Thanksgiving, Salvation, and Eternal Joy Fr. Alexander Schmemann – A Personal Memoir by Fr. Paul Lazor Summer/Fall 2014
[This is from Fr. Lazor’s presentation delivered at the 23rd Annual Fr. Alexander Schmemann Memorial Lecture on January 27, 2007. The full text is available online by doing a search of the title.] The Father Alexander Schmemann I have been blessed to know, remember and love is a man with grandparents and parents to whom he referred with respect throughout his life. He was a man who fully shared his life with “Liana” (Juliana), his beloved wife and faithful friend, with whom he had children and grandchildren, who in turn were objects of the couple’s mutual love and ongoing attention. He was a RussianParisian who knew and loved the names of particular streets, sites and noteworthy annual events in both Paris and New York; who was regularly in a straightforward dialogue about “the truth of the Gospel” (Gal 2:14) in both Europe and America; who demonstrated a special familiarity and sympathy toward the languages and cultural contexts of the many places and persons he came to know and serve. He was reverently at home at the holy altar of the Church, especially that of the Seminary Chapel, where he celebrated the liturgy and preached God’s word with great focus, depth and joy. He was profoundly conscious of being in God’s presence at another, more humble kind of altar: the sacred desk of his little office at home, where, looking through the window and observing keenly the daily weather, he was prompted by an inner voice (as he once described his mode of writing) to write (by hand) his books and articles, and to respond personally to myriad letters.
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He was comfortable at the table of a great French or Armenian restaurant, but also enjoyed himself enormously at a typical American picnic, holding a “good old” hotdog, as he called it, in one hand, and a cold beer in the other. He was attracted to the greatest intellectuals and writers (not only to their thoughts, but especially to their biographies, where he noted carefully the manner
in which they identified and worked through the difficult issues of their lives, i.e., how they, as he would say, “dealt with what they were dealt”). He often read as many as one such book per week. He was equally appreciative, however, of the pious and simple, labor-class parishioners of the many Orthodox parishes throughout America where he regularly conducted retreats and lectures. This is the man I recall with love and gratitude… Late in the summer of 1982, after returning from his “break” in Labelle, Canada, Fr. Alexander met personally with Natasha and me and informed us that, since the beginning of his summer stay in Canada, he had not been feeling well. He spoke calmly, saying that in his adult life he had never been really sick, and was fully cognizant of the incredible blessings bestowed on him. During a lengthy stay at the New York Hospital in the final week of September and early October, his condition was diagnosed as cancer. When he was released from the Hospital, he summoned Fr. Hopko, David Drillock and me to his home after Vespers one evening to inform us of the diagnosis. Once again, he spoke calmly and courageously, stating that by no means was he giving up. He was ready to obey the doctors and do all that was possible to fight this terrible disease. Nevertheless, he made sober admission that everything, including life, has its limits and, sooner or later, in one or another way, all things in this world must come to an end. He asked for our understanding, support and prayers. After several months, the chemotherapy and other difficult treatments he endured during his many regular trips to medical facilities in New York City began to take their toll. His body weakened. He began to lose his hair. On one occasion, as we walked side by side across the Seminary grounds near the monument at the bottom of the Chapel’s hillside, he reached up to his head and simply pulled out a clump of his hair, As he scattered the clump into the air, he turned to me and, revealing a certain sadness, said: “It will be a humiliation to the end!” His appetite also began to fade. Yet, one morning over our breakfast after Matins in the
