Glory To God In All Things
By: Lucy Cuneo
I gaze upon the rolling waves of the mighty Pacific crashing beyond the flowering hills surrounding the ranch where I live, sequestered outside the sprawling limits of Tijuana, Mexico. Frustrated shrieks of a gaggle of kids playing fútbol waft through the salty breeze, bringing my thoughts back to the dusty place that fifty people from two countries call home. St. Innocent’s Orphanage welcomes boys from the ages of three days to seventeen years, and they can stay here as long as they are in school. Since the orphanage and foster care system overlap in Mexico, a lot of our boys still have family out there, but they were removed from a neglectful or abusive situation by a government agency (DIF). Our ocean view affords a panoramic scene of the gorgeous sunsets, and right now the scarlet rays are refracting through the tears brimming in my eyes, brought there by a recent reminder of how much our kids have already suffered in their short lives. Oftentimes the afflictions of the world distort or threaten to devalue the goodness baked into every corner of Creation. What can our feeble response to such overwhelming dissonance look like? Without wading too deeply into the murky waters of theodicy and tritely explaining “7 hacks to understand the problem of evil in the world,” I’ll offer an attitude of life that has comforted and uplifted me, especially during my past year on the ranch: radical thanksgiving.
Every week during the summer, we gather in the chapel to sing my favorite prayer service: the Akathist of Thanksgiving. An akathist (which literally translates to “without-sitting”) is a long prayer in the Eastern Orthodox tradition divided into 13 sections (each subdivided into an Kontakion and an Ikos), usually dedicated to Christ, the Mother of God, or a special saint, often in supplication or praise. The Akathist of Thanksgiving draws one’s attention to the manifold features of God’s hand in every moment of our life. The refrain in every section compels us to say: “Glory to Thee, Oh God, from age to age” for the simple joys of “each different taste of berry and fruit,” for the consolation of “Thine eternity in this fleeting world,” and for the bittersweet “curing [of] our pride of our heart by humiliation.” The precise praise of each and every detail of existence convicts us to render thanks to God for the mundane, the sublime, and, mysteriously, for the painful parts of life as well. I will share some of my favorite lines in these veins, but mostly encourage you to read the whole thing for yourself (just Google “Akathist of Thanksgiving” and give yourself a treat). It’s very accessible for all Christians, and non-Christians of course. No Marian hymns here—plenty of those in the Paraklesis and other akathists!
The Akathist’s walk through the profound simplicity of nature rivals any National Geographic documentary. The first-person voice throughout invites us to personally participate in each sigh of amazement at “the soothing murmur of the forest and the melodious music of the streams. We have tasted fruit of fine flavour and the sweet-scented honey. It is a pleasure to be Thy guest.” We give thanks to “the Holy Spirit who makes us find joy in each flower, the exquisite scent, the delicate color, the beauty of the Most High in the tiniest of things…Oh be joyful and sing to Him: Alleluia!” All these earthly signs point toward “the hope of the unutterable, imperishable beauty of immortality,” bringing joy both in their own existence and in the promise they offer of the eternal beauty to come.
Creation’s material features are only the warmup to this rousing hymn of praise. Up next, we glorify the gifts of intellectual and immaterial dimensions: “The breath of Thine Holy Spirit inspires artists, poets, and scientists,” for indeed, “all true beauty has the power to draw the soul towards Thee.” The consistency of our Creator manifests itself in the laws of nature, but we still can’t fully comprehend the depth of his majesty. Better give thanks for that, too! “Glory to Thee for what Thou hast revealed to us in Thine mercy. Glory to Thee for what Thou hast hidden from us in Thy wisdom.” Humanity’s very propensity to remain “dissatisfied with earthly things” is cause for thanksgiving, because that pricks an “unquenchable thirst for communion with God,” whose lightning flashes of glory reveals “how drab, how colorless, how illusory all else seems.” We are gifted the yearning to know and create beauty, to act as sub-creators and catch glimpses into the wondrous working of God’s mind, and humble gratitude overflows as a result.
However, we shove so many of our experiences behind perplexing and sorrowful veils, mourning the apparent absence of any beauty or consolation. Must we give thanks for that? The akathist reminds us of the ever-presence of our loving father: “how near Thou art in the day of sickness…in the throes of sorrow and suffering Thou bringest peace and unexpected consolation. Thou art the comforter.” After every scratch of our soul mysteriously permitted by God, we hold eternal hope in His healing ointment. One explanation takes the form of cultivating empathy: “Glory to Thee, sending us failure and misfortune that we may understand the sorrows of others,” while another line emphasizes the possibility for personal growth: “Glory to Thee for raising us from the slough of our passions through suffering.” All of these approaches draw our attention to ways in which we can participate in living every moment for the greater good and glory of God. While we can easily extol “the sweet perfume of lilies and roses” or “the inventiveness of the human mind,” the aching of a sorrowful heart pleads for a deeper answer. In this service (and, I would argue, in the wider Christian life), we must acknowledge our humbleness and raise our trembling, empty hands to God for comfort. Not all is good in the world, but there is still Good. The akathist acknowledges this, encouraging us that “the dark storm clouds of life bring no terror to those in whose hearts Thy fire is burning brightly. Outside is the darkness of the whirlwind, the terror and howling of the storm, but in the heart, in the presence of Christ, there is light and peace, silence: Alleluia!” I think of this section as a call to action and an ideal portrayal of a saintly heart fully united with God. We call these images before us to give us strength and hope in the weariness of daily struggles.
Each of these three themes of the akathist act as little paths to guide our soul toward God: the simple joys of nature, the invigorating working of the human mind, and even the inexplicable disappointment of the broken heart. God works in and through these things, for He is a complex and multi-faceted God who cares for every nuance and crack of His creatures. Our response in all situations can be a sweet or sorrowful “Thank God.”
The sun has now set and the boys are sweatily traipsing upstairs to give a quick hug and ask for a bedtime story. I am grateful for another day alive in the presence of their joy. Glory to God for all things.
Lucy Cuneo | ‘23
I’m a 2023 grad not doing anything related to my Classics degree, but loving life serving at an Orthodox Christian orphanage near Tijuana, Mexico. I volunteer full time taking care of our orphaned infants and co-direct our summer homebuilding program for 600+ American volunteers. Who knew my leadership experience with GOAL would transfer so directly?
