Sadly I always remember those Danish mannerisms after the fact. When I took  my three oldest kids ages 8, 10, 13 to a fancy Danish party in 2003, I was told that they were really sweet kiddos, but what deplorable table manners they had. :)

That is not to say the United States is without  etiquette. It's there, but not as much in regards to food.

One of the first things I learned when I married into an American family (with roots in Texas) was that one cannot be too direct in one's speech or one comes across forcefully.

I remember sitting at an extended family gathering where everyone discussed where to go out for dinner, everyone hinted at what they migth perhaps want to eat, and this here clueless Dane very directly asserted that she wanted Mexican food, after which, the whole group (because of the way I innocently phrased it) felt compelled to abide by my wishes, and we went out for Mexican. I have since learned that in such gatherings and on such occasions one expresses oneself  only in the passive subjunctive.

Another thing I learned is that the Civil War is not over and that it is best not to mention it, or the rafters will ring with phrases such as 'States' rights' and 'Northern Aggression'. There are also those, in the US, who from a Constitutional perspective still think the Federal Government had no right to impose the civil rights legislation on the South. Not because these people are racists, mind you, but for political ideological reasons. Never mind, I suppose, whether millions of blacks in the South would still live under Jim Crow. Ideology and original intent in the Constitution debates are always going on here, from the state houses to the Supreme Court with each side of the issue deeply entrenched and immovable.

On the flip side, I tune into Danish TV on the Internet, and find myself equally alienated as a  politician from the communist party (not a big party, but on occasion they too get on TV) speaking as if all the money earned in the entire country belongs to everyone and it is the Danish government's job to dole it out to those to need it most.  At times like that I suffer >>Complete Culture Shock>>. How can ANYONE could be that oblivious to the basic rights of private property? If the US has drilled anything into me over the years (it was already there but it has been solidified) it is your personal right to your own earnings.

In the United States nobody can take your life, your liberty, or your property. Those three rights are fundamental, and all Americans learn this in school. Yes, there are taxes here--a necessary evil, which is often viewed as legalized robbery-- and folks here love to whine about taxes. In fact, I think it is THE favorite American whine that everyone can join in. But why not? This whole country was practically founded on the principle of resistance to taxes.

When moving about in this country, I have the strange advantage/disadvantage to be nearly accentless. Most folks who meet me  think I am American, and if they detect a slight accent (I can't say copper, and I can't say Norfolk -- and a few other words associated with the short o sound), they ascribe it to the east coast, the west coast, the midwest--- anywhere but where they are from.  So I am not generally weeded out as a despicable foreigner unless I get in a discussion where on occasion I hold some despicable views that no true blue-blooded American could possibly hold :)

At one point several years ago, I was introduced to a friend of a friend. She was told I was from Denmark, and I mentioned that sometimes I would like to move back. "Denmark," she exclaimed in horror, "Who would want to live in Denmark?" Her idea of Denmakr was this horrible socialist dictatorial state that is even worse than Holland (which somehow is set up as the worst of the worst).  She never apologized for so maligning a country she knows nothing about. But then neither do Danes ever apologize for walking right up to me (when I visit my folks in Denmark) and reciting their laundry list of why the United States is the most evil, imperial, and ruthless country in the world (said people have not been here and would never dream of going), so it goes both ways.

On another occasion, my parents visited here and marveled at the educational services available to my son Ben when he was in Middle School. They went home to Denmark and told their public school teacher friends, and some of them flat out refused to believe it. The Danish stereo type of the US is this horrid country where unless you have money you can do absolutely nothing. It was beyond their scope of understanding that in some areas the United States actually has excellent social services... one of them being its educational support for its disabled students.  --- Another strange prejudice that some Danes have (watching too many bad American TV shows) is the belief that the entire United States dodges bullets  every day all the time when walking out front doors onto the street. They think that violence is everywhere around every corner.

America is not a melting pot, it is more of a chunky stew which has not been mixed very well, so all the carrots are on the bottom and all the onions have floated to the top. (Yes, I know, physically this would not happen to carrots in terms of relative the relative densities of carrots and water, it is ONLY a bad analogy!!!)

I have only lived in a fairly lily white conservative Christian segment of it. I have functioned in (and thoroughly loved) the university part of the United States, and I have navigated both the health care and the social services on account of my son with Down Syndrome. I have seen the military part of this country from the outside, on account of having two sons in the United States Navy. -- I love this country. And I love living here, and I love the friendly (albeit sometimes only surface) people here, and their willingness to talk with you and include you even if you are brand new. Denmark is a much harder culture to break into if you do not already have connections (at least in my experience).  --- American etiquette, however, is difficult for me to navigate -- to this day.  Politics and religion here are fixed subjects, not easily discussed, fairly bereft of nuance in the mouth of the speaker, and politeness requires some detachment that (in most of the places I move in) precludes in depth discussion. America because of its varied population groups deems issues such as vaccines, global warming, and age of the universe, not as scientific facts, but as 'matters of opinion' -- unless I am in my little science coccoon at the university.

Denmark's population for the most part is still so very homogenous that issues of children in day care, global warming, what medicinal practices are acceptable and needed for all are not highly controversial issues that threaten people to their cores. They love their country, they agree for the most part with what it stands for, and they do not have an inherent suspicion constantly lingering in the back of their minds that the government is out to take all their liberties away from them. (At least not to the degree that Americans do). I miss the contentment of my fellow Danes.

To wrap up this wild ramble of living in the gap. Denmark and the US were partners in Iraq, in Afghanistan. They are really rather similar. Both places are livable 'in'-able. Both have lovely opinionated people who for the most part live in luxury with 1st world problems that are fun to whine about.

I am blessed --albeit a touch lonely on some days-- living in the gap.

The Frantic Pace of the West

I live in the west. I am an academic in the west. My roots are in Scandinavia, and so everything I do professionally or practically in my daily life is western, and I'd like to think (most of the time) are rooted in the genius, comfort, and convenient lifestyle of the western world.

After all, we and our ancestors are the ones who -- perhaps not invented, but -- more so perfected health care, running water, electricity, computers, free enterprise, mass production of materials, etc.

We have created for ourselves a life that includes comfort, freedom from many diseases that previously were debilitating; everyone has enough to eat, and when we get sick there is often a cure, and if not a cure, there are certainly pain relieving drugs that help us end our lives in comfort at home with our loved ones.

There is much good to say about the west; and of course there is much ill to say about the west too. With free competition in the market place comes greed, brutality, ruthlessness, and many other horrible behaviors as we want more and more, and no matter what we have, it is never enough.

With the ability to medicate, do surgery, and help people restore their bodies to functionality after disease comes the abuse:  abuse of painkillers, abuse of  cosmetic procedures--a quest for the perfect body. With that comes our veiled intolerance of those whose bodies or minds are less than perfect: and wors of all, our culture hides from old age and death.  -- We basically have a culture that worships youth, accomplishments. Old age is ignored and disrespected -- and we often lack in compassion for the destitute, partially because they are ugly, old, and disease-ridden, and partially because my culture is so about me and what I own and what I want, that I forget they exist.

I won't mention any more faults of the west. You know them already, and you also know that this culture because it is market-based and 'sells well' is the culture that so much of the developing world tries or hopes to adopt for themselves too. After all, who doesn't want comfort and convenience?

Now, in spite of the flaws of the west, I love living here. I love having the freedom to write and absorb myself in the details of the narrow subjects that i love most (science and rhetoric), and I love being able to publish, communicate with people freely, and generally indulge my own whims, while I eke out a living for myself and my family. It is a good life. There is much satisfaction in it (in spite of the flaws of the west) and I have no desire to move to Russia, Greece, or India, to get more in touch with the circular, slower paced life of the mind [and that may be my biggest flaw]. At least, I do not think I want to trade what I have (an orderly clean country with a mostly functioning and not so corrupt government) in exchange for what I might get in the east.

And yet ... I try to get a taste of it. I try to live in both places. Thus, I go to church.

For me, Eastern Christianity (Orthodoxy) bridges the west and the east. The eastern liturgy is contemplative, slow (the services are long), and by the time you have sat through a Sunday morning, which with Orthros (the prayer service before the liturgy) 3 hours, your mind has undergone a transformation, it has been soothed, and you feel more at peace and at one with God for having gone through the service even if you did not hear a word of it.

No, I am not advocating not listening to the litanies or the readings or the words of the music. What I AM saying is that in the eastern service, it is not just the words that count, it is also the style and organization of the service that matters. Content, form, and style all speak to the soul -- at least they speak to my soul.

However, I do not believe that most church goers would agree with me.

In the United States we have every possible type of church service, including (as I attended once in Minnesota) drive-through churches where you stay in your car and receive communion through your car window. We have 'express' (15 minute) services for those who don't have much time on Sundays.

Also, I know of one church in a major city (and perhaps there are many like this) where there are 3 or 4 worship 'rooms', so you pick your own style of music: hard rock, heavy metal, traditional hymns, or gospel lite songs, and then the sermon is piped into each room, so everyone gets the same message (note: here, it is the WORDS only, that count). Many people think it is wonderful that we can each worship the way we like to (and it is!!). And that those who choose or those who are confined can stay home and have it piped onto their computer screens.

The western church is a perfect example of western ingenuity: worshipping in the comfort of whatever surrounding you choose.

It is not my place to criticize the above mentioned styles of worship. Though by bringing them up, I have obviously called their merits into question.

We all look for different things in worship, I suppose. Personally, I am looking to clear the clutter of my mind, to relax, to find peace in God and His salvation, and to focus on the Word... and of course finally to receive the Body and Blood of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

I don't do worship very well in a setting that involves dancing or rock n roll music, and I was criticized once by a colleague who accused me of snobbery because my worship is distracted by loud music and dancing. He claimed I did not want to be one with people and meet them where they are at --- but here is the issue. Worship, in my understanding of it, is about meeting God, not about meeting other people.

No, to be frank, I have no perfect sense of how or where God manifests Himself to people, or at least I would be hesitant to pronounce that I have found His 'formula', but what I do know is that being still is part of what I need to physically slow down and get away from the frantic pace of the world and its overtime work, its crowded commuter streets, and its constant demands. Loud music and dancing has its places, but Sunday morning, I am looking to slow down my body and my mind to focus on God and his Word, and I find that peace in the quiet serenity of the Orthodox services, be it a liturgy (Mass) or a vespers (evening) service.

I recently skipped a service at my usual Orthodox church and went to an Episcopal service at a church that is 5 minutes' walk down the street. Why? you might ask. Well the truth is, I have visited just about every type of Christian church available in the world (including a Coptic church and Assemblies of God) but I had never set foot in an Episcopal church. -- What struck me (as relates to the topic of this blog) was that it contained many, indeed all the elements of the Orthodox worship service, but they were all abbreviated and run through must faster. The Orthodox take 90 minutes to do what that particular Episcopal church does in 50 minutes. That has been my experience in the Catholic and Lutheran churches I have gone to on occasion as well. All the elements are there, but it is pared down, compared to what I am used to.  -- Again, not a criticism, but an assertion that my body and mind are so in overdrive most of the week that I need really looooooooooong church services to put on the brakes, the same way a run-away truck in the Rock Mountains needs a really long path with a sand bank at the end to safely come to a complete stop.

In my church, we still start with litanies (streams of prayer by the celebrant followed by the congregation saying Lord, have mercy), then the Word is read (Epistle and Gospel), then another streamm of litanies, followed by communion. Each set of prayers reminds you to pray for different parts of the world and when you are done, you have pretty much prayed for everyone: your family, your loved ones, the military, the government, those who are sick, those who are suffering, etc. The Orthodox litanies are longer than litanies in most other churches, Orthodox have more special readings read, more special hymns sung, longer Scripture readings, and in the case of comparing to the Episcopal and Lutheran services, the Orthodox naturally have songs and readings pertaining to the saint of the day or the liturgical event of the day more so than those churches.

The words, the sounds in the service are important, but had I been deaf, I would have still worshipped with my body, bowing, kneeling, with my sense of smell as the incense comes around, with my sight, as I behold the Old Testament and New Testament imagery all of the wallls of the church, as well as with my tastebuds, as I receive the body and blood of Christ. It's bells, smells, frescoes, prostrations, songs, bread, wine -- a full sensory experience for all our senses.

Not to belabor the details, but I would say this. The lengthy Orthodox service is necessary to clear my mind of all the clutter of the week well enough to prepare me for communion. I am fantastically grateful for the slow movement of the Orthodox liturgy that refocuses my mind on things divine and slowly  and repeatedly recalls my wandering attention back to the service to bring me before the altar to receive the body and blood of Jesus Christ.

Even if I knew nobody, even if not a soul talked to me after the service, I would still go to calm and focus my mind on the things that really matter, and to receive the life giving healing body and blood of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I would still feel blessed that I had come, and I would still feel compelled to return the following Sunday.

I take that healing and peace with me --back into the world-- and it sustains me for the rest of my week.

Indeed, as a result of that healing and peace, I have found that I can recreate that spirit of calm and faith at home, in my little corner where I sit and pray -- with a few icons, depicting God and his glory shining through his saints -- with a few candles and an incense stick --- and with the quiet that I secure, I sit down to pray and read the Scriptures for the day.

Peace is a gift. Church brings about that peace as it spreads the ancient Gospel message, which almost always started with an annunciation by an Angel, saying either 'Fear not' or 'Peace be upon you'.  It is that peace that I seek as a refuge from my daily frantic toils.

St Mary of Egypt - A western thinker tries to think in an eastern way

I always wondered if the reformers during the Protestant Reformation rejected some of the saint lore (Hagiography) on stylistic grounds. Surely the medieval accounts of saints often appear fantastic, almost hyperbolic in their presentations compared to the very realistic sounding biblical narratives sprinkled with a supernatural event here and there, but never in the spectacular way that medieval tales present supernatural events.

Let me illustrate this with St Mary of Egypt, since her feast day is April 1st, and she is celebrated during this 5th week of Lent.

St. Mary's life is one of extremes. She lives in the 4th century. Her life is a licentious life, half of it lived in Egypt -- generally the biblical location for living a worldly life, a life of plenty, and a life of vices. She is not only a prostitute, we are told, but she so enjoys her profession that at times she renders services without demanding pay. In short, her appetites are insatiable.  After her conversion, she goes across the River Jordan --realm of John the Baptist's ascetic life-- to live a life of repentance. And if anyone ever did a 180, St. Mary did.  Where Christ is tempted in the desert for 40 days, she  is in the desert for 40 years + 7 years, 7 being the number of perfection.  Clearly, Christ had nothing to repent of, where Mary had much.

Still as her repentance nears its completion, she walks on water, though she makes nothing of it and insists to her dying breath that she is a sinful woman. She lives on almost no food or water but the three loaves she brings with her into the desert.  At the end of her life when Fr. Zosima, comes to see her and brings her lentils and figs to eat, she honors his hospitality and takes 3 lentils-- one for father, one for son, one for Holy Spirit, clearly indicating that her nourishment comes not from this world.

When at another point in the story Mary meets Fr. Zosima at a prearranged location, Fr. Zosima takes 20 days to get there by foot, St. Mary gets there in 1 hour --which would, indicentally, indicate that she traveled at near the speed of sound (Mach 1). What is all this about?

No, in case you wondered, I am not saying that medieval tales are 'tall', like the tales of Paul Bunyan, but neither are they characterized by the realism and down to earth simple narrative style we see in the New Testament gospels, and I think that is why such tales were rejected by the Protestant reformers.

Medieval tales are possessed of a dichotemy that clearly contrasts the worldly choice and the divine choice. In medieval tales, the reader is not asked to wrestle with questions of ambiguity nor to find nuances in the meaning of life the way the classical Greeks did. 

The choice is clear in medieval lore. We are in living color presented with the correct model. Our job is to follow it. Temptation, the lusts of the flesh, the world and its vices are ever present to us in an ugly, threatening light. But, there is hope. Our medieval hero or heroine will prevail to the end and achieve the Promised Land through the mortification of the flesh--and so must we.

Let us take St. Peter from the Gospels and contrast him with St. Mary. His story is told in the first century AD, where St. Mary's is told in the 4th century, but not recorded until the 7th century (an important detail, I think).

St. Peter's life as a fisherman is worldly, to be sure, but he is not evil or base or full of vices. We know he has a mother in law, but otherwise we know little of his family. He is hotheaded and rash, and we ordinary folks can relate to him and his impulsive nature. He seems to have a good heart, and he wants to do the right thing, only, at times he stumbles, like when he denies Christ three times, or when he cuts off the ear of a man during Christ's arrest. We understand the reasons for his doing so. He is afraid, and he is lashing out to defend himself. We too are afraid, and we are comforted because St Peter was one of us, we are like he was. If he can get beyond himself to follow Christ, so can we.

St. Mary is an example to us, not because she is like us, but because she shows us two choices. The way of the appetites, which leads to death, or the way of repentance which leads to life. In either lifestyle of hers, she overpowers us with her zeal. Which Mary do we want to follow?

I found her difficult to read for years, because I am a person who distrusts extremes. You see, a reading of the story of St. Mary does not include her choosing a disrespectful profession because she is starving or afraid she cannot provide for her family, which would be what I would be looking for. Did she have a family? We do not know. We are given no context, no excuses for Mary. The details are irrelevant. All that matters is her repentance.

It is appetite that drives her, through and through, and it is appetite that she needs to get rid of in the desert across the Jordan River. Nothing else matters.

Why did I struggle with this simple dichotomy. Well... I am a scientist, I am an academic. I thrive on nuance, detail, and analysis. Here were my initial thoughts on the story...

1. the story was written by a male almost 3 centuries after the actual encounter between St. Mary and Fr. Zosima, not by a female.
2. my guess ---forgive my speculation --- is that the author, St. Sophronius--a monk-- had little contact with women. The story had been passed down to him  from monk to monk over 3 centuries and likely all these monks had no idea  what a life of prostitution would be like for a woman. 

Prostitution is not a life of pleasure but one that likely would be loathed by most women. Also, St. Mary, if she lived such a life, would very likely be saddled with a lot of children to take care of, but also -- I bet-- be infested with the sorts of diseases that accompany such a profession. Not a fun life.

But that is science and realism, and such thinking of mine should be condemned along with my speculation that Mary is zipping along at Mach 1 to meet Fr. Zosima.

Such thinking ruins medieval story telling --- shame on me. :)

The point of medieval stories is to inspire people to imitate virtue and reject vice --- not to scrutinize whether it is possible for her to live naked in the desert or to live on 3 loaves of bread and a few herbs in 47 years, nor whether she can REALLY walk on water, nor how  she managed never to encounter another human being or even a dangerous wild beast -- to say nothing of how she broke the sound barrier :P .

This medieval story is full of antithesis -- a favorite scheme of the medievals, since it sets pairs of things in contrast.

Mary in her worldly life exposed her body to shame, so in her repentance she exposes her body to the elements of the weather to purge the shame.

Mary  in her worldly life lived for her appetites, so she in her repentance lives AGAINST her appetites.

Mary in her worldly life lived amongst men, to secure the admiration of men,  so in her repentance she lives apart from men, done with the vanities of the world.

St Mary of Egypt is the antithesis, also, to Mary the Mother of God, the obedient, chaste, humble ideal of a woman, who as soon as she was old enough to decide, chose a life lived for God. For Mary the Theotokos to shine, St. Mary of Egypt must stand in stark relief -- hence a story of extremes. It is a literary form, which borders on allegory --which became more popular in high and late medieval times, but which Boethius already made use of in his Consolation of Philosophy in the 5th century AD.

The reformers of the 16th and 17th centurry (at the very dawn of the age of Reason) steered away from medieval lore, and as such, they rejected in particular  stories about the saints. They wanted to go back to the basics, back to more realism, back to the Bible.

Their approach to Christianity very much seems to go with the one literary genre found in the Gospels, that bare bones, realism way of recording the life of Christ in the Gospels, almost to the point where that style of analysis (perhaps to a fault) is applied, also, to texts in the Old Testament.

But to wrap up with St. Mary and her blessed memory. It took me years, after I became an Orthodox Christian, to appreciate St. Mary.

I was hindered by the (perhaps) slight touch of misogyny I kept reading in the story of St. Mary and at times, also in the Bible's depiction of women.

St. Mary is portrayed as this person who was driven by an insatiable and irrepressible passion. So are some of the 'sinful' women of the Bible -- the woman at the well with several husbands, the woman caught in adultery about to be stoned, the sinful woman in tears, bathing Christ's feet.

Sometimes I wonder if the only sins of women that male writers of the Bible  and of hagiography are capable of imagining are sexual sins.  And perhaps  that is the case, since most 'good' Roman, Greek, and Jewish women in biblical times kept to their homes, so the women a man might met in the street often were of that 'flavor'.

Add to that, that most of the women saints of the early centuries AD were young women who refused to get married. In fact, so many of them staunchly held onto their virginity even at the cost of death by frightful mutilation, often of the parts of the body that are distinctly female.

But, just as I questioned the wisdom of the reformers' literary analysis above,  so I must not reject medieval hagiography, merely because it is written from a limited perspective--a black and white perspective. The men who wrote hagiography wrote about what they knew and not about what they did not know. They had a clear message, and did not want it obscured by detail or nuance. In the specific case of St. Sophronius perhaps he knew little of what it was like to be a woman or what kinds of sins women most struggle with. In my native Danish, the expression is "Tyv tror hver mand stjæler" -- a thief thinks every man steals. :)

The beauty of the story of St Mary lies in her great repentance, not in her miracles (my opinion, obviously). We are inspired by her running the race to the finish (Romans 6:16), by God's providing for her in miraculous ways, so that she was able to stay faithful to her calling, and be an inspiration to Elder Zosima, who--as we are told --had a rather lofty view of himself and thought that he had reached the pinnacle of spirituality and could learn nothing from anyone.

Choosing a woman for the story, a naked woman running in the desert  completes the humiliation of Elder Zosima. Not only has he accomplished almost nothing compared to a naked woman who was never part of a monastery, who had no elder to teach her anything at all. She--the naked WOMAN (of all low things!)-- has gone further in her spiritual life than he with all his chastity, all his years of prayer and services can ever hope to achieve. St. Mary's simple repentant heart says 'yes' to God, and nothing more is needed. Unlike Zosima, she is free from ambition, and has no drive but to be united with her Savior.