Thanks for this post, Nicole! Appreciation for the Typika is not something I see often.
I'll just add that the regular Typika service, as part of the daily office, is actually prescribed for every day when there's not a Liturgy. (The Lenten Typika service is prescribed for weekdays of Lent even when there is a Presanctified or, in the case of Annunciation, a Vesperal Liturgy.) So in monasteries the Typika (if it's done, it might not be actually done everywhere) is part of the regular rhythm of daily liturgical life. And in a men's monastery, at least, it would indeed be done with a priest present giving the blessings as usual! Women's monasteries often don't have priests around serving daily services.
I can always count on you to bring the finer liturgical nuances! :) Thanks for sharing this and explaining these differences and similarities.
I was/am aware that the Typika is used on days when there's not liturgies. I didn't bring that into play a) because I have less experience with Typika services outside the occasional use in my parish I've described; and b) because even though we're talking about the same thing, we're also kind of talking about different things? For some reason, Sunday morning Typika in a parish setting during Pascha (when there *should* and otherwise *would* be a liturgy) hits differently (for me anyway) than a weekday Typika in the middle of Lent in a monastery (Although I say this as someone who's never been in a monastery during Lent or any for any other extended period to really get the experiential feel of daily Typika services.) One feels like the daily grind while the other feels like pure luxury. (I am a very lazy Christian.)
Yes, definitely two different experiences. I've experienced typika services in a parish setting also. Just adding to the experience you describe with another one of the same thing---was not intending to disagree with you! Maybe I could have made that clearer. (Though I might disagree a bit with the idea that monastics experience the office as a daily grind.) But the experience of women's monasteries in particular is an interesting point of convergence, because most services are (often) done as reader's services. So they're missing the litanies etc...and it does feel different without them.
Nice post, Nicole. To me it reads like a confession wrapped in a meditation… the kind where the doubter and the devout turn out to be the same person. There’s actually something quietly sacramental in the way you dredge up dead squirrels (both literal and liturgical) to uncover the stubborn holiness beneath the mess.
Your Typika as “fast fashion Temu liturgy” is a sharp line. As I read it a strange image popped into my head… of it being muttered in the back of a half-empty parish hall by some chain-smoking angel who’s seen it all. But just when the cynicism threatens to curdle, grace slips in anyway. The absence of the Eucharist becomes its own kind of presence… the fumbled blessings, a liturgy of human awkwardness.
What I think you bring out so well is this: that the sacred isn’t found in the pristine but in the patched-together. A drained pool, a priestless service, a squirrel carcass… all of them cracked vessels for something like joy. It’s clear from this piece that you know, in your bones, that faith isn’t about the perfect performance but the stumbles, the silences, the walk-of-shame back to the pew when you realize no one’s there to bless you.
And isn’t that the point? God doesn’t wait for the water to clear. He’s in the algae, the chlorine, the neighbor’s hurled stones. The Typika, just like life, is indeed a baste-stitched outline, and you’ve stitched your words here with the same rough redemptive thread.
A fine piece. Uncomfortable, but true.
Oh… and that line about the shape of love itself being a sort of cosmic call-and-response? I’ll be turning that one over in my head for weeks… probably muttering it to myself over lukewarm coffee.
"There’s actually something quietly sacramental in the way you dredge up dead squirrels (both literal and liturgical) to uncover the stubborn holiness beneath the mess." Please feel free to review my writing any time, Steve!! I love this so much 😂
No but seriously, thank you for taking the time for such a thoughtful and articulate response. The underlying sacramental themes you (beautifully) reflect back are so much apart of why I wrote this piece, and write in general. Thank you!
Thanks for this post, Nicole! Appreciation for the Typika is not something I see often.
I'll just add that the regular Typika service, as part of the daily office, is actually prescribed for every day when there's not a Liturgy. (The Lenten Typika service is prescribed for weekdays of Lent even when there is a Presanctified or, in the case of Annunciation, a Vesperal Liturgy.) So in monasteries the Typika (if it's done, it might not be actually done everywhere) is part of the regular rhythm of daily liturgical life. And in a men's monastery, at least, it would indeed be done with a priest present giving the blessings as usual! Women's monasteries often don't have priests around serving daily services.
I can always count on you to bring the finer liturgical nuances! :) Thanks for sharing this and explaining these differences and similarities.
I was/am aware that the Typika is used on days when there's not liturgies. I didn't bring that into play a) because I have less experience with Typika services outside the occasional use in my parish I've described; and b) because even though we're talking about the same thing, we're also kind of talking about different things? For some reason, Sunday morning Typika in a parish setting during Pascha (when there *should* and otherwise *would* be a liturgy) hits differently (for me anyway) than a weekday Typika in the middle of Lent in a monastery (Although I say this as someone who's never been in a monastery during Lent or any for any other extended period to really get the experiential feel of daily Typika services.) One feels like the daily grind while the other feels like pure luxury. (I am a very lazy Christian.)
Yes, definitely two different experiences. I've experienced typika services in a parish setting also. Just adding to the experience you describe with another one of the same thing---was not intending to disagree with you! Maybe I could have made that clearer. (Though I might disagree a bit with the idea that monastics experience the office as a daily grind.) But the experience of women's monasteries in particular is an interesting point of convergence, because most services are (often) done as reader's services. So they're missing the litanies etc...and it does feel different without them.
This made me smile! Thank you.
Ha ha I'm glad! 🐿️💀
Nice post, Nicole. To me it reads like a confession wrapped in a meditation… the kind where the doubter and the devout turn out to be the same person. There’s actually something quietly sacramental in the way you dredge up dead squirrels (both literal and liturgical) to uncover the stubborn holiness beneath the mess.
Your Typika as “fast fashion Temu liturgy” is a sharp line. As I read it a strange image popped into my head… of it being muttered in the back of a half-empty parish hall by some chain-smoking angel who’s seen it all. But just when the cynicism threatens to curdle, grace slips in anyway. The absence of the Eucharist becomes its own kind of presence… the fumbled blessings, a liturgy of human awkwardness.
What I think you bring out so well is this: that the sacred isn’t found in the pristine but in the patched-together. A drained pool, a priestless service, a squirrel carcass… all of them cracked vessels for something like joy. It’s clear from this piece that you know, in your bones, that faith isn’t about the perfect performance but the stumbles, the silences, the walk-of-shame back to the pew when you realize no one’s there to bless you.
And isn’t that the point? God doesn’t wait for the water to clear. He’s in the algae, the chlorine, the neighbor’s hurled stones. The Typika, just like life, is indeed a baste-stitched outline, and you’ve stitched your words here with the same rough redemptive thread.
A fine piece. Uncomfortable, but true.
Oh… and that line about the shape of love itself being a sort of cosmic call-and-response? I’ll be turning that one over in my head for weeks… probably muttering it to myself over lukewarm coffee.
"There’s actually something quietly sacramental in the way you dredge up dead squirrels (both literal and liturgical) to uncover the stubborn holiness beneath the mess." Please feel free to review my writing any time, Steve!! I love this so much 😂
No but seriously, thank you for taking the time for such a thoughtful and articulate response. The underlying sacramental themes you (beautifully) reflect back are so much apart of why I wrote this piece, and write in general. Thank you!