Sayings from the Desert Mothers, Part 1

 

Dear Parish Faithful, I plan on sending these relatively short passages, suited for possible mediation, out to the parish at large at least during the weekdays of Great Lent with some regularity. This year, I will focus on passages emerging from the "desert mothers," voices we are far less aware of when compared to the great "desert fathers."  Many of these saying have now been conveniently assembled with commentary by Lynn Swan in her book, The Forgotten Desert Mothers. These words of wisdom were forged in the "arena" of the desert - Egypt, Palestine, etc. - so they are "monastic" in origin. And that means a far cry from our own contemporary lifestyle. We then need to "translate" this wisdom in such a way that the core of these sayings can be meaningfully applied to our lives, as different as the setting is from their original monastic setting. A challenge that can get us thinking in a creative way, and which has its own (spiritual) rewards. We begin with Amma Syncletica (380-460). She was born in Alexandria to a wealthy and respected Christian family of Macedonian heritage. She was educated, and known for her beauty. She began practicing asceticism in her parents's home. Her two younger brothers died and she had a younger blind sister. When her parents passed away, she sold all of her possessions and gave her family wealth to the poor. She then cut her hair in an act of consecration and moved with her sister to the family tomb outside of Alexandria, beginning her life as a desert ascetic. Over time, many women gathered around her for spiritual leadership. She lived into her eighties with the last few marked by intense physical suffering, most likely cancer, before her death. Her feast day is January 5. Whatever we do or gain in this world, let us consider it insignificant in comparison to the eternal wealth that is to come. We are on this earth as if in a second maternal womb. In that inner recess we did not have a life such as we have here, for we did not have there solid nourishment such as we enjoy now, nor were we able to be active as we are here, and we existed without the light of the sun and of any glimmer of light. Just as, then, when we were in that inner chamber, we did without many of the things of this world, so also in the present world we are impoverished in comparison with the kingdom of heaven. We have sampled the nourishment here; let us reach for the Divine! We have enjoyed the light in this world; let us long for the sun of righteousness! Let us regard the heavenly Jerusalem as our homeland ... Let us live prudently in this world that we may obtain eternal life. A wonderful metaphor from Amma Syncletica that allows us to appreciate the good things of this world, as a taste or preparation for the greater good of the age to come. There is the finite and the infinite. The temporal and the eternal. The destination of our lenten journey will culminate with the Death and Resurrection of Christ, the basis for our own promised "passage" into that Kingdom of light and life. If we can meditate to some extent on the promise and joy of eternal life, then we will better understand how Great Lent and Pascha serve as a preparation for that final journey.

 

Towards a Life of Active Love

 

Dear Parish Faithful & Friends in Christ,

"If in a human being's heart there is no love, then all that he has is dead and of no value."

- Fr. Sergius Bulgakov

One of the classics of children's literature is the wonderful novel A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. (She also wrote another classic, The Secret Garden). The young heroine of this novel is an English girl named Sara Crewe, who is initially treated as a "little princess" because her father has acquired some wealth through mining speculation, and was able to establish her as one of the more prosperous girls in a boarding school in London. Yet, when the father loses his fortune and unexpectedly dies, Sara finds herself alone and penniless and now at the mercy of the cold-hearted headmistress at the boarding school. Though now treated as a menial servant, and living in abject poverty up in the unheated attic, Sara maintains a graceful spirit that does not succumb to the physical hardships and psychological abuse of her unwanted poverty.

In a deeply touching passage in the book, Sara, living on near-starvation rations, finds a coin in the street and rushes to the local bakery in order to purchase a few newly-baked rolls. The kind baker gives her a few extra because she knew Sara before her unfortunate "reversal of fortune." Yet, when Sara emerges from the bakery with her rolls, she encounters an unkempt and homeless little street waif who is clearly even more impoverished and hungry than she is. In a spontaneous gesture of compassion and kindness, Sara graciously gives the little girl all of the rolls save one. Unknown to Sara, the baker witnessed this act, and was so impressed by Sara's sharing, that she in turn was moved to compassion and eventually brought the little girl into her shop as a worker.

This profoundly Christian scene of "co-suffering love" embedded in an Edwardian novel meant for young readers, always reminds me of the Gospel passage that we just read this last Sunday, known as the pre-lenten Sunday of the Last Judgement. Then we heard the Parable/Discourse of the Last Judgement, found in MATT. 25:31-46. Jesus powerfully describes an active ministry of love as the way to, and characteristic of, the Kingdom of God. In theological language, this is called an eschatological orientation. (Eschatology is from the Gk. word for the "last things"). Christ enumerates the following deeds of an active love that render a human person worthy of entering into the joy of the Lord at the last judgement:

• feeding the hungry
• giving drink to the thirsty
• welcoming strangers
• visiting the sick
• visiting those in prison

The biblical scholar, John L. McKenzie summarized this teaching in the following manner:

Ministry to the basic needs of one's fellow man is the only canon of judgement mentioned here. One could paraphrase by saying that man is judged entirely on his behavior toward his fellow man. The evasion that this does not include man's duties toward to God is met in this passage; Jesus identifies himself with those to whom service is given or refused, and their behavior toward men is their behavior toward God. 

The surprise of those who are condemned is easy to understand; they never accepted the fact that they encountered Jesus in other men and that they cannot distinguish between their duties to God and their duties to men. They are ranked with the devils, whose proper element is the fire of Gehenna. Eschatology means man is capable of a final decision that gives his life a permanent character. Both the righteous and the wicked here have made decisions that are irrevocable. 

Like the last discourse in JN, the theme is love based on the identity of Jesus with men. In the last analysis, it is love that determines whether men are good or bad. If their love is active, failure to reach perfect morality in other ways will be rare, and it will be forgiven. But there is no substitute for active love.

Dostoevsky, the great Russian novelist, also stressed the importance of an "active love," especially in the character of the elder Zosima in his final masterpiece The Brothers Karamazov, and in his young hero of that novel, Alyosha Karamazov. Active love, for Dostoevsky, was seen by him to be the most convincing response to all of the arguments of theoretical atheism. In the novel, the elder Zosima says the following to a woman racked by doubts concerning immortality - and God by extension:

Strive to love your neighbor actively and tirelessly. To the extent that you succeed in loving, you will become convinced both of the existence of God and of the immortality of your soul. If you attain complete selflessness in loving your neighbor, then will indubitably be persuaded, and no doubt will even be able to enter your soul. This has been tested, this is certain.

Though fictional, Sara Crewe's one small gesture is the embodiment of an active love manifested in a gesture of mercy and compassion for the neighbor. It had no theoretical or ideological component to it. It was deeply personal and devoid of any hidden motives or calculated gains. It transcended all such categorizations. This, I believe, is what most truly exemplifies this remarkable passage in the Gospel. At a time of acute and endless discussion due to the political processes that are now consuming our attention - to the saturation point and beyond it seems - we hear on a daily basis from the various candidates a stream of proposed programs, pledged policies and passionate promises concerning the care of the many people devoid of any safety nets when they inevitably fall between the cracks of our flawed social systems. The teaching about the Last Judgement by Christ transcends any such programs, policies or promises. It does not matter whether or not you are a Democrat or a Republican; a liberal or a conservative; or a proponent of strong or limited government intervention into the lives of our citizenry. 

The Discourse on the Last Judgement is a direct appeal - perhaps a "warning" - to each person who encounters Christ and His teaching. What are you doing as part of a ministry of active love seems to be what Christ is asking? Or, at the Last Judgement, what have you actually done? Deeds of active love may just be the most potent signs that we took Christ and His teaching seriously.

The Joy of Flossing

 

Dear Parish Faithful,

The following is hardly a meditation. It is an old piece that I wrote many years ago, but since so many new readers receive these mailings, I thought to perhaps offer a bit of humor as we approach the season of Great Lent. What prompted me to dig this old piece up was a recent visit to the dentist's office and another very similar experience. (There is nothing new under the sun). Although this recent time, when I refused the recommendation to have x-rays taken; and further refused to have camera images of my mouth taken, the air was pretty much sucked out of the room. From that point on the atmosphere was decidedly chilly for the remainder of my visit. 

More serious lenten meditations will be forthcoming ...

THE JOY OF FLOSSING

I spent part of yesterday at the dentist's office having my teeth cleaned by the hygienist. On balance, a fairly tolerable experience. Part of that experience is usually that of hearing the following question from my hygienist early on in my appointment: "Are you flossing?" This time it came even before I climbed into my chair. Now to me, that sounds like the equivalent of a street-corner preacher asking, "Are you saved?" There is something remotely evangelical in that question, "Are you flossing?" As if humanity were divided between those who floss (the "saved") and those who do not floss (the "lost"). And with the slightest twinge of "guilt" I usually say something to the effect that "I find flossing difficult." I always hope that there is something sufficiently vague and evasive about that response - it is not actually a "yes" or a "no" - to deflect the conversation elsewhere. No such luck this time, however. 

My hygienist, Michele by name, and a substitute for the usual hygienist, must have felt a professional duty that she should appraise me further of the joys - and benefits - of regular flossing. With a slight sigh in her voice which betrayed a certain sense of the uphill battle it would take to "convert" me, she fulfilled her role admirably. (Michele, by the way was very cordial and respectful by referring to me as "Reverend"). Hoping to shorten her disquisition on flossing, I employed a different strategy - after seeing some photos of children around the walls of the room - so I asked: "Are these your children?" This was effective, for I then immediately heard of her four lovely children (the first two were only sixteen months apart) and their most recent activities from piano to gymnastics. 

So, as I began to settle into my dental office chair, I was momentarily overcome by a sense of dissonance when Michele offered me a pair of wrap-around sunglasses! For a split second, I asked myself, "Just where am I?" Probably noticing my dumbfounded expression, it was immediately explained to me, that since she was going to use a bright light the better with which to explore the cavern of my mouth, the "shades" would bring some relief to this probing light. Thanking her for her consideration, and being a compliant patient(!), I obediently put on the sunglasses, and quipped to Michele, "If only my parishioners could see me now!" (I don't think I have ever worn a pair of sunglasses in my entire life). Looking up into that light through my protective sunglasses - protruding from her forehead and held in place by a band - Michele resembled something between a miner and a diamond appraiser. Lying back in my chair, with the wrap-around sunglasses and with my mouth wide open, I realized that I must look rather ridiculous. Hopefully, no one else will enter the room during my session, I thought to myself. 

The actual cleaning would have been quite uneventful except for this one "stubborn" (Michele's term) fragment of calculus (not math I was reassured) that would not yield to her dental pick. This "pick" has always troubled me since my childhood and it leaves me slightly on edge when it is being wielded in my mouth. To me, at least, it carries a certain ominous "weapon-like" look to it. One unforeseen jerk of the head, and you may just taste some blood in your mouth. At times I keep so still I am not even sure if I am breathing. The calculus, I learned, is actually solidified plaque, and is more resistant to removal for that very reason. Michele was determined to get that fragment away from my teeth and out of my mouth. Perhaps wanting to convince me of the nature of the impended struggle she brought me a mirror(!) and asked me to hold it up and see the fragment of calculus for myself. In the process of seeking out the recalcitrant calculus, an inadvertent glance at those wrap-around shades adorning my face only served to confirm my earlier impression of just how ridiculous I must have looked. But pushing such dour thoughts out of my mind, I settled down for the final assault on the calculus. When the stubborn fragment was finally defeated, I detected a certain sense of professional satisfaction on Michele's part. As the "Reverend," I was tempted to say, "Well done, good and faithful servant!" 

At this point we could now move onto the safer and more enjoyable experience of the final teeth polishing. When I was asked if I liked mint - which I am actually not very fond of - I thought it would not be age-appropriate to ask in turn what other flavors were available, so I reluctantly assented to the mint. Then came the final touch - the flossing of my teeth! - and a last reminder on how beneficial flossing actually is. Unable to respond verbally, I raised my eyebrows and opened my eyes wider in assent. My dentist (of twenty-five years now) came in for a final consultation, accompanied by some light doctor-patient banter, and when he delivered his final deliberation, "everything looks good," I was relieved and ready to depart. But Michele had to remind me that I was still wearing the sunglasses before I took them off! Fortunately, this happened before I made my way to the reception's desk to pick up my paperwork. I must add that my hygienist Michele proved to find a good balance between friendliness, experience and professionalism. I would highly recommend her to anyone seeking a dental hygienist.

Not sure that there is a "lesson" in all of this, but perhaps I could say that I am amazed at the conviction and perseverance with which certain persons can "evangelize" for their respective causes - eating healthy, physical exercise, alternative medicine, flossing(!) - even if they know that their respective interlocutors may not respond positively. I have often read where the saints lamented the fact that Christians do not love God and neighbor the way others love their passionate commitments. How distressingly true!

Re-centering Until Our Last Breath

 

Dear Parish Faithful & Friends in Christ,

"God requires of us to go on repenting until our last breath."   (St. Isaias the Solitary)

"Repentance... It means not self-pity or remorse, but conversion, the re-centering of our whole life upon the Trinity... It is to see, not what we have failed to be, but what by divine grace we can now become; and it is to act upon what we see."   (Archbishop Kallistos Ware)

I believe that we should think of the Sunday of the Prodigal Son extending itself throughout the week, thus giving us the Week of the Prodigal Son and the possibility of meditating upon this extraordinary parable carefully and thoughtfully. This parable is perhaps "the parable of parables," and thus deserving of a great deal of attention on our part. Sundays come and go, perhaps too rapidly, and we find ourselves back in our "routines," and living in a world far different than the one we are given a glimpse into through the Liturgy. That fleeting glimpse, which is actually a vision of life that is Christ-centered and Spirit-guided, may thus appear to be "ideal," but not "real." However, it may actually be the vision of the one underlying Reality of all that exists and which makes everything else not only tolerable or endurable, but meaningful and embraceable. If our liturgical and eucharistic experience is forgotten the moment it is over, as we move on to Sunday's entertainment, and then prepare to endure Monday morning's responsibilities; perhaps then we are "cheating" ourselves of "the one thing needful." And in the process we lose sight of the riches of the Gospel if we only absentmindedly await next Sunday's. That certainly applies to the Parable of the Prodigal Son!

Yet, before briefly looking into some of the riches of this well-known parable, perhaps we should place it within the wider context of its setting in the Gospel According to St. Luke. For the evangelist Luke places the Parable of the Prodigal Son as the climax of a series of three parables in chapter 15 that reveal the "joy in heaven" when sinners are "found" following an implied or clearly stated repentance. In fact, these parables are told to a group of "tax collectors and sinners" who "were drawing near to hear him." (LK. 15:1) The first of these is the Parable of the Lost Sheep:

What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness, and go after the one which is lost, until he finds it? And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep which was lost.' Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.(15:3-7)

The Parable of the Lost Coin follows immediately:

Or what woman, having ten silver coins, is she loses one coin, does not light a lamp and sweep the house and seek diligently until she finds it? And when she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin which I had lost.' Just so, I tell you , there is joy before the angels of God over one sinner who repents.(15:8-10)

These are wonderful parables that serve as images of our heavenly Father rejoicing when He "finds" a sinner who has returned to Him through repentance. This "rejoicing" links together these two shorter parables with the masterpiece to come that closes out this trilogy of repentance-oriented parables. For the father of the parable will command his household to "make merry" with the return of his wayward son. (15:24, 32) Repentance is not simply a time of hand-wringing, regret and guilt. It is the beginning of a new life and an open-ended future that is a radical change in direction from the "no exit" of sin and alienation from God. The somber and stultifying atmosphere of sin is driven away by the "breath" of the Spirit, which "blows where it wills." Of course, repentance is hard work - for old habits die hard - but sustained by the grace of God and the promise of salvation, the entire process to this day is most perfectly described by St. John Klimakos as "joy-creating sorrow." Remorse for the past devoid of forgiveness will only produce sorrow - if not despair. The acceptance of divine forgiveness produces joy - both for God and the sinner. A profound awareness of God's gift of salvation as the only meaningful release from the sorrow of sin leads to the "gift of tears" according to the experience of the saints. Their weeping was the expression of an inner joy that was overwhelming.

If (or As?) we squander our "inheritance" from our heavenly Father, we will unfailingly resemble that representative figure of the prodigal son. We too, then, "journey into a far country" there to waste our wealth in "loose living." (15:13) Unlike the prodigal son, though, we can do this without moving a step away from our homes. We need only retreat into the seemingly limitless space of our imaginations where fantasies entice us with unrealizable visions of "self-realization" or "pleasure." Then, there are the murky recesses of our hearts; uncharted territory that if not filled with the grace of God will "fill up" with "inner demons" that will eventually frighten us by the sheer audacity of temptations we never thought ourselves capable of entertaining. Or, perhaps a bit less dramatically, there are "the pods that the swine ate" (15:16), symbolic of philosophies and worldviews totally foreign to the Christ-centered life of the Church. The end result will be an emptiness and desolation that will exhaust our own inner resources. Our humbled minds and bodies will begin to search elsewhere for more satisfying nourishment. Anyone in such a predicament will only hope to be blessed - as was true of the prodigal son - with that mysterious process that leads to repentance, described simply as, "he came to himself." (15:17) Then, in words that have an urgency far greater than in an entire book of theology, we too may cry out, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me as one of your hired servants." (15:18-19)

We all know what follows: the compassionate father who runs to embrace his son in love; the clothing of the son in festal garments; the orders and preparations for a sumptuous banquet of joy; and the solemn words: "for this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found." (15:24) As this parable repeats itself endlessly until the end of time, with its finely-etched descriptions of sin, repentance and redemption; we continue to witness some of the "mini-resurrections" that make up the meaningful dramas of everyday life.

'Humility is a powerful force'

Dear Parish Faithful & Friends in Christ,

"Humility is a powerful force." 

- Prince Myshkin in The Idiot by Dostoevsky

In the Orthodox Church, the Parable of the Publican and the Pharisee (LK. 18:10-14) is the first of a cycle of appointed Gospel readings that inaugurates the pre-Lenten season. In other words, on an annual basis, precisely four weeks before Great Lent begins, we hear this parable proclaimed in the Liturgy. The intentions of the Lord in delivering this parable are clearly expressed in the solemn pronouncement following the parable itself:

"For every one who exalts himself will be humbled, but he who humbles himself will be exalted" (LK. 18:14).

The pride and self-righteousness of the Pharisee - he who "exalts himself" - is rather starkly contrasted with the humility and repentance - he who "humbles himself" - of the Publican. From these two examples of a revealed interior disposition, it is only the publican who is "justified" according to Christ. With a kind of "folk-wisdom" that would have resonated for his rural flock in early 20th c. Serbia, Bishop Nikolai Velimirovich recasts the parable in an earthy story form that seeks to reinforce Christ's teaching:

A man went into the forest to choose a tree from which to make roof-beams. And he saw two trees, one beside the other. 
One was smooth and tall, but had rotted away inside, and the other was rough on the outside and ugly, but its core was 
healthy. The man sighed, and said to himself: "What use is this smooth, tall tree to me if it is rotten inside and useless for 
beams? The other one, even if it is rough and ugly, is at least healthy on the inside and so, if I put a bit more effort into it, 
I can use it for roof-beams for my house." And, without thinking any more about it, he chose that tree. 

 

And just to be certain, Bp. Nikolai drives home the moral point in the following conclusion:

So will God choose between two men for His house, and will choose, not the one who appears outwardly righteous, but 
the one whose heart is filled with God's healthy righteousness.

The Pharisee acted according to the Law, keeping himself externally free from sin, fasting twice a week and paying a tithe on all that he had. It would be wonderful if members of the Church lived and acted like that with such consistency! However, it is the interior orientation of the heart that Christ is most concerned with; and it is here that the Pharisee twisted righteousness into self-righteousness which is basically a form of idolatry - worship of the "self." Do any of us escape that self-deceptive trap? If not, then better to admit it, as St. John Chrysostom reminds us:

It is evil to sin, though help can be given; but to sin, and not to admit it - there is no help here.

The humility of the publican is perhaps best expressed in a series of short descriptions - unwillingness to look up towards heaven, the beating of the breast, the plaintive cry: "Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner" - rather than in an intellectually-constructed abstraction. Moved by an awareness of God's holiness and his own sinfulness, the publican did not fear to openly express his humility upon entering the Temple. 

But why do we fear humility? How does the very concept of humility seem to frighten us, if only unconsciously? Perhaps we fear being taken advantage of, of being used by others, of "losing ground" in our struggle to not only get ahead, but to simply survive in a harsh world. We equate humility - wrongfully, I am convinced - with weakness, timidity, fear of conflict, etc. We may occasionally use the language of humility, but deep down, we "know better." We may even practice a cautious form of humility but only if that will allow us to remain in our "comfort zones." But do we actually know better? Can we actually ignore a universally-acclaimed Christian virtue without having experienced it ourselves? And yet, we literally depend upon the humility of Christ for our salvation! And we praise and glorify Christ precisely because of His humility! Perhaps, then, if we ever made a sustained effort to be humble, we would appraise this essential virtue differently. As the saints teach us:

Until a human person achieves humility, he will receive no reward for his works. The reward is given not for our works but for our humility. (St. Isaac the Syrian) 

A humble person never falls. Being already lower than any, where can he fall? Vanity is a great humiliation, but humility is a great exalting, honor and dignity. (St. Macarius the Great)

The Gospel - based on the scandal of the Cross - has turned many things upside down. In God's judgment, according to Christ, the proud are humbled and the humbled are exalted. The Parable of the Publican and the Pharisee sets this choice before us.  

Bored by Sin - Reconsidering 'Groundhog Day', again

 

Dear Parish Faithful,

Today is the Feast of the Meeting of the Lord. And yesterday evening we celebrated a wonderful Vesperal Liturgy with many worshipers present.

However, February 2 is also Groundhog Day. Not a "feast day" on my calendar, I can assure you. Yet, Groundhog Day brings to my mind a film by the very same title, i.e. "Groundhog Day."

I know that many people have seen this film, but I wonder how many realize just how "theological" of a film it actually is, though under the cover of being a romantic comedy. That theological dimension is what struck me probably after more than one viewing.

Some time ago, I wrote a film review of "Groundhog Day" and titled the review "Bored By Sin," which I thought was one of the major themes of the film. Many of you have probably read this review in the past; and it is one of the meditations included in my new book. Yet, for those who have not read it before; or for those who may want to revisit it, I have included it here below. If you have actually seen "Groundhog Day" and would like to share your own comments or understanding of the film, please feel free to do so in the comments panel below. I can assure you that I would be glad to hear back from you.

Fr. Steven

+ + +

'Bored By Sin'

Archpriest Steven C. Kostoff

Perhaps some of you recall the film "Groundhog Day" that goes back to 1991. If not quite a "cult classic" (it was too mainstream for that), it was immensely popular and was subject to multiple viewings and an endless flow of commentary and interpretation. The lead role seemed to be a perfect fit for precisely Bill Murray's type of deadpan and highly ironic sense of humor.

Having enjoyed the film myself, and having seen it a few times, I suggested "Groundhog Day" for our latest Feature Film Festival for the parish, based on some of the themes that I will expand on below. When we watched the film together I believe that it was thoroughly enjoyed by one and all. There was certainly a great deal of laughter!

Yet, the purpose of our watching films together, beyond the social significance of "getting together" as a group, is to find those films that are morally and ethically probing, in addition to their "entertainment value." Movies and movie-going dominates our popular culture, so trying to deepen that experience a bit strikes me as a sound idea. In other words, we try and choose films that will make everyone think. That is the purpose of our post-film discussions.

So why choose a film such as "Groundhog Day," a film described as "zany" and "wacky?" 

Now, there is no doubt that "Groundhog Day" plays as a very effective and highly entertaining romantic comedy. However, this is deceptive for there are layers of meaning underneath that rather well-worn and rather predictable genre. 

How many people are aware of the fact that at least for a few years after its release, "Groundhog Day" was subject to a great deal of philosophical and even theological commentary and interpretation? I recall reading many insightful reviews of this film in some very "high brow" journals. What makes all of that even more intriguing is that the director, Harold Ramis, claims that all of that went beyond his intention in making the film. The creative process can be mysterious.

"Groundhog Day" is essentially a romantic comedy with a real twist. It charts the life of a rather cynical and ambitious Pittsburgh weatherman, Phil Connors, played perfectly by Bill Murray. His self-absorption and unapologetic egoism are of gargantuan proportions. His charm is manipulative and self-serving. As the center of the universe, apparently everyone and everything around him is meant to satisfy his needs and desires. As he admits later in the film, he is a "real jerk." Phil the weatherman is sent to Punxsutawney, PA, in order to cover the groundhog day festivities there. In his mind, it promises to be a boring excursion into small town existence. At one point, he contemptuously calls the local population "hicks." He is accompanied by his TV station's producer, Rita, and cameraman Larry. Obviously, Phil does not want to be there, and can't leave soon enough once his responsibilities are fulfilled. However, a blizzard that he failed to predict, sends him back to the small town for at least one more night. When confronted with the blizzard, he angrily shouts back to the highway patrolman: "I make the weather!" But even he is forced to succumb to the power of nature and back to town he goes.

Yet, Phil wakes up the "next day" only to discover that it is February 2 and groundhog day all over again - exactly, down to every detail. He is now trapped in an inexplicable "time warp" that forces him to relive the same day over and over again, apparently without end - into eternity itself. It is the myth of the "eternal return" but on a daily basis in small town Punxsutawney! It is a living nightmare. The film wisely makes not even the slightest attempt at explaining this new reality. How could it? It simply is, and Phil is helplessly caught in it alone, for the same people that he meets are unaware of his predicament. They remain as static and unchanging as the surrounding environment. 

At first bewildered and frightened, Phil begins to make "adjustments" to his new situation. His "selfish gene" kicks into action. He soon realizes that his newly-achieved "immortality" means that his actions on one day have no consequences for there no longer exists a "tomorrow." There is no one or nothing to answer to. As it plays out in the film, it is something of a lighthearted version of Dostoevsky's aphorism, "if there is no God, then everything is permissible." Phil can now break any conceivable law - civic, social, moral, divine - with total impunity. He can now unleash his hidden passions with no restraint or "anticipatory anxiety." He can "eat, drink, and be merry" without the slightest cost to his well-being - or so it seems to him. The film exploits all of this to wonderful comic effect, and it is hard to dislike Phil in the process, "jerk" that he is. But perhaps our sympathy with Phil is grounded in the "fact" that he is living out some of our own uninspired fantasies. As in: what would you do if you won a billion dollar lottery? Or, what would you do or be like if there were no consequences to your actions?

One of the great insights of our spiritual tradition is that sin - beyond its moral, ethical and spiritually corrupting effect - is ultimately boring. Besides immediate satisfaction it remains a distortion of true life, and instead of yielding an enhanced sense of life - or "living life" as Dostoevsky would call it - sin devolves into an empty caricature of life. It is the negation of life. That is why spiritual death precedes biological death. Repetition is not a relief, but an increase of this intolerable boredom. The passions are insatiable. Sin is thus an existential vacuum that is suffocating in its long-term effects. Unconsciously, or perhaps intuitively, Phil begins to realize this after endless bouts of "wine, women and song." Daily dissipation has worn him out. He embodies the biblical "vanity of vanities." His moral universe is unaware of a "higher reality," so he looks elsewhere for relief.

Although consistently maintaining its comic touch, the film now steers us in a darker direction. Attaining a sort of pseudo-omniscience by being able to predict the daily events around him, and realizing that he cannot die, Phil begins to fancy himself a "god." Not "the God" as he admits, but a "god" nevertheless. There is nothing new left to experience so he turns to suicide. Life is boring, so he will now try death! Phil now explores the many "creative" ways in which a person can commit suicide - from driving trucks over steep cliffs, swan-diving off of tall buildings, or electrocuting himself in the bathtub. This can be interpreted as a grisly form of finding relief to the nightmare quality of having to live out the same day in isolation from a non-comprehending humanity; or the thoroughly desperate attempt to discover some more "kicks" in his morally meandering and meaningless existence.

But what actually "kicks in" at this point of the film is the slow transformation of Phil after he has bottomed-out in the manner described above. The film has a "moral," and I believe that it is effectively realized in a natural and unforced manner that is not merely sentimental or banal keeping in mind the genre and intent of this film. And again, with a lighthearted touch that probably increases its effectiveness. Remembering that this is a romantic comedy, the question becomes: will the guy - or how will the guy - get the girl in the end? Phil has resorted to endless subterfuge in order to seduce Rita the producer. Try as he might, this is the one thing he could not succeed at, regardless of his great advantage of knowing her "inside out" after living out an endless amount of days with her over and over, each one ending with a well-deserved slap to the face as Phil's real intentions become obvious. Rita is quite attractive, but more importantly she is a genuinely "good person" with a pure heart and honest intentions. Within his juvenile universe of a warped moral sensitivity Phil does not understand this.

Yet, something happens within Phil and he begins to radically change by no longer living for himself alone. He somehow breaks through his narcissistic and solipsistic one-person universe. (There is a key scene involving a death in which he realizes that he is not actually a "god"). He discovers the "other," and this discovery is transformative. He beings to live altruistically. In fact, the film can be seen on one level as the transformation of Phil Connors from a "jerk' into a genuine human being. And this will prove to be the way into the heart of Rita. Genuine virtue, as the great saints both taught and realized in their lives, is never boring as long as it does not lapse into formalism and/or moralism. It bears fruit a hundredfold when practiced with patience and the love of the "other" primarily in mind. It is the means of ascending up the ladder of divine ascent, as St. Klimakos demonstrated. Virtue is endlessly creative, since it extends and expands our humanity beyond the limits of the self. As Phil will discover, it is also the means of breaking through the meaningless "eternal return" that has taken him down into the inferno and back. But perhaps that is something that you may want to see for yourself.

"Groundhog Day" remains consistent from start to finish. The ending is satisfying and not simply anti-climatic. The screenplay is clever, sharp and humorous, and regardless of its intentions, or lack thereof, raises many genuinely "profound" issues that can be explored and expanded upon. I may have given away too much in my commentary, but I would still recommend it if you haven't seen it before. It is highly entertaining. When we think of such topics as sin, repentance and virtue, the film lends itself to a "Christian interpretation" that is not unduly forced, but rather flows naturally and instinctively from the predicament as conceived and presented. Such discoveries can be rewarding. All in all, a worthwhile film from a variety of perspectives.