Reading Frederica’s book on the Canon of St. Andrew has made me appreciate the Canon services I visited this week and find again one of those times when Orthodox worship shows the kind of elaboration that comes from centuries of piety and reflection. And because my mind always goes off on rabbit trails, it has made me think of Celtic knots and the Book of Kells.

The Book of Kells is a masterpiece of 9th century Celtic monks, a book containing the four Gospels and so richly and incredibly ornamented (or — more rightly described, “illuminated”) that you simply cannot believe that it could’ve been done without the mindless but superhuman aid of computers. (For example, take a look here and here). I’ve been privileged to see it twice, and both times I was left wondering who these monks were and how they could have developed these leaps and bounds of decoration. And both times I realized that this is the very human result of the constant meditation of the Gospels that monks would have known. To reflect upon the words “In the beginning was the Word…” (for example) until each word and each letter of each word seemed to emanate its own particular call upon the soul, like bells ringing in different tones, would make such elaboration seem like the visual evidence of a spiritual reality, a sort of tapestry that had been woven internally so that it could be duplicated externally.

That came to mind again when reading the introduction of “First Fruits.” I have been at the St. Andrew’s Canon services in years past, and I’m sorry to say that I probably wasn’t paying much attention. I think I was vaguely aware of nine increments of chants made up of reflections on repentance followed by responses of “Have mercy on me, O Lord, have mercy on me.” And that’s about all I could make out of it, except that it seemed to hit on a lot of Biblical references. All of that is true, but what I was missing was the context that pulls it all together and makes sense out of over 250 verses of Orthodox poetry.

The Nine Canticles

“As a young monk, St. Andrew would have heard every day, at the matins service, the nine Biblical Canticles. (They’re sometimes called Odes, or Songs.) These very rich passages of Scripture praise God for His work in history for our salvation. … The Biblical Canticles are:

1. The First Song of Moses, Exodus 15:1-8
   (”I will sing unto the Lord for He has triumphed gloriously.”)
2. The Second Song of Moses, Deuteronomy 32:1-43
   (”Give ear, O heavens, and I will speak.”)
3. The Song of Hannah, 1 Samuel 2:1-10
   (”My heart exults in the Lord.”)
4. The Song of Habbakuk, Habbakuk 3:2-19
   (”O Lord, I have heard the report of Thee.”)
5. The Song of Isaiah, Isaiah 26:9-21
   (”My soul yearns for Thee in the night.”)
6. The Song of Jonah, Jonah 2:2-9
   (”I called to the Lord, out of my distress.”)
7. The First Song of the Three Young Men, Septuagint Daniel 3:26-56
   (”Blessed art Thou, O Lord.”)

8. The Second Song the Three Young Men, Septuagint Daniel 3:57-88
   (”Bless the Lord, all ye works of the Lord.”)

9. The Song of the Virgin Mary, Luke 1:46-55
   (”My soul magnifies the Lord,” ) … the Magnificat, combined with
   The Song of Zacharias, Luke 1:68-79
   (”Blessed by the God of Israel”) … the Benedictus

And as St. Andrew heard them and meditated on them, he started to add thoughts, to build the theme of each one and develop each Song into a themed Ode, and all nine of those into the Canon.

Wheels within wheels
In other words:

• Each verse could stand alone as a call to repentance:
  For example, “Christ became a man, taking our flesh and of His own free will experiencing everything which pertains to our human nature except sin. He has shown you an example — the image of His own condescension.”
• But it also develops the theme of the Canticle. For each Ode, many verses like the one above are grouped together, and started off with an irmos from that Canticle, like a story that flows from a lede paragraph. For example:
  The troparion above is from the 9th Canticle, which is based on the Magnificat. So the theme is the Incarnation and Advent of Christ and the irmos is “Inexplicable is the nativity of conception without seed: Incorruptible is the fruit of the spouseless Mother; for the birth of God renews nature: Wherefore do all generations right-gloriously magnify you, as Bride and Mother of our God.” The 20-30 troparia that follow relate back to the irmos.
• And that entire Ode has its place in the Canon, the theme of which (obviously) is contrition:
  The 9th Ode is the last one, and the only one to draw on a New Testament reference. So the previous Odes have gone through the Old Testament in more or less chronological order, along with some personal reflection and a constant dialogue with the soul to draw lessons from these examples and repent. The 9th Ode compares the juridical covenant of the Law with the merciful covenant of the Gospel, and goes through Christ’s ministry, crucifixion and resurrection.

So to re-cap — entire mini-homily verse wrapped inside entire themed Ode wrapped inside Bible-in-an-hour plus monastic expressions Canon, bookended with prayers and psalms and offered up every year. It’s like a fabulous tapestry woven 12 centuries ago by a master weaver calling upon a lifetime of joy and sorrow. Or like the decorations inside the illustrations inside the pages of a Celtic labor of love.

But wait, there’s more …

• The story of St. Mary of Egypt also shows up, like a silver thread that glints out in a different color from the rest. And even St. Andrew appears in some troparia, obviously inserted at a later date.
• The Biblical allegories are extensive, drawing not only from Moses, David and Samuel but from Japheth, Hagar and Reuben. It’s quite a Bible Bowl workout to try to keep up with them all. Apparently, St. Andrew knew his Bible and assumed that those hearing the Canon would too.
• Because it was all still too simple, St. Andrew also related the meter and timbre of the troparia of each Ode back to its irmos. Each Ode of the Canon has its own pattern, though Frederica notes that many of the nuances of this are lost in the translation to English.
• Because even that was too simple, he occasionally got, y’know, clever:
  

  This elaborate structure is impressive in the original: sometimes it included additional fancy footwork, such as acrostics[!!]

It gets a little difficult to see in the first week of Lent, because St. Andrew’s Canon was so long that it was divided up into four parts. So the Canon is done in part on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday (when many churches prefer to just do a Pre-sanctified Liturgy) and Thursday. But it’s done in its entirety in the fifth week of Lent, and though it makes for a long service, the picture might be more cohesive overall.

Or so I think. I’m looking forward to finding out. I’ll be that crazy lady breaking down the door of the church to hear St. Andrew’s Canon a month from now. Hate to look like an Orthodox wacko (again!), but things like this don’t come along every day.