...all things visible and invisible

Blog is moving

2009-06-25T09:31:00.002-04:00

But have no fear...it should mean easier posting, which could mean more posting. COULD mean.

http://rsgreen30.wordpress.com

Christos Vozkrese!

2009-04-19T02:02:00.003-04:00

From the Paschal homily of St. John Chrysostom:

Let no one fear death, for the Saviour's death has set us free.

He that was taken by death has annihilated it! He descended into hell and took hell captive! He embittered it when it tasted his flesh! And anticipating this Isaiah exclaimed, "Hades was embittered when it encountered thee in the lower regions." It was embittered, for it was abolished! It was embittered, for it was mocked! It was embittered, for it was purged! It was embittered, for it was despoiled! It was embittered, for it was bound in chains!

It took a body and, face to face, met God! It took earth and encountered heaven! It took what it saw but crumbled before what it had not seen!

"O death, where is thy sting? O hades, where is thy victory?"

Christ is risen, and you are overthrown!

Voistina Vozkrese!

Imagine with me if you will...

2009-04-17T21:26:00.004-04:00

Christ died. Every. single. year. I am struck by that. Christ, one of the Holy Trinity. died.

From the Lamentations (Matins of Great and Holy Saturday)
Let awe and wonder shake the heavens
and let the earth's foundations quake
For He who dwells in the heavens is laid
within a dark and dismal tomb
And numbered among the dead...

Can you imagine this from the point of view of those long-dead? From the perspective of the demons?

The hymns we sang tonight talked about the chaos that likely ensued when Christ descended into hell and freed the captives. For like two seconds it looked like evil and death had triumphed, but then He-who-created-the-world showed up.

So for me, for those of us here on earth, Christ is dead and in the tomb. But there's so much more going on.

Holy Week humbling

2009-04-15T17:11:00.004-04:00

Lent did to me what it always does to me...and I guess what is supposed to do...revealed those areas in my life that need some shoring up, some care and tending to. For me, this year, that's been a lot about my cynicism and my aggressive irritation with those around me: the least of these, usually, who stand in the way of my progress toward wherever it is I think I'm going, or think I need to go.

Then, yesterday, I saw this little clip on YouTube...you know the clip I'm talking about. And Miss Susan Boyle showed me what grace looks like. She took me to a place where I needed to go, but I confess I didn't expect it. Come on, neither did you. I was just like Simon Cowell, cringing at the thought of whatever was going to come out of her mouth and smugly looking forward to the trainwreck that was about to ensue.

And as I watched it unfold on my computer at work, I tried not to weep. I thought about her all evening, as I sat before the icons during Pre-Sanctified Liturgy. I thought about how grace-less I am, and how I do not treat people with anything remotely resembling the respect due them as those created in the image of God.

So, thank you, Susan Boyle. Thank you for being an instrument of God's grace in my life. Thank you for holding up the mirror of my own heart in front of my eyes so I could see those areas that needed polishing so I can better reflect that Divine Image. Thank you, Susan Boyle, for blessing this Holy Week for me in a very real way.

Forgive me...and may God forgive us

2009-03-01T21:24:00.003-05:00

Forgiveness Sunday...the first Sunday of Great Lent...and an evening spent seeking the forgiveness of my brothers and sisters, many of whose names I do not even know. What a great way to start.

As Father David spoke today about the purpose of Great Lent, about how it moves along in The Way, I thought about how (sometimes in Western) Christians tends to think of Lent in terms of what is missing...What are you giving up? How big is the inconvenience going to be? I'm giving up chocolate for Lent. I'm going to try not to swear as much.

These can be good things. Denial of self always is.

But, as Father David said, Great Lent is about our own personal earnestness in joining our lives to Christ. Christianity, once called The Way, is about LIFE, not as he put it, a box of rules and ideas we hang onto to draw from as needed. It is, (a more apt description I've not heard in awhile), as a paper towel placed over a small puddle of water. The water will spread throughout every fiber of that paper towel, until the whole thing is soaked and can hold no more. My life, my heart, my workplace attitude, my demeanor with others, these things should be like that paper towel, soaked through with the love of God.

So if Lent is for me about what is missing (whole food groups), it should be about what is gained. Empty spaces filled with God. I have plenty of spaces in my heart that ought to be empty. Get me angry enough about something stupid and most of them will reveal themselves right quick. Great Lent should give me the time, the motivation and the focus to look on those spaces, filled with crap that must be surrendered to God and open to God. This is my prayer. This is my goal. Lord, have mercy.

For those who read who know me personally or professionally or whatever, please forgive me any offense I have committed against you (and I'm sure they are many) in word or deed, intentionally or in ignorance. May you, if you believe Christ is the Son of the Living God who died and rose for our sins, have a blessed Lenten season.

Submission(s)

2009-01-07T20:07:00.002-05:00

So at the request of a dear friend, who points out my laziness with his enthusiasm, I am blogging. But it's the Theophany anyway, and I always seem to blog at Theophany (if you don't believe me, check it out...it's true)

We (my family, now a gang of nine not counting dogs--if you count dogs, well, let's not count dogs) celebrated Christmas on New Year's, which is not a bad way to welcome in the next round of 12 months. And is our way, we can't get together around the 150-year-old dining room table without a theological debate (sorry, Grandma). I do think it was Bob that started it this year.

Tagging up on so many big issues--Calvinism, the Apocrypha, free will--my brain got stuck on two things: Salvation and Submission. I'll get to Salvation later (maybe next time I blog, next Theophany. Just kidding.)

For now: Submission.

It's not an easy word, not to hear, not to say in relationship to your responsibility and most certainly not to act on.

And anyone that knows me even the teensiest bit knows that it is not a trait I possess. I am stiff-necked, willful and will usually go too far if left unattended even though I know better. But in this, in leaving Protestantism for Orthodoxy, that's what it is for me. That's what it came down to. Submission.

People have said to me, about their own behavior, their own choices and their own will, that they don't submit to the Church, they can't. They submit to God and what He wants for them. They don't want to, or can't, allow anything in between to dictate their actions, maybe out of a misunderstanding that the Church is actually between like a roof, instead of between like a stem connecting a flower to a root. But whatever, I understand that hesitancy, that reluctance.

But God, whom I submit to (albeit awkwardly), told me to submit myself to His Church. So that means that I cannot submit myself to Him and not accept that which He has for me, anymore than a infantryman can say to his captain "yes, sir" and then completely ignore the directives of his sergeant whom the captain has placed over him.

My Chrismation vows, which I take seriously (because words matter, symbol matters--they connect us to reality), I confessed my belief in the teachings of that Church. I said "yes, sir." I chose to submit.

I hadn't realized how foreign that concept was to me, and to those who are outside the Orthodox Church, until I thought about it later. I believe these things I didn't used to believe in--a Sacramental view of Holy Communion, baptism as a saving action, the role of Tradition in making me more like Christ. And I know this for sure: I didn't believe them as much when I read that Creed at the back of the Church during my Chrismation as I do know. But I trusted that if I jumped into it, I'd learn to swim or at least not drown in it. Or going back to my original analogy, I trusted that my Captain had put someone in charge of me who could handle me and get me from point A to point B safely and victoriously. Thanks be to God, so much more of that belief has come. The more I surrender to the Truth of His Church, the more it protects me and guides me. The more I willingly take what it offers me, the closer I get to Him.

It's nice how that works out.

On the Transfiguration

2008-08-05T20:48:00.003-04:00

Forgive me for saying this, but I never really got the whole Transfiguration thing. Seriously.

Until tonight. (liturgically tomorrow)

And God bless Father David, because he made it even make more sense than the hymns were making it make on its own. I know, that's a TERRIBLE sentence, but bear with me.

Here's what I finally understood. Well, two things actually.

First, if it wasn't clear to the disciples, particularly those three, who Christ was, what with all the water-into-wine, voice-of-God-from-the-Heavens, water walking and whatnot, He TRANSFIGURES. He changed. The radiance of His divinity shot out of Him, through His clothes. And just in case any doubts remained, Moses and Elijah showed up and said PAY ATTENTION. This is the ONE. And Christ, in His great love for mankind, said keep this to yourselves, kids, until after I resurrect. You're going to have the world's biggest AHA moment, and I want you to remember this. Remember this when I'm on the Cross and you can't, for the life of you, figure out what is happening. Remember this. I AM GOD.

Second, He is showing us what we are to become, what we should be, what we were supposed to be. If we are in Him and He is in us, we too will be TRANSFIGURED, with the radiance of God's divine light shooting out of us. I am to be this. When I partook of Holy Communion, I took Him in. He entered into me. He will transform me. I will be LIKE HIM. He wants us to be that, to quote Fr. David, to shine brighter than the stars in the heavens, to be higher than the angels.

So, on this day, this day of great change, great revealing, I pray. Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, Who shone with great light on Mt. Tabor, change me. Make me into that which is a radiant reflection of who and what You created me to be. Through the prayers of Sts. Peter, James and John who stood with You that day, through the prayers of Moses and Elijah who pointed to You, have mercy upon me and save me.

Amen.

Memory Eternal

2008-08-05T14:44:00.003-04:00

Alexander Solzhenitsyn--Dec. 11, 1918 to Aug. 4, 2008

He saw the constructs of man for what they were. We shall miss him for we still need him.

Of rough weeks and cable access

2008-08-02T17:23:00.002-04:00

In my job I bump up against actual evil quite often, "actual evil" being quite different from the casual way we (humans) normally identify someone or something as evil. Actual evil is a murdered infant. That is what I'm talking about.

Anyway...this week, evil. So I'm kind of tired. In spite of sleeping pills, in spite of martial arts, in spite of whatever else I can think of...I have not been sleeping well. And I'm actually worried about going to church tomorrow, because what if this is the kind of stuff that sticks in my head. What if while I'm supposed to be thinking of the Body and Blood of Christ, I'm worrying about what to do about actual evil.

A couple posts ago I wrote about feeling like a dirty little urchin or blood-covered soldier sneaking into the back of the church. This has been one of those weeks that aged me. I understand wrinkles around the eyes and gray hairs. I'm so grateful for my church home because without it I know I'd slide beyond sinful into actual evil myself. It's the human condition. So pray for me, if you could, that tomorrow, as I stand before the chalice I will see only the icon of Christ behind my priest, for He's the One who can take care of that whole evil thing anyway.

On a lighter note, I now have, for the first time in a long time, high speed internet in my home. Expect more posts. Hold me to it.

The normal miracle

2008-05-18T13:00:00.004-04:00

Christ is RISEN!

Sunday of the Paralytic--Third Sunday after Pascha

This day we see the miracles performed by the disciples after Christ's resurrection. We see St. Peter, you remember him--that guy who denied his Master three times--well, he raises Dorcas from the dead. Just like that. He prays. God answers and a beloved woman mourned by those who knew her gets right up off her bed. Then, in the Gospel reading, Christ is at the pool at Bethesda. Some dear soul has been lying there, mostly likely for years, just waiting for the miracle. And just like that, he too gets right up off his bed. (We'll talk about the silliness of the Pharisees reaction another time.)

Fr. David presented his homily today as a children's sermon, getting down and sitting on the floor with the small ones. Since I'm feeling particularly dense today, it was best he presented it that way because I was about two steps away from going up there and sitting in front of him myself.

Anyway, he asked the children about what the difference was between Superman's ability to fly and the disciples' ability to raise the dead. One wise youngster, all of about 4 years old, said well one's magic and one's a miracle. Fr. David seemed to like that answer.

He then talked about the normal--how God didn't raise the dead or heal the sick for them to them have super-human powers later on. On the contrary, Lazarus came out of the tomb only to die again later. Dorcas probably got sick again at some point as well. Same with the paralytic at the pool. But God demonstrated His complete control over the physical and natural world. He healed. He restored normal--they were able to go on with their lives just like everybody else (except for the having-had-a-miracle-performed on them part).

This resurrection we celebrate right now, this miracle of new life, part of its gift is that we get to live the way we're supposed to live. We can love freely, knowing we too are loved freely. We can worship God, having seen His existence in our lives. We can live our faith, normally. We can put our feet down, one in front of the other, in our spiritual walk knowing we are growing more like Him, growing closer to Him.

So much of our lives--walking, talking, not falling off ladders while incorrectly pruning trees (ahem, me), birth, growth, all the normal stuff--is actually miraculous. Normal, i.e. that which we take for granted, is really, truly a gift, an act from Him who loves mankind.

Kiss a baby today. Hug your mom. Watch a bird feed its young. Do something, anything, normal. And thank God for the gift.

Gearing up

2008-02-23T19:09:00.004-05:00

OK. I know this makes me a church hopper, but I guess you have to go where you understand the language. After about two years at Holy Trinity Greek Orthodox Church, I've been visiting St. Nicholas--an OCA parish where English is the language of the liturgy. They have a Vespers service, and well, it's good to know what you're saying when you're praying. Changes at work make it necessary for me to take spiritual precautions, to be a more active participant in my faith in order to, in all seriousness, save my soul.

That said, it's about that time--We're getting ready to head into the Lenten Triodion, a kind of pre-Lent Lent. Last Sunday was the Sunday of the Publican and the Pharisee. The Epistle reading was from St. Paul's letter to St. Timothy, reminding me to keep that which I learned in childhood, which make me "wise for salvation through faith." Then we get to the Gospel reading, Christ's parable of the Publican and the Pharisee.

It's kind of interesting to me, where I am at spiritually. I had to grow up fast in Orthodoxy. And I'm not doing a very good job at it, probably. I'm like a little Orthodox street urchin, begging and scrapping for whatever I can get. Growing up in a very spiritually conservative household, going to the good Evangelical college, and even working there later, I knew I fell perilously close to the Pharisee in this little parable. I'm sure it didn't get any better after I converted. Looking back over some of my previous posts, and knowing how I came off to friends and family, I know I didn't get any better.

But now, it's different now. My Orthodox family has disintegrated--spread far and wide by what happened at St. John's. I am, with the exception of one very beloved family, the only person left here in my community. And I have struggled, struggled, struggled.

My job, the daily grind and all that has worn down my soul like a rock under a constant drip--all concave and cracked. So as I approach this Lenten season, I stand there feeling less than the Publican. I feel like I have taken lives. I feel like I have run through all the "seven deadlies" and am working my way back through 'em just for kicks. This is how I feel. I'm sure to the angels in the Liturgy, when I sneak in the back, I look like I just rolled in dirt before I came in.

I stand here, at the edge of Great Lent, and I pray, I mean to say I am praying, that this is going to be different this year, the season I renew my vows, the 40 days I spend kneeling-sword sheathed and head bowed-before my King. This is the season I'm going to learn how to walk again.

Tomorrow is the Sunday of the Prodigal Son. "Prodigal", as I have recently learned means "wasteful." That's me. I have squandered the last three years of Orthodoxy, of Holy treasure in anger, in confusion, in hurt. But no more. Please, dear Lord, no more.

The heavy lifting

2007-07-15T22:00:00.001-04:00

Today my church observed the Feast celebrating the Holy Fathers of the Seven Ecumenical Councils. For the Orthodox, this is a big day. It is a day we remember the work done by those who went before us, a day we look back at the foundation of our faith.

On the Orthodox Church in America's website: In the Ninth Article of the Nicea-Constantinople Symbol of Faith proclaimed by the holy Fathers of the First and Second Ecumenical Councils, we confess our faith in "One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church." By virtue of the catholic nature of the Church, an Ecumenical Council is the Church's supreme authority, and possesses the competence to resolve major questions of church life. An Ecumenical Council is comprised of archpastors and pastors of the Church, and representatives of all the local Churches, from every land of the "oikumene" (i.e. from all the whole inhabited world).

Some highlights of these giant meetings include--Adopting the Nicene Creed to combat the heresy of Arianism and proclaim Christ as "true God of true God"; proclaiming Christ both fully-man and fully-God, divine and human nature in a hypostatic union; and affirmed that Christ had both human and divine wills.

In other words, the Councils are all about Christ--who He is and what He did. And most of these doctrines are now assumed as correct by most Protestant denominations (with the exception, of course, of the oneness Pentecostals).

As Father Paul talked about the councils today, primarily Chalcedon, I thought about the reformation. I thought about the work done by the Holy Fathers and how it laid the foundations for all correct Christian thought. Much of Protestantism has felt, to me, as the rebellious teenager--pushing against those values of the parents (stability, moral absolutes, etc.) that enabled them to have such discussions in the first place. Were those great theological wars not fought in the past, had the bishops not stood against the heresies, all of this now would be a moot point.

Fr. Paul said "Orthodoxy is about who Christ is. Many other churches are about what Christ does for us, but our concern is WHO He is and how we have a relationship with Him."

Amen.

Sometimes silliness is required

2007-06-19T22:23:00.002-04:00

And it's funny how God does that. Tonight an incredibly awkward and potentially painful moment was staved off by a gangly blue Great Dane named Gunny and my stocky Golden Retriever. It is physically impossible to take one's self too seriously, or convey anything other than personal amusement, if you are walking more than 200 pounds of dog. To the puppies, and to God, I say thank you.

I just bought a house. It's my first house and I'm excited about it. But the house is on the other side of town, a side of town where I used to live but where the memories are a little painful--the place where friendships died and romantic relationships ended, you know, those kinds of places. But I loved the neighborhood and I loved the house (and the oak floors), so I made the commitment and am moving back.

Funny thing, change. Tonight, as I walked through my current neighborhood--the sterile apartment complex--I ran into one of those former friends, a person from the old neighborhood, a person who I thought wounded me terribly. But it has been years, and while I had always, sinfully, imagined I would be cold or unfeeling should we ever meet again, time had taken the edge off the pain of losing that very dear friendship. However, even though we live in the same city, I had never seen her since--not at the grocery store, not anywhere.

Until tonight. Until those two dogs, dragging me, giggling, through the parking lot. Until the Great Dane stuck a slobbery face right into her middle, and until the Golden Retriever sat down, tail wagging, asking for a pet. We talked. It wasn't much. It probably won't go any further than that. But we talked. And I believe God was honored. I know I felt peace.

I've said this before--I've always been a big fan of symbol. It is the way I understand my faith, and often the easiest way for me to accept those truths that may be hard for my little brain to grasp (see all the previous posts about my journey to Orthodoxy). So I find it so interesting that, on this literal eve of my move back to that former place, a move of my new self, a deeper faith and a better understanding of what God wants for me, I have an opportunity to close that door--in a strange way that may have left it open.

And as I walked down the street, or better dragged down the street, I had to laugh.

Restoring life

2007-04-08T22:10:00.002-04:00

Christ is Risen!

OK, so it's going to be a short one, but I am a week late on this, though it definitely works today.

Lazarus Saturday--It dawned on me about halfway through the service, maybe after the Great Entrance, about how dead we all are before Christ, and to be honest, how weak I felt before Orthodoxy. Wrapped in the grave clothes, four days...and probably stinky.

But Christ, in His love for mankind, came to the tomb and called me out.

Please understand. I am not saying I did not love and worship God before I came to the Holy Orthodox Church. However, I know that I am moving toward becoming the person He created me to be at a much quicker pace within this place, largely due, I believe to the access to the Sacraments, to the deep theological well of the Fathers, and all else Orthodoxy provides.

So He called me out, and for that I am grateful.

The Church turned our attention to Lazarus and Christ's miracle the week before Great and Holy Saturday, a week before we observe His death and burial. In the Holy Scriptures, the miracle of Lazarus' resurrection comes right before the entrance into Jerusalem, before the waving of the palms, the betrayal and the death.

But as the service focused on that passage, the Eucharist reminded me that the greatest miracle of all, that which secures our hope, is yet to come.

Wait, He said. Just wait and see what I can do.

Blessed Theophany!

2007-01-07T21:48:00.001-05:00

Yesterday I stood huddled in a small group of Orthodox Christians from around my city, nearly outnumbered by the priests from the various parishes, as we chanted prayers and heard the readings for the Feast of the Theophany. Even though Indiana, like most everywhere else, is having a mild winter, it's still January and it's still cold. I have missed the service every year since my conversion because of work obligations (pesky thing, work), but with it falling on a Saturday this year, I was so excited.

We held the service at the headwaters of our three rivers, swollen and debris-filled from so much rain. And the site selected, behind some ramshackle houses, on a moldy boardwalk running to the city's skateboard park, was less than pristine.

But it seemed appropriate to me, especially as the basil-filled cross-shaped ice cube broke up and floated all green and clean-looking in the muddy water. The priests dropped it into the water after prayers blessing the waters and recognizing the significance of Christ's baptism, the revelation of the Triune God, and then our own baptism for the forgiveness of sins and uniting us with Him. Then this morning, after Divine Liturgy, I was able to make a long-awaited, much-needed confession.

As I watched the ice cross after the service, standing on that wooden walkway by myself, I was at the same time disgusted and captivated by the site of all the refuse in the water--styrofoam, plastic bottles, ketchup packet wrappers and gunk. But it was blessed gunk--the priests just did it, I saw it.

I am that water, in a way. All filled with cold, dark, and nasty. But through the Cross, through Baptism, through the life of His Church, I am blessed and am being purified.

We have had much discussion lately in my family about the Orthodox definition of Salvation, and our insistence in answering: I was saved, I am being saved, and I will be saved. On this, the weekend of the Theophany, the weekend of confession and praying and Liturgy, of Holy Water and blessings, I feel more than usual the "am being saved."

From our prayers and our hymns:
When Thou, O Lord, wast baptized in the Jordan the worship of the Trinity was made manifest! For the voice of the Father bare witness to Thee, calling Thee his Beloved Son. And the Spirit, in the form of a dove, confirmed the truthfulness of his Word. O Christ our God, who hast revealed Thyself and hast enlightened the world, glory to Thee

Today Thou hast appeared to the universe, end Thy Light, O Lord, has shone on us, who with understanding praise Thee: Thou hast come and revealed Thyself, O Light Unapproachable!

The voice of the Lord cries over the waters, saying: Come all ye, receive the Spirit of wisdom, the Spirit of understanding, the Spirit of the fear of God, even Christ who is made manifest.

Today the nature of water is sanctified. Jordan is divided in two, and turns back the stream of its waters, beholding the Master being baptized. As a man Thou didst come to that river, 0 Christ our King, and dost hasten O Good One, to receive the baptism of a servant at the hands of the Forerunner (John), because of our sins, 0 Lover of Man.

What is grace?

2006-12-04T18:15:00.000-05:00

Recently I had a debate with one of my beloved brothers-in law (I am blessed--I have two sisters who married two great guys...the brothers I never had) regarding grace. It stemmed from a sermon we both heard last week at my mom's Baptist church.

On the occasion of Thanksgiving, the pastor preached about the 10 lepers healed by Christ and then the one who returned. While I mostly agreed with what he said, I took some issue with a statement he made toward the beginning of his sermon about the 10 lepers being undeserving of the response of Christ, i.e. His basic acknowledgement.

My point to my brother-in-law in our subsequent discussion was that Christ could NOT have responded any other way to the lepers, who called out to Him in a very basic form of the Orthodox Jesus Prayer. He will always respond to those who seek something from Him and His response is always for our salvation. I said that in some kind of way, the lepers should receive God's grace because of their positions as His beloved creation. For what Father when His son asks for bread gives him a stone? My brother-in-law disagreed, and at some point it digressed a bit into the pushing and pulling between my Orthodoxy and his Evangelical Protestantism.

This is what I am saying. As a Baptist, I had always learned that grace was by its very definition, undeserved. But this is what I am thinking now, that as a human I cannot possibly begin to understand something that is an attribute of that which is by its definition unfathomable--God. We can't say that God's justice demands that He do this or this because we don't know. We can't say that those who were sick and called to Him did not deserve His compassion because He defines Himself as love, and His actions demonstrated that compassion (and the Scripture is absent in any description of the lepers as depraved sinners).

Maybe that is another part of the problem I always had with Calvinism. It views mankind as totally depraved and hence unworthy of the love of the Creator by the nature of the Creator's justice. But I hang up on that, for children misbehave--they play with matches and lie to their parents and fight with their siblings--but parents still love them by the very nature of the relationship and the character of those relationships. In a way, the child deserves the love of the parent for no other reason than it is a child, and it cannot be disqualified of that love because it is a child. Believing that He created us with free will, and He loved each of us before we chose to sin, and knowing that we will chose to sin, He loves us by the nature of our position as His children and we are no less His children if we chose not to acknowledge Him.

Right now all I seem to see is that I am me, and not He...So all I can do for Him is to call out in the words of the leper and the saints who have called out before me:
"Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner."

If anyone still reads this, I would love to hear some thoughts. And Bob, continue to weigh in.

In light of recent events

2006-10-05T12:24:00.000-04:00

What we have seen in the past week--the brutal executions of children and the extraordinary power of forgiveness and compassion--have reminded me of the stark contrast between love and evil.

May we all find the courage to forgive as purely as those in Lancaster, Pa., who lay down an example for all those who claim Christ--Protestants, Catholics, and Orthodox.

This article was posted on another blog, and I am shamelessly stealing it to post here. Read and see God.

Out of the boat, part I

2006-08-16T21:34:00.000-04:00

Sunday's Gospel reading was the passage, so beautifully recounted by St. Matthew, describing St. Peter's venture out onto the water. For some reason it really resonated with me this week, and I am quite sure it is not an exaggeration to say that I have heard this passage, this story, hundreds of times.

It struck me because that was what my conversion to Orthodoxy was--Lord, if that's you, let me come to you on the water. I knew it was Him. There was no doubt when I talked with my friend Tmatt as we walked through the Capital Hill neighborhood in Washington D.C. the summer of 1998. I knew then, even though it would be more than five years until I would walk into the back of an Orthodox Church for the first time, awestruck by the Divine Liturgy.

I don't know how I knew, though, while simplistic, I would guess I was hardwired to recognize the voice for which I had searched for so long. But I didn't want to hear it for a few years, even though in the core of my soul I was convinced of the truth of it.

In the past year, and even now, as I reflect on the tumult of the breakup of my parish, I know that I had to reach a point where I was willing to hear that voice again. And, even more difficult, be willing to act on what I heard and knew to be true.

Isn't that always the way it is? We hear, we are called, and we may even respond verbally in the beginning (Let me come to you.) But it means so much more when we swing our legs over the side of the boat and take a tenative step onto that which we had never known to carry us before.

Once you do that, you just have to remember to keep your eyes straight ahead...

"MY" space

2006-08-12T12:56:00.000-04:00

My dear friend Tmatt has requested a lengthy update essay, but for reasons I will not enumerate here, I try to leave as much personal information off this blog as I can, with the exception of Orthodoxy. (The decision to put a picture on the site took tons of arguing with myself.) Sorry Terry, I'll have to send you an email.

I had a wonderful conversation over wine recently my some dear Roman Catholic friends who were SO supportive of my conversion to Eastern Orthodoxy. They are co-workers, so I am blessed to have wonderful Christians in the space where I spend the most of my time. We were discussing a recent venture I made to the world of Myspace. I was lamenting many things, but one thing that struck me was a number of sites (most from people I do not know) who listed "Christian" as their religion and even went so far as to cite well-known area Evangelical high schools and colleges as their educational history.

But as I scrolled through their sites, I saw pictures of teen girls in skimpy bikinis sitting on laps of equally scantily-clad boys. I saw photos of people giving others the "bird" and requests for girls to come "hook up" with them. And I was disgusted.

For purposes of full disclosure--I am prone to occasional salty language, I lose my temper and I am not in anyway the person I should be, particularly since I claim to be a part of Christ's Holy Orthodox Church.

However, this was the point I was making to my friends, and it reminded me of an earlier post that I wrote about America's choice fetish. We want everything. We want all options on the table and we do not want our commitment to one thing to eliminate our ability to chose another. We want to be able to say "I am a follower of Christ," and raise our hands in worship during the Sunday morning praise chorus and we want to live like hell on Saturday nights. And I am NOT naive. I know very well that a good chunk of my brothers and sisters in line for the Eucharist are no different. I am not different, either.

But this is what I am thinking...does the American approach to Christianity, this Western, individualistic, highly-stylized take on church make this sort of behavior any easier. Right now the Orthodox Church is observing the Dormition Fast, reflecting on the life and death of the Theotokos. Fasting periods make me think about every part of my day, make me more aware of my language and how I deal with others, and gives me pause about what I take in via the television and the radio.

But there are very few such checks and balances in the Evangelical church. They speak of being saved, of living a life worthy of the calling they have received, but everything in their churches--from the preacher's dress to the videos to the music played--bear more than a passing resemblence to the secular culture.

So why would the children of those churches find any reason whatsoever to conform their behavior to that which is different from that secular culture? What reason do they give to live differently, to set oneself apart, and to not behave as a purely sexual animal in the secular cesspool?

Any thoughts?

Phobias

2006-07-29T15:38:00.000-04:00

A few months ago, three to be exact, I acquired the most wonderful dog--a big, soft, fluffy Golden retriever named Sunshine. She's fabulously laid back, through all the puppy stages (she's six) and loves nothing more than a good ear-scratching or belly rub. She's an enthusiastic napper, prone to deep snoring and barking in her dreams.

She does however, have this dreadful fear of thunderstorms. She starts shaking and drooling and gets so upset she can't find a place to ride it out--she's tried the kitchen, the bathroom, the closet, under the bed, on my head (while I am asleep), and even a small tent I bought her to give her her own space. There's nothing I can do to convince the poor dog that it's dry inside, nothing is going to fall on her head and all the crashing and banging is just noise.

I have been afraid a lot lately as well--afraid to blog, afraid to pray, afraid to look at my icons, afraid even (dare I say it) to be a Christian. Like Sunshine I felt like I lost my home, though it was of no fault of hers or mine. I have tried various places to ride it out--my bed on Sunday mornings, visiting family members' Protestant churches, and wandering from Orthodox congregation to Orthodox congregation. Nothing I have been able to tell myself has convinced me that all the banging and crashing surrounding the breakup of my little church was noise--sinful people arguing for their own bad behavior.

Sunshine's fears are getting better. The other night she decided, thankfully, that curling up between my head and the wall was not the best place and tucked herself unobtrusively under the bed.

I think my fears are getting better too. I have been attending a Greek Orthodox church in town, and while I don't know as much of the liturgy as I would like to, it is nice to pray, to smell the incense, and to hear the Holy Scriptures chanted from the front. I think I'm going to settle down there a little bit, tucking myself in, for now, as unobtrusively as I can.

It's nice to feel safe again.

You've gotta snag there on your sweater

2005-11-03T09:28:00.000-05:00

One of the most recent and frequent topics of discussion lately with family members and friends about Orthodoxy has been how it stacks up to Protestant theology--namely in the areas of salvation, eternal security, etc.

I have long contested that, with rare exception, Protestant theologies will unravel themselves with just the slightest tugging on the loose ends.

Apparently, I am not alone in my philosophy. Right on time, this month's edition of Christianity today features an interview with Ben Witherington III entitled "The Problem with Evangelical Theologies."

The general gist of the article seems to be that these "distinctives" different denominations and positions like Calvinism and Arminism claim do not own up to their exegetical weaknesses, and he says "Part of the problem is the temptation to form our theology almost independently of doing our own exegesis. We run to the biblical text to shore up or find proof texts for what we already believe."

Yep.

In my own journey to Orthodoxy, I started tugging on some of those loose ends. As a Calvinist, they were particularly easy to find. Don't get me wrong, however. I found it extremely difficult, and painful.

It's interesting to see a Protestant theologian with the, ahem, guts to at least admit some of these things deserve a second look. For far too often, evangelical Protestant Christianity has glossed over these scratches in their theological disks with something between "God said. I believe it. And that settles it for me." and Calvin's Institutes.

Witherington's solution? Even better...

"We have to remember that those who wrote the Bible were not late-Western Christians suffering from post-Enlightenment psychoses...Some of the Antiochian fathers would be good -- (St.) Gregory of Nyssa and Gregory Nazianzus, for example. But if there's one person who seems to be in touch with the original Greek and rhetorical ethos of the New Testament and especially (St.) Paul, that would be (St.) John Chrysostom...In contrast to the Latin Fathers, like Augustine, he is very much in touch with the living language of the Greek text. He is able to resonate with it, to pick up the rhetorical signals, the cultural signals, and understand the trajectory of the theology and ethics being taught."

Thanks, Ben. It's almost enough to cause me to want to overlook last month's edition of CT, which said that some Eastern Orthodox priests in Europe consider themselves to be Christians. Heh. Imagine that.

(And, apparently, this interview caused my grandmother to write Dr. Witherington a letter, because doggone it, she needs some answers.)

Some housekeeping

2005-10-25T09:01:00.000-05:00

OK...I know it's been months, and I'm truly sorry about that. I am, hopefully, going to be able to get back into this a bit more heavily. Things have settled down a bit in my own soul, which was kind of what I was waiting for. I had seriously underestimated the spiritual difficulty I would find myself in as a result of the turmoil in my beloved parish. Not much has changed externally, but I feel like I am becoming healed, a bit, from it.

You will now notice a "word verification" requirement when you try to comment, for those two remaining readers I have left. In the past months, I have had some lovely offers for Christmas gift sales, dating services, and other SPAM left in the comments posts. It is happening more frequently, and so...to avoid such nonsense, please play along.

I want to welcome my new email friend Jeff Baxter. I hope he's checking in from time to time. Jeff has been graciously indulging me in some online debate about postmodernism, the "emergent church" and other matters. I want to thank him for getting some of my juices flowing again.

To all who have occassionally checked in and found nothing new, allow me to apologize.

I'm baaaaaack.

Ahhhhhhhh!

2005-08-04T22:31:00.000-05:00

Now that I got that out…I feel better.

But not much.

I really thought I’d be able to sustain the blogging thing while I wait for the church thing to be resolved, but I’m not doing so hot at it. That’s the beauty of me—the deeper the emotions connected to an issue, the less likely it is that I’ll be able to write about it. Were it not for a friend who dragged me to the friendly neighborhood noisy Starbucks, I wouldn’t even get this on the page.

I knew in my mind this would be hard—watching my priest and his wife endure vicious rumors and endless difficulties with the hierarchs, finding myself on the outside of a physical church building I had grown to love as a place of comfort and safety, and waiting for our next step to materialize.

However, in my soul, it’s much harder than I could have ever imagined. This past Sunday I could not, did not, even go to church. Think of this as a type of confession, I guess. It is the first time I have ever “skipped” church since I began attending the Orthodox Church. I have missed services due to travel or other odd/random obligations, but never have I hit the “off” button, and buried my head under a pillow until I knew it was too late to get up and go.

I think I’m ashamed of myself. I guess I should be, for allowing the behavior (or misbehavior) of men to dictate the way and the time I approach my God. But I did. And I guess I worry that I’ll do it again.

In some weird way, I feel like I’m a toddler trying to keep pace with the teens and adults in my family, without a stroller or someone to carry me. I don’t think I’m even the “youngest” Orthodox in our church, but for some reason, right now, I can’t seem to keep up.

Sorry for the whine fest. Forgive me, my brothers and sisters. And pray for me, for all of us.

A brief response

2005-07-20T18:32:00.000-05:00

"Doug" commented on my earlier post about leaving the Antiochian church with some valid concerns. I can't and won't go into any kind of detail in all this but I will try to in a specifically vague way, address some of those concerns.

Were the actions of the bishop justified? No. There were no allegations of misbehavior. There were no concerns about his priestly function or abilities. And the issue is not that the bishop moved the priest. That is certainly within his rights and even responsibility as a bishop. The issue is that he moved the priest above the strenuous and unanimous objections of the parish council without any explanation OR comment. Had he said something like "Father's talents would be better put to use somewhere else" we would have been fine with that. He ignored and disrepected those who are charged with the governance of that parish body, for no reason, for no cause. The assignment given was, to say the very least, absurd. There was no physical way for our priest to financially support himself or his family, and while there were other parishes available to transfer him to, he was effectively banished.

The canons say that if a bishop fails to meet the physical needs of the priests within his care he is to be excommunicated, and if it continues he is to be removed. We could not get those higher than the bishop to hear us, so...

The reasons behind the decisions to move this priest are good, ol' fashioned Simony. Acts 8:18-23.

Would a single Orthodox jurisdiction have made what we did/are doing impossible? Yes, but it would have also made it unnecessary. Had there been more parishes, more bishops, more archbishops, and one patriarch all available to weigh in, I do not hesitate to think this would not have happened. If all the links to the "old country" are meaningless, if the influences of "old country" money and loyalties are balanced out and voided, then there are greater chances of other voices being heard. And before this comes up, we are not solely a group of converts. We are an equal mix of converts and "cradles", of all ethnic varieties.

Please don't refer to us as Protestants, though I know that is tempting. We are not reinventing the faith. We are not nailing our thesis to the doors and demanding the church change to our interpretations of Scripture and Tradition. We are defending someone who is defenseless. We are trying to protect the faith, and our churches, from the threat of the highest bidder.

Not leaving

2005-07-12T18:28:00.000-05:00

I am unsure of how to address this issue, but for the sake of honesty to my few readers I feel I must. My friend TMatt forced my hand in his comment on the previous post. It's probably a good thing. I do not want to hide any aspect of my journey in this faith.

I left the American Archdiocese of the Antiochian Orthodox Church. I was not alone. I have not left Orthodoxy. I would never leave Orthodoxy. But I have left the Antiochian Church.

The reasons are numerous, and tragic. And it was not an easy decision for those of us who left. We could no longer stand by and watch those with power destroy those with none. We could not be silent as our priest was slandered, abused, and removed. And we could not contribute financially any longer to those who did the slandering, abusing, and removing.

The closest analogy I can come up with for this situation is a teacher having trouble with four or five students in a class of 25. Unable to get them to comply or their parents to care, the teacher asks the principal and superintendent for help. The administrators go to the classroom, watch the misbehavior, and then decide to remove the teacher rather than sanctioning the students.

I can't study in that classroom any more.

Other parishes in our community have offered to help those of us who left, recognizing that we have not left Orthodoxy. This was not some silly split over the color of carpet in the foyer, but the necessary action in the face of obscene injustice. The Church is not without examples of laity standing in the face of corruption or guarding the faith in the face of capitulation to outside influences.

To those who still remain at my beloved church, I wish you well, but I have little hope for any change apart from a miraculous work of God. That church has had nine priests in 25 years...that's not a great batting average. Those guilty of the slander and Simony do not want to change, and without pressure from above (which has shown no signs of coming) or Divine Intervention, they will not change.

To those "in charge" who are not willing, for whatever reason, to stop feeding the beast of ego and greed: beware, it will ultimately bite you too.

I do not believe that our struggles were isolated. I know of other parishes with similar struggles, and I know of other priests abused for doing nothing more than preaching the Gospel of Christ and administering the Sacraments.

It is not my intention to spark debate, though I am sure that will likely follow our action. I only post this because I desire to be transparent, particularly to those who are studying Orthodoxy, which while possessing the fullness of truth, remains the home of sinful people. And I am no different.

Right now, I travel. I am visiting other parishes, worshiping with the other Orthodox Christians in my community and alongside these who left--the godly men and women of our parish council, my fellow converts, my cradle brothers and sisters, my Orthodox family. I will blog a bit about this journey, dispatches from other stops along the Orthodox Way.

I will keep blogging about this faith, if for no other reason than to remind myself of its Holy Truths and its eternal beauty.

An interesting take on this

2005-07-01T12:50:00.000-05:00

The Parable of the Prodigal Son according to penal substitution
from www.worldofsven.blogspot.com

Jesus continued: “There was a man who had two sons. The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them.“

Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.

When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father's hired men have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired men.’ So he got up and went to his father.

But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; yet at the same time his was furious and wrathful at the offences his son had committed against him. To rebel against the Father in such a way deserved death and hell - yet the Father was torn because he did still love his Son.“The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’

But the father said to his servants, "I'm sorry, but I just can't forgive you. You underestimate how serious your sin is. It would violate the entire moral law of the universe if I were to forgive what you have done, you deserve death and hell. What I will do however is send your brother out to work in the fields to take the punishment that I should by rights be dishing out to you, when he has worked himself to death, I will be satisfied and restore you to fellowship in my household. In the meantime go back to the pigsty you came from, for I cannot tolerate sin in my presence.

So the older son, though he had done nothing wrong, was made to work night and day as punishment for what his younger brother had done. Eventually bearing the load overcame him and he died. Upon hearing that his oldest Son had died, the Father was pacified and resolved to be reconciled to the rebellious son and sent a messenger to the pigsty to tell the prodigal son he could come back home again. The prodigal came home and was reunited with his Father, who gave him everything that used to belong to the older son. He also remembered the the older son hadn't actually deserved to be punished to death so he resurrected the dead son and then they all were friends again and lived happily ever after.

Yeah. What he said...

Depends on what your definition ... is

2005-06-29T18:05:00.000-05:00

Regarding the last post and a comment by loyal reader Radoje:

I think these discussions of salvation really are at the heart of the differences between Orthodoxy and the rest of the Christian world. And some conversations I've been having lately with my mom indicate the same.

We need to talk about what it means to be "saved."

As an evangelical Protestant, being "saved" meant two things to me: having Christ as my "personal Lord and Savior" and going to heaven.

As an Orthodox Christian, salvation means much more.

Mankind was created unique--with the image of God, made for a communion with its Creator that the rest of creation cannot understand. But we fell.

And the curse of that fall is more than just a legal understanding of transgression and consequence. It is about losing that which is more precious--life. We were created to be X, but now we are Y. It is wrong and we know it. By eating the fruit, by ignoring the commands of our God, we broke off the relationship with Him. We brought death into the world, and now we can't get it out.

St. Paul's assertion that the wages of sin is death is as much a statement of fact as it is a "legal declaration." If I jump off a building, I will get hurt. No one sentences me to pain. It is a logical and rational consequence of defying the laws of physics which hold me to the planet. If I sin, I die. Christ's life, His death, and His resurrection fix all that. It is for our salvation.

Salvation is life. It is the restoration of that which is spoiled. It is the repair of what has been broken seemingly beyond repair. It is healing that which is sick.

Frederica Mathews-Green writes that the parable of the prodigal son does not have the father saying, "Well, you can't come home until somebody pays this Visa bill." He loves him, and accepts him home and restores him to his place in the family. All the son had to do was turn for home and seek his father's forgiveness.

Orthodoxy doesn't primarily hold the notion of "substitutionary atonement." The legacy of post-schism Western Christianity, largely because of the over-inflated influence given to St. Augustine and subsequently Anselm, is the reduction of the salvation to a legal act, and sets up the primary relationship between God and mankind as one of Judge and condemned.

Please understand, I am not minimizing the righteousness of God. The Bible is clear. We will ALL have to give account before Him for our every action and thought. But as with much of Christianity outside of Orthodoxy, some critical balance is missing. God is righteous, but God is love. And from the very moment of the fall, when Adam and Eve were cast out, He began to work for our ultimate redemption and restoration.

So to the Orthodox Christian, to me, salvation is about becoming that person I was created to be, to move toward a right relationship with God, and trusting in His grace to help get me there. Sure, heaven sounds fabulous. I want to go there, though, not merely because I don't want to go to hell, but because I want to be with Him, in that relationship as it was always intended to be.

The Church, through the Sacraments, becomes a way to accept that grace, and to act in faith, to turn toward home and seek the forgiveness and love of the father.

Being "saved" is not just about bestowing a functional title on God. It is not about avoiding a rather warm eternity. It is about being a Christian...a little Christ. And that's what He wanted for us in the first place.

Never too young

2005-06-19T22:26:00.000-05:00

The “age of accountability” always tripped me up, growing up in my church. Almost all my friends said they were “saved when they were” 5 or 4 or even 3. But at the same time, we seemed to put such a great value on the “testimony,” from those who wandered and found the truth of the Gospel later in their life. I remember sitting through more than one Sunday or Wednesday evening service, with microphones spread around the auditorium, waiting for someone to step up and tell the story of how they came to Christ.

For me, I felt lost in both worlds. I couldn’t remember not believing in God, knowing that I was a sinner, and wanting to serve Him. But conversely, I couldn’t remember a specific point in time when I “asked Jesus into my heart.” And as I grew, the messages I heard in Sunday school took a bit of a different angle.

When you’re small, you have the flannel-graph Jesus with the loaves and fishes, or blessing the children. That Jesus loves you, regardless, and all you have to do is believe in Him. But as you get older, the Jesus of the primary Sunday school classes becomes the Jesus of the “Thief in the Night” movie. And just believing in Him isn’t enough anymore, there has to be a specific point you can identify as the moment when you became a Christian.

I used to ask about when a kid would have to ask Him to come in by, I mean what’s the last possible age that they could be hit by a car or something and not worry about it. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I was honestly concerned. My mom would always explain it with the “age of accountability.”

But what does that mean? And as a good sola Scriptura kid, I tried to find it as I got older, and I never could. What would happen if a person never intellectually reached that age, or if they suffered brain damage or dementia, how does that work?

In the Orthodox Church, we baptize babies. We don’t have an age of accountability. We don’t have confirmation. When you are baptized, you are instantly a member of the body of Christ. There is no trial period, no mysterious age where you are able to understand it or have to have decided.

In Protestant Christianity, children hear that Jesus loves them, this they know, for the Bible tells them so. And they belong to Him. But then, not long after, the message changes, and He becomes a more wrathful God, who will dispatch them to hell, or leave them behind in the rapture.

Please understand me. I am not minimizing the need for a personal understanding and commitment to the faith, a belief that is more than a cognitive assent to an idea about God. However that need to commit does not abate with a decision made once upon a time at vacation Bible school, nor does it go away with baptism or any other sacrament. We all must convert, every day, with every decision and every act of the will.

And who understands His goodness and His love more than a child? Who gets this idea of accepting sacrificial love more than one with a skinned knee? Why do we exclude them from the fullness of the Body of Christ?

We bring them in. We offer them all the sacraments. We teach them about the great gift of Salvation, about the One who came from heaven to earth for them. And right along with them we chose to follow Him, every Sunday when we accept Him and trust Him and follow Him, and every day of the week when we make diligent efforts to put that faith into practice, whether it is on the playground or the boardroom.

The Great Feast of Pentecost

2005-06-19T22:24:00.000-05:00

How about this one…

Blessed art thou, O Christ our God, who has revealed the fishermen as most wise, having sent upon them the Holy Spirit, and through them thou has fished the universe, O Lover of Mankind, glory to Thee!

Pretty great, huh.

On Holy Tradition

2005-06-07T18:02:00.000-05:00

Christ is Risen!

I had originally intended to write about something else, but after having a conversation with my sister, I went with this one.

She and her husband are exploring Orthodoxy, and to them I pray God's blessings as they search. Recently she had a conversation with a coworker about home churches and the problems he has with a liturgical church (he's a very enthusiastic free-church Evangelical with a degree in Protestant theology). It reminded me of some articles I had read awhile back about why a certain Evangelical was not Orthodox.

Basically to that author it came down to this: I'm not Orthodox because I like the Protestant traditions.

Fine.

But unfortunately, it's not about traditions, it's not about a theological argument. It's about the way to Christ.

We are made to know God with our whole hearts, our whole minds, our whole souls, our whole BEINGS. Orthodoxy is about KNOWING God, not knowing things about God, not systematic theology, not finding proof-texts for why we don't do things a certain way.

In response to my last post, "Basil" wrote that Orthodoxy is not about shifting a single belief, but rather shifting a worldview, a matter very difficult. I agree.

Orthodoxy is all about transformation. That's why it's so much more than deciding to believe a certain way. It's about "becoming." It's theosis, about becoming more like Christ, about becoming the way we were created to be.

And it is hard. It is the hardest thing EVER. I knew when I converted that I was going to have to give up much of what I had always believed. Not all of it, but a lot of it. I knew that my Christianity was going to have be more than a Sunday gig. It would be an every-hour, every-day kinda gig.

To be honest, there are times when I think I too prefer the Protestant traditions. It was much easier not to fast, it was much easier to go to church just on Sunday, etc. But it's not about me. It's about God. And I believe that Orthodoxy is the way He gave us to know Him the best. It's a rather exclusive claim, I'm aware of that.

As I worked toward conversion, and now as I learn, I realized I could not just work my way through whatever intellectual arguments I had against liturgical practice, infant baptism, sacramental worship, the Body and Blood of Christ, and others. I had to experience, to do.

As Orthodoxy sank into the core of who I was, I felt myself knowing God in the place where I was intended to know God--in my SOUL. It began to transform. And as that happened, all those other concerns and arguments made more sense. We baptise infants because the Church is the Body of Christ, where the life of Christ is, and we will not withhold that from anyone, regardless of age or mental capacity. We believe in the sacraments as a cancer patient believes in chemotherapy--these things make us better, they cure us, they make us like Christ. I could go on and on, and probably will at some point.

So to those who say I'm not Orthodox because I prefer my Protestant tradition (and we've had this discussion earlier on this blog), I again say fine.

But just know this is not about tradition. This is about life.

Some housekeeping

2005-06-03T17:09:00.000-05:00

Christ is Risen!
I did what I vowed I would not do...I added a counter to the bottom of the blog, actually at the request of some curious friends. (Curious as in an action, not as a description) If the counter begins to distract me, I will remove it. But for those who visit--be good to my self-esteem. Tell your friends. OK, just kidding. Well, mostly.

With the counter, I really am going to try to be kinder to those five readers I have and blog more. I have so many things I want to write, about this glorious journey into Orthodoxy, and my subsequent journey through Orthodoxy, that at times I find it overwhelming. But I promise, more posts.

To those five who visit, please feel free to comment. I enjoy it when there's other voices here than my own, and it adds to the richness of the dialog, even when it's a bit of a debate. So many of you have had different journeys, have been traveling longer, or whatever, and I want to hear from you.

So...if you're reading this, thanks for causing that little number at the bottom to inch up by one.

Upon request...

2005-05-30T09:55:00.000-05:00

Christ is risen!

I'm writing this post in response to a comment/question posed on the comments thread of my tea bag post. "S", an Orthodox inquirer, asked about the Orthodox view of "assurance of salvation" in light of questions posed by Evangelicals regarding this issue. (S--did I get that right?) He also asked how this played a role in my conversion.

I am often asked about this, particularly when, in discussions, I talk about having grown up in an "eternal security" tradition. It's confusing how I could have spent so much energy doubting then, and now, in Orthodoxy, not spend the night pacing the floors.

There's a phrase in Orthodoxy: "I was saved. I am being saved. And I will be saved."

I was saved--about 2,000 years ago when the Son of God became man, walked among us, and conquered sin and death on the Cross and a glorious third-day Resurrection.

I am being saved--daily as I trust Him, follow Him, believe in Him and participate in the His life, His Body, the Church.

I will be saved--when I die, I trust His mercy and believe that He will have safely led me home.

One of the greatest differences, surprising to me at first, is this true dependence on the great and rich mercy of God. We truly throw ourselves at His feet. We don't demand salvation in exchange for praying a prayer, for believing or understanding "four spiritual laws". As a Protestant, I often felt that we believed "God has to take me, I've done X or Y."

And I always heard that people like the Orthodox believed in "works" to get them to heaven. Well, here was a big news flash to me. Praying the "sinner's prayer" is an action. It is a work. Along with that, throughout Scripture we are told that it is not just a mere head-nod to a belief system, for "even the demons believe."

St. James tells us that faith without works is dead. Christ offers us the parable of the sheep and the goats, with the only manifest difference between the two groups is WHAT they did.

I had always struggled with passages like those mentioned above. In my view, Protestant Christianity did not give me all the tools necessary to travel that path safely. It seemed the Bible spelled out more than just a belief, but the churches I was in didn't go a lot further (at least not in a way that was intelletually cohesive) to explain what it meant.

Orthodoxy made more sense to me. It offered context to passages previously left unexplained (at least not in a satisfying way), and it provided directions for the journey.

I think (and to my more knowledgeable and articulate readers, please help me here) the difference is that Orthodoxy is not merely a "world-view" or a belief. I don't pray a prayer and then call it a day (salvation-wise). It is a lifestyle. It is "the Way." I do these things that God has commanded, not because they "earn" me a pass to heaven, but because I am sinful. I am spiritually sick and dying. These things--the Sacraments of the Church, fasting, parting with my money--give me the opportunity to get better. They are prescriptions and therapy for spiritual health, wholeness and eternal life.

And I don't take them blindly. I don't accept the Body and Blood of Christ without thought, like a baby bird. I am called to partake in FAITH. I do BELIEVE. I know that I am sinful. I know that without Christ I am a snowball with no chance you know where. I TRUST Him. I put all my HOPE in Him.

If all that doesn't get me anywhere in the great salvation discussion, I could always show them the pre-communion prayers. They blow away any altar call invitation I ever heard.

S-I hope this answered your question.

Orthodoxy as a tea bag

2005-05-24T18:06:00.000-05:00

Christ is Risen!

I know, I know...a weird title. But for some reason it's been on my mind lately, with absolutely no disrespect intended.

As a Baptist, I was always well-warned of the dangers of ritual and tradition. They were BAD, and to be avoided like dancing, Catholics, and the movies. We didn't cross ourselves, we had no creeds, we never knelt in church, and rarely, if ever, said the Lord's Prayer. In all seriousness, I heard quite often about the command to abstain from "vain repetitions."

The key there, though, is the whole "vain" thing. We're not commanded to avoid repititions, any more than we are commanded to avoid speaking the name of God. What we are commanded to do is to not do such things in a vain, or useless manner. The sin is not in the saying or the doing, but in saying or doing in a way that means nothing, is useless, or trivializes that which is holy. (I would argue that much of what passes for contemporary Christian culture smacks of invoking the name of God in vain, but more on that later.)

Growing up, I believed that the more you said or do these things, the less they meaned. Those who had been raised in those liturgical churches could not possibly mean what they said or did all the time. That's part of the dangers of those churches, I was told, that trapped in all the vain repeating, the truth of the Gospel is lost. So it was a big adjustment for me to get used to all the trappings of Orthodoxy, even now as an Orthodox Christian. Venerating the cross, reciting the Creed and Lord's Prayer, and daily written prayers from *gasp* a prayer book, all felt very foreign, scary, and a tad sinful. The error, of course, was not in my actions, but in my perceptions.

The more I reflected on WHAT I was doing, HOW I was doing, and WHAT it meant, the more I understood the theology behind my faith in general, and the more I felt God's hand drawing me to Himself.

(Here comes the teabag connection.) It was as if I became steeped in theology, my life infused with the richness of the knowledge of God's love and His great gift of salvation.

This week, this kind of hit me--my life as a teapot, filled with the Holy Spirit, and infused with the Body of Christ, His Holy Church. (I know this analogy breaks down on some levels, but work with me here.) I have to be open to it. I have to believe it, I have to receive it, and I have to do it. No one will do it for me. And if I'm not willing, or not serious, or don't believe, well, that's on me.

I am finding, the longer this goes on, I know more about Christian history, Christian theology, and the beauty of the Mystery. I'm able to relax in those things I can't know. I trust Him more. And church MEANS more because everything I do there means something. I am not just gathering together, and listening.

I am doing. I am receiving. I am steeping.

False advertising

2005-05-13T09:51:00.000-05:00

On a recent road trip, I encountered a bulletin board advertising a Pentecostal church, pitching for visitors to join them for services on the upcoming date of Pentecost. At the bottom of the billboard was the claim this church was founded in 33 A.D.

Ummm. No.

Just saying you are something doesn't make it so. I can declare until I am blue in the face that I am, in fact, a fire engine, but NEVER will I be a fire engine. And just declaring ones' self to be along the line of Apostolic Succession, linked to the original followers of Christ, does not make it so, either. One does not "recover" the early church by paying attention in a different way to theology or worship, nor does one claim to be a true "apostle" or "bishop" unless you really are one.

I am not trying to be a church snob, I'm really not. But I really think for the sake of accuracy, one should take a look at this. It was this little diagram, and others like it that I could NOT argue around when I was wandering through church-land.

I grew up thinking, as a Baptist, that we weren't Protestants, that we didn't protest. I had even heard that we were descendants from John the Baptist. I was misled. And just by saying "we're not Catholic" didn't make us any closer to that orginal church. It was a hard pill to swallow--one I choked on for years.

The reality of it is this. Christ founded His church, His Body, on Peter and the Apostles. It was revealed dramatically at Pentecost, with the presence of the Holy Spirit. That Body, that work, continued un-interrupted in a major way until the Great Schism of 1054. (However, there were a few minor schisms, groups splitting off over major heresies involving Christology). In some ways the Reformation is secondary to the tragedy of the first major split, and the further I go into Orthodoxy, the more depressed that 1054 thing makes me.

In the comments section on an earlier post, I mentioned a comment by The Relic blogger in defense of Orthodoxy to an argument from the "emergent church". History, I said, is hard to work around. I do not want to disparage or attack any other church or group, especially those that seek to restore the life and vibrancy of the early Church in their faith communities. To them I again say "Come and see." As demonstrated on that little map up there, we're still around.

I have a bumper sticker that says "Orthodox Christianity: Preaching the Truth since 33 A.D."

That's exactly as advertised.

Christos Anesti!

2005-05-01T10:33:00.000-05:00

Alithos Anesti!

Al Maseeh Qam!
Haqqam Qam!

Christos a Inviat!
Adeverat a Inviat!

Christos T'ensah Em' Muhtan!
Exai' Ab-her Eokala!

Christ is Risen!
Indeed He is Risen!

All in the family

2005-05-01T10:30:00.000-05:00

One of the things Orthodoxy is teaching me about this Christian life (and it is a life, not an ideology) is that it cannot be lived out without a community.

Last night/this morning, as I belted out, probably off-key, our Paschal hymns, I looked around me at the faces of my family—and I thought about how all of us had had long journeys before we got to St. John Chrysostom Church, but now we were on this journey together.

Some are here fleeing political upheaval in their countries, some fleeing war, some for better opportunities, some for job transfers, some never left our region. We came to our church from atheism, agnosticism, cults, heretical churches, no churches, churches in schism.

But we’re all here now.

We have troubled kids, good kids, no kids. We have good parents, bad parents, or deceased parents.

And regardless of the language we speak, we are everybody.

We are each other’s problems, each other’s joys, each other’s sorrows, and each other’s love.

Our church basement holds maybe 60 people comfortably, which makes it difficult for a church of 150, especially on the high feast days. But we work it out. We move almost in shifts around the room, taking each other’s seats, sliding chairs around, passing food, getting drinks for each other. It’s a kind of dance with us.

Last year, this (Orthodoxy) was all so new to me. In some ways it still is, but with my church family, and they with me, it is developing a sort of Velveteen Rabbit quality—ears stretched out, whiskers bent, and noses kissed off. We are a mess. But we are His.

To my family at St. John’s—
I love you all, and I am honored to be a part of this House, this family.

God bless!

In the tomb, or More thoughts from Holy Week

2005-04-30T14:46:00.000-05:00

Christ is in the tomb.

In a very tangible, yet transcendent way, we have gone with Christ from His glorious entry to His Passion, and now...

He's in the tomb.

On Thursday evening, we read the "12 Passion Gospels"--a dozen passages referring to His suffering and death, some from His mouth in prophecy, and others recounting the details of His betrayal and crucifixion.

We said goodbye to the sad and tender Christ in the Bridegroom Icon, His hands bound, a crown of thorns on His head, and His eyes averted. I love that icon. Something stirs within me each time I see it and it's all I can do not to embrace the thing. I know, that sounds a little nutty.

In the midst of the 12 Passion Gospels, Fr. Isaac nailed a wooden icon of Christ to a cross, and lifted it up next to the Royal Doors. With each wack of the mallet in the darkened nave, you could hear people gasp and cry.

That's how it should be.

I grew up with the Easter Cantata--a giant staged program complete with smoke and lights as He arose from the tomb. It was fine, and it was a good way to watch the events unfold.

But there's nothing quite like being there yourself--which we believe, in a mystical way, happens during our services. When I venerate the wooden cross and kiss the feet of that Christ, in a way I can not explain my adoration is passed on through space and time to Him who died to free me from sin.

While our chanters sang "Him who hung the earth upon the waters is now hung upon a Cross," and we venerated the icon of Christ on the Cross, I wept like a friend had just died. It was the strangest thing EVER. But I guess my Friend did die.

The hymns often refer to our Holy Lady Mary and the other women who followed Christ to the Cross, watching in horror as He was brutally and unjustly killed, and weeping as He was removed from the Cross. I always forgot about them before. How hard it must have been for Mary--to love Him so much, and all that time knowing, yet probably hoping it would not, this would happen. What a tremendous gift she is to us--the example of her unselfish obedience and constant love for Christ, who was fully human.

All week as I looked at the various icons of Christ I was struck by His feet--the Creator of the Universe walked on the earth, had blisters, got dirty. How much more human is there than feet?!

On Friday evening, we took Christ from the Cross, laid Him in a bier and sang funeral songs for Him. The icons of Christ in the Church were covered with black veils (making it interesting when we pray for those of us growing accustomed to having something to affix our eyes to). Then He was taken off the bier, and placed into the tomb.

He was in the tomb this morning, when 12 people joined our Church, four through the waters of Holy Baptism--dying to sin and being raised to new life in Christ. The service, which ran no less than 3.5 hours, is one of the oldest in Christian tradition, dating back centuries, if not longer. The icons were still covered, though our hymns were a little lighter, alluding to the coming Miracle.

In about eight hours, He'll be out!

Offerings of Holy Week

2005-04-27T08:30:00.000-05:00

Updated from yesterday, with our text of the Bridegroom hymn:

Some liturgical food for thought, from the Bridegroom Matins service for Holy Wednesday:
Kontakion--
Though I have outdone the harlot in sin, yet I have offered You no shower of tears. Rather, I fall before You fervently kissing Your spotless feet, praying silently that, as Master, You will remit my debts as I cry: "Savior, free me from the foulness of my deeds!"

And another hymn--
While the sinful woman brought oil of myrrh, the disciple came to an agreement with the transgressors. She rejoiced to pour out what was very precious, he made haste to sell the One who is above all price. She acknowledged Christ as Lord, he severed himself from the Master. She was set free, but Judas became the slave of the enemy. Grievous was his lack of love. Great was her repentance. Grant such repentance also unto me, O Savior who has suffered for our sake, and save us.

This one, the song sung throughout all the Bridegroom services, reduced me to a puddle last night. Growing up with the "sinner's prayer," I thought I understand the language of the primary conversion experience. This, however, paints a whole new and glorious picture of "inviting Jesus in."

Verily I behold thy Bridal Chamber adorned, O my Savior, and I possess no wedding garment with which to enter therein. Delight Thou, in the robe of my soul, O Giver of Light, and save me.

And the thought that I won't sing that hymn in church again until next year...sigh.

Come, and see!

2005-04-24T22:37:00.000-05:00

To all readers: This is the second of my posts today (I know, shocking!), so look below for the other one.

To my Protestant, or non-Orthodox readers (if there are any), this is for you:

If you have ever had any kind of itch or curiousity to go to an Orthodox service, this is the time to do it. There is absolutely NOTHING on this side of Heaven that can compare to a Pascha service. So, find an Orthodox friend, or get out your phone book/visit the websites of the Orthodox churches here in America (the Antiochian Orthodox Church and the Orthodox Church of America are linked on the left). Find out what time their service is.

The Church, as the bride of Christ, eagerly awaits the appearing of our Bridegroom. We miss Him, we long to be with Him in the way we were intended. We love Him.

And on Saturday night, somewhere around midnight, we will rejoice in this His great and glorious gift of Salvation. You may find, will likely find, you have no idea what is going on, or that it's not all in English, or that it seems like it's something out of a National Geographic special. That's ok. It's like the clearest, purest, deepest river you will find.

But come on in, the water's great!

Come forth

2005-04-24T22:03:00.000-05:00

Well, Great Lent is officially over. We have now entered the holiest period of the year, aptly named "Holy Week." It means 11 services over seven days, culminating in the glorious Paschal celebration at about midnight on April 30/May 1. I CANNOT WAIT!

As I've said before, I came into the Church last Holy Saturday by the Sacrament of Chrismation. I renounced heresies. Fr. Isaac led me into the Church, annointed me with oil, and I took my first Communion. I was told I glowed like a bride on her wedding day. The honeymoon is far from over. I still get chills thinking of that day--the waves of peace flooding my soul as I realized that, after 30 years, I was spiritually HOME, and the overwhelming sense of how blessed I was to have been captured by the Truth.

Yesterday, we celebrated Lazarus Saturday. Liturgically, mystically, we watched Christ call forth His four-days-dead friend from a tomb. We know that He calls us forth as well, our souls long-dead in sin, asking us to come forward, to meet Him, to respond.

Growing up in the altar-call churches, I always felt a great pressure to march down the aisle, to rededicate, to get right with God. It's a good pressure to feel--we always stand in need of His mercy. But at the same time, intellectually, it didn't make any sense to me, because in those churches, there was not lot of language about transformation. We were SAVED. Once. No need to repent any further. Sure, we could be sorry for the sins we commited, but we were supposed to stay on the path. I always felt lost in all the talk of what we were supposed to do "for" Jesus. I kind of got hung up at the very first step. I felt like I just wasn't getting it.

I know that I stray. I know that I am prone to wander, to quote the great Protestant hymn. I always felt great guilt about that. Maybe if I believed more, maybe if I could just trust Him more, I would stay by His side. But it seemed like I never had the tools to stay there. I really, honestly, did not know how to do it, and it wasn't for lack of effort.

In the book of Acts, St. Luke records that one of the earliest names for the followers of Christ was those who were part of "the Way." Orthodoxy is very much the Way. It is a roadmap, a guide, a companion, and guardrails. It enables me to more clearly hear the voice of the One calling from beyond the place where I am, saying "come forth." And it gives me the tools to respond--through Holy Communion, through Confession, through participation in the liturgies.

All those tools are available to us all the time, but no more so than during this period of our year. Today we responded with our palm branches, welcoming Him as King. And as Orthodox Christians, we prepare to enter with Him into that holiest week, to His death, and His glorious Resurrection. It is a week-long process. We remember the parable of the bridegroom and the foolish maids--unprepared for His coming. We will mourn His suffering and His death, keeping vigil at the tomb until the appointed hour, when like the myrh-bearing women, we will proclaim His resurrection to the world.

This Mystery

2005-04-18T08:22:00.000-05:00

For my Godmother--who's been pestering me to blog.

Tonight's CD--St. Vladimir's Seminary Choir singing hymns of Pascha. I think it may be close to the angelic chorus...

Earlier in the evening I was listening to an Orthodox hymn set to a very modern melody, describing in Greek the paradox of the Crucifixion. He who hung the earth among the stars hung on a Cross. The One who cannot die, died.

Please forgive the very amateur philosophy here, but I understand one of the legacies of the Reformation and the Enlightenment to be this belief that we can figure "it" out, whatever "it" is. Since that it is not the history of my Church, there's not this hang-up over that which we cannot know. We say, with all seriousness and earnestness, it is a Mystery.

The Orthodox Church seems comfortable in paradox. We understand, as Bishop Kallistos said, it is not the job of Christianity to provide easy answers to every question, but rather "to make us progressively aware of a mystery. God is not so much the object of our knowledge as the cause of our wonder." Or as St. Gregory of Nyssa said: "God's name is not known. It is wondered at."

We see some of these paradoxes in our hymns to the Theotokos--for her obedience in the Incarnation led the One who cannot be contained to be contained in her womb, the eternally begotten was born on a specific date in time.

I tend to like the plan of attack. I like to know what's coming up so I can prepare to be spontaneous. But, of course, that's not what life allows.

The things I try to control, those are the very things I need to let go of. The things I try to figure out, those are things I cannot figure out. It revealed itself so profoundly last year as I drew closer to chrismation--coming from a Christian "tradition" where theologies were systematized and categorized, I was flummoxed by a theology that was OK with that which cannot be explained, only believed in faith.

So in my life in this Holy Church, I ponder some of these big paradoxes, such as this notion of the Triune God, the Most High, taking on human flesh and dwelling among us, being fully man and yet fully God. Right now, two weeks from Pascha, I wait to sing about the big one, the one those seminary guys are singing about--how He trampled death by death and upon those in the tombs bestowing life!

And as I do that, I find that somehow I am able to accept or work through some of those daily paradoxes of growth that trip me up. In the boundaries of the faith I cannot understand, only express, I find great freedom.

The Original Days of Purpose

2005-04-01T09:31:00.000-05:00

Before the Forty Days of Purpose, there was Great Lent.

Contrary to conventional wisdom in much of Western Christiandom, the early church was not overly “seeker sensitive.” Now, the early Christians were very seeker sensitive, always seeking to give an answer for the hope that was in them, but the churches, not so much. Church, in my limited understanding, never seemed to be intended to be solely an evangelistic outreach.

Rather, it existed to serve as an “ark” for the believer, a place of safety. The actual language of the church buildings indicate this—we gather not in a sanctuary, but rather in the “nave”, a word taken from nautical language. You came to church to worship God, and to be healed. But you came on God’s terms, not yours. It is the hospital where we go to be made well, and we submit to the treatments prescribed therein.

Every Sunday I am reminded of this reality, when just prior to reciting the Nicene Creed, the priest intones “The doors, the doors.” Historically, that’s the point in the service when the catechumens would leave. Because the Church taught that the bread and wine was mystically transformed into the Body and Blood of her Savior, rumors of cannibalism abounded, and gave apparent justification for persecution. So spies would sneak into services, in hopes of catching the Christians in the “act.” The Eucharist, and actually even being in the nave for Communion, was reserved for those who had submitted their lives to Christ and entered His Church.

It was so much more than walking an aisle, reading a tract, or praying a prayer. And historically in part, the spring run-up to Pascha was the time for this process to occur. It was a serious matter, and those converting spent much time in prayerful study and other disciplines. There’s a much better post about this topic over at Touchstone Magazine’s “Mere Comments” blog, but I’m going to try to sum up, and touch on a bit of my own experience as I entered the Church.

In the Didache, an early Church devotional text, those preparing for Baptism were urged to fast prior to the sacrament, which was often administered on Holy Saturday, prior to Pascha (Easter). But those that did the Baptism were also urged to fast. It was a process the community entered in together.

I was chrismated on Holy Saturday in 2004—my forehead, hands, and feet anointed with oil, as I received the seal of the Holy Spirit. My godmother was there, as were members of the congregation. I had been specifically prayed for during each Sunday service as I approached my chrismation. And while I was grateful that, in the months prior to my chrismation, the Church no longer asks catechumens to leave the service, I was even more grateful, afterward, that it was still something I was asked to take seriously, asked to pray about, study, and physically submit to.

We have a number of people preparing to join the Holy Orthodox Church in about a month, on another Holy Saturday. When Fr. Isaac prays for them during the service, I get chills, just like I do when he says “The doors, the doors.” I can’t wait for them to partake of the Divine and Life-Giving Mysteries. I can’t wait to continue together with them along this journey home.

There is often talk in much of Western Christianity of this need to be relevant, to be seeker sensitive, to give Joe and Jane American a reason to come through the doors each Sunday (or Saturday or whenever). If salvation, complete and total healing of soul, and eternal life is not enough of a reason to decide to come, I really don’t know what else it would take.

Drama on County Road 200 South

2005-04-01T09:18:00.000-05:00

I drive a lot. And sometimes those trips present wonderful opportunities to see spiritual truths reflected in the natural world around me.

On Wednesday, I watched an enormous red tailed hawk wrestle a poor, unsuspecting squirrel off the middle of the road. As I drove up, the bird sat on the shoulder, clutching the barely dead squirrel in a taloned-foot, and glared at me with this predatory smugness. I suspect that the squirrel scurried out into the road, worried about dodging cars, and maybe didn’t notice the giant danger perched in the trees above the road.

Lent’s a hard trip, and a good wake-up call for how arduous our walk of faith is EVERY day.

I feel, this week, a lot like that squirrel. I have worried about temptation X and Y bearing down on me at a high speed from ground level, threatening to reduce me to the spiritual equivalent of a crimson stain on the pavement. But at the same time I have ignored passion Z, perched atop the trees, and eagerly waiting to devour me.

On Sunday, Fr. Isaac preached a bit on St. Gregory Palamas, who taught that, while we cannot partake of God's Divine Essence, we can partake of His Divine Energies--His grace, His love, and His light. Then he talked again about the Ladder of Divine Ascent, and how our passions and the the devil himself seek to pull us off, trying to keep us from fulfilling our journey. But, he said, God calls out to us, cheering us on, encouraging us to keep coming towards Him, to continue to pursue Him. "Come unto me, all you who are weary" is His cry to us.

It was a good sermon, and I'm sure a topic he will revisit again during Great Lent. And I was again reminded, in a kind of parable, of the dangers around me as I watched that poor squirrel.

I need to pay more attention.

Swarms of trouble

2005-03-23T09:17:00.000-05:00

I used to take wilderness canoe trips during summers in my college years. On my first trip, my boots were too small, something I didn't realize until I put them on with my wool socks, hundreds of miles from anywhere. I shall spare you the gory details, but I ended up with blisters that made my feet look a WWI soldier with trench foot. I was completely miserable, and barely able to put one foot in front of the other as I hauled a canoe and backpack from lake to lake in Northern Ontario.

I had been warned about the mosquitoes, but I didn't realize how bad they were until the first time I flipped the canoe up over my head and swarms of the little buggers huddled up under the dripping Fiberglas, attacking any piece of open skin on my head, hands, and arms. And woe to me any time I happened to slow down to give my poor feet a rest, or to shift the canoe, or whatever. Any lag led to those needle-nosed demons declaring open season.

That's what the last 24 hours have felt like. Welcome to Lent...

It's not the big stuff that trips me up, that ruins my focus, spoils my mood, and renders me completely ineffective. It's the little nonsense--technology trouble at work, general clumsiness, traffic delays, and some bizarre hyper-sensitivity to EVERYTHING. I'm pathetic.

I have been aggravated, angry, annoyed, critical, criticized, discouraged, impatient, and, (need I mention?) whine-y.

In Orthodoxy we talk a lot about our "passions"--those things that often lead us to sin. We are constantly reminded of the danger they pose to us, and how they keep us from becoming more like Christ. We pray for help in controlling them, and seek to bring them to submission.

I have been told, often, to expect more struggle during Lent, both internal and external. Obviously, I am consciously wrestling with more--intentionally trying to focus on my need for a Savior and healing. And, of course, the enemy wants me to do none of that, for as long as I am distracted, disinterested, or distressed, I am ineffective.

I could not shake these thoughts last evening. They already had their proboscises in me, drawing blood. I went to sleep with them, and I awakened to them. But then I recognized them for what they were, and I started swatting them off. (It was best accomplished in my icon corner with the book of Psalms.)

I expect they'll come back. I'm tired, walking slow, and feeling ouchy, so I guess I'll make an easy target. But like the portage under the dripping canoe, I have places to go, and I can't get there standing around whining about the bugs.

Today's morning psalm:
LORD, how they have increased who trouble me! Many are they who rise up against me. Many are they who say of me, "There is no help for him in God." Selah
But You, O LORD, are a shield for me,
My glory and the One who lifts up my head.
I cried to the LORD with my voice,
And He heard me from His holy hill. Selah
I lay down and slept; I awoke, for the LORD sustained me.
I will not be afraid of ten thousands of people
Who have set themselves against me all around.
Arise, O LORD; Save me, O my God!
For You have struck all my enemies on the cheekbone;
You have broken the teeth of the ungodly.
Salvation belongs to the LORD. Your blessing is upon Your people.
Selah

Swat!

Sadly appropriate

2005-03-22T12:46:00.000-05:00

Yesterday's reading in the Lectionary for the second Monday of Great Lent included Isaiah 5:7-
He looked for justice, but behold, oppression;
For righteousness, but behold, a cry for help.

sigh.

Road weary

2005-03-21T22:52:00.000-05:00

I’m homesick.

Tonight, the CD player is filling my living room with sounds from The Fellowship of the Ring. When I first read the books and, of course, watched those marvelous movies, I felt a great affinity for Samwise—his loyalty, devotion, and commitment. But at the end, I felt for Frodo, still feeling the pain from the wounds suffered on his journey.

For some reason, today, this second Monday of Great Lent, I am mindful of my own journey. Step by step, sometimes wavering, sometimes steady, but hopefully always heading home.

We don’t belong here. The intention was never the frosty winters of Narnia under the White Witch, the fires of Mordor, or the soul-stripping consumerism of 21st-century America. We’re supposed to be somewhere else. We’re supposed to be with the King.

That’s what He created us for—to walk with Him, to know His voice, and to be in His presence, all the time. But we have always had other things in mind for ourselves—fruited trees, Turkish delight, Rings of Power, and Hummers. We know better, thanks. We’re our own people. We are self-actualized, credit-rated, and able to choose.

Thank God that He acted apart from our choices. Thank God that He loves us in spite of them.

Yesterday was the Sunday of Orthodoxy. We take the icons off the walls, and march them around the Church, singing of our Faith, and praising Him who has saved us. We reflect on the Seventh Ecumenical Council that restored the use of icons in worship (rightfully). Icons, of course, mean more to us than pretty pictures on the wall. They are the portraits of our friends who have gone before, but most importantly they are the images of the Incarnation, they are reminders of Emmanuel. They show God with us, in spite of us, and for us. He revealed Himself to us. The Only-Begotten Son, the Word of God, took on human form to lead us out of here. He chose not to hide Himself from us, in spite of our refusal to look at Him.

Our choices have poisoned this world where we live. The weight of the sins that I commit destroy the planet, harm my brother, and fly in the face of my Redeemer’s love.

I have misplaced myself. Instead of a life surrounded by the peace of the garden, I awake in a world that kills those who are no longer expedient, a place where the slow, the weak, and the poor are destroyed. I numb the reality with countless frivolities--television, idle chatter, food, drink, noise, whatever.

But I am in exile. I am the Israelite in Egypt. I am the prodigal eating with the swine. I am Eve, cast out.

Yet He has come. The steady and difficult march of Lent will ultimately bring me to the glorious Pascha, the day of my rescue. It reminds me of the weight of sin, and the beauty of Redemption.

I can’t allow myself to forget where I belong. I should not get too comfortable here, for someday…home.

From Fr. Thomas Hopko’s book, The Lenten Spring:
To forget God is the cause of all sins, to be unmindful of Zion is the source of all sorrows. To settle down in this fallen world, which is not God’s good creation, but rather the Babylon which the wicked has made, is death to the soul.

Then, Fr. Thomas quotes from the First Friday matins:

Blinded by sensual pleasure, I bear within me a darkened soul, and the crafty enemy laughs when he sees me. Give me light, O Christ, and deliver me forever from his malice.

Safe travels. And Good Lent.

Forgiveness Sunday (and Monday, and Tuesday...)

2005-03-16T22:19:00.000-05:00

Sunday was Forgiveness Vespers. If "Meatfare Sunday" was "get-right-with-God" Sunday, I guess you could say that "Cheesefare Sunday" (this past Sunday) was "get-right-with-your-brothers" Sunday.

Last year, having not been joined to the Church through Chrismation, I did not participate, by my own choosing. It felt too much like "family time" and I was not yet there. But this year, I need, so very badly, that family. Thanks be to God!

This year, with timing being once again everything,Forgiveness Sunday, the beginning of Great Lent, the day we reflect on how our own sins affect those around us and the world-wide community, came sandwiched between the death of an elderly family member and this.

I was unaware of the second item as I participated in the Forgiveness Vespers service. For the non-Orthodox friends of this blog, Forgiveness Vespers involve each member of the church bowing, embracing, and seeking the forgiveness of the others in our church family. We bow, and ask their forgiveness for any way in which we have offended them, regardless of how well we know them. They respond, with an embrace, and "I forgive, and God forgives all." It is truly a humbling and beautiful time.

Because our building is liturgically challenged, I got kind of wedged between the pew (yes, I know) and the wall. As I tried hard not to knock the icons off the wall behind me, I had little room to bow, and neither did the poor soul approaching me in the line. I ended the evening with a small knot on my head from an elbow. {Mike, I forgive, and God forgives all! :)} As we awkwardly bowed, and furiously hugged each other, I could not help but be strangely convicted of my own sin, with each congregant that passed by me.

Then (the above linked item) this morning, sitting in a courtroom, staring at the back of the head of a man whose "alleged" actions caused great grief to so many people, I struggled to remain in that same spirit of forgiveness, and to control the anger and frustration I have vowed to wrestle with during this Lenten season. Sigh...

So now, sitting in my quiet home, with the Akathist of Thanksgiving on the CD player, I feel vulnerable, sad, and yet, at the same time, comforted by the great forgiveness of God.

From the Akathist...(written by a pastor imprisoned in a Russian gulag):
That which is broken cannot be restored, but You can set aright those whose conscience has become decayed; You restore the soul to its former beauty in those who have lost it beyond all hope. With You there is nothing that cannot be put aright. You are all love. You are the Creator and the Restorer. To You we sing praise: Alleluia!

And from Forgiveness Vespers:
The grace of our Lord has shown forth, the grace which illumines our souls.
This is the acceptable time; the time of repentence is here.
Let us put aside the works of darkness; let us put on the armor of light, that passing through Lent as through a great sea, we may reach the third-day Resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Savior of our souls.

Amen.

Judgment Sunday (Farewell to meat!)

2005-03-06T22:33:00.000-05:00

Meatfare Sunday--the day we give up our carnivorous ways until Pascha. It is also the day on the calendar where we reflect on the judgment. It's "get right with God" Sunday.

The passage the Church gives us today is the parable of the sheep and the goats (made me think of Keith Green). It always makes me very somber, though I'm not sure if it's the part where they say "Lord", or the part where He says "Depart from me..."

I could write about eternal security, how that played into my journey, or talk about the importance of doing His work here, as a vital part of our faith. But I won't. I'm going to stray a bit from the blog (I know, after just outlining its purpose).

There's an icon with Christ in the center, and a river flowing upward to heaven, and a river flowing down, toward hell. The river finds its source in the One in the center of the icon--Jesus Christ. The river, Fr. Isaac said, expressing the views of early Christian writers, is the love of God, both in heaven, and in hell.

For those who spend their lives denying the love of God, running from it, avoiding it, and hating it, such brilliant love would be blinding, painful, like the midday sun to a mole. Instead of providing comfort and safety, it would be the last thing they would want. As St. Isaac the Syrian said, what would be worse than the scourge of love. And, it would be something they would do themselves--a torment of their own earthly and spiritual choices.

Conversely, for those who have embraced Him and His gifts, that love would provide life itself. They would not be able to get enough of it, drinking deep, finding all they need inside. It is what we were created for.

Behold, what manner of love the Father has given unto us: that we may be called the sons of God!

Drink up!

Just a quick note

2005-03-06T21:54:00.000-05:00

I have greatly appreciated the lively conversation on the earlier posts. Writers like it when people read their stuff, and that seems to extend to the blogosphere.

But, ask anyone who knows me even half-way well, I am a paranoid freak. I hate being misunderstood, and I want to make sure the purpose of this blog is reiterated, and that I say once again that I am not trying to attack anyone.

It took me about 12 years to come to Orthodoxy from my earlier states of spiritual unrest, and five years to make up my mind once I became acquainted with the Church. During those years, inside my warped little mind, I wrestled over these issues, argued with myself, and flirted with change. But other than my occasional cynical jabs, no one in my family or any of my friends really knew what was going on in my mind. This blog is an attempt to get it down on "paper", for them and others (I hope) to read, think about, disagree/agree with, or ignore.

Consider it postcards from my journey home.

But that journey involved leaving, and I left a place I still hold dear and important in my mind (believe it or not), and a place where the majority of those I love still live. I know that my decision has caused frustration, and even pain, to those who love me. I hope, for them, this helps them understand me a bit more, though it probably just exacerbates the situation.

It is not in anyway my intention to attack specific people, or specific churches, though things I observed in those churches concerned me, and were counted among those things that I left.

I hope this blog sparks more discussion. I hope that friends and family members aren't pulling out their hair, slamming their laptops closed, and gritting their teeth in frustration. I hope those that are not Orthodox forgive my zeal when it goes overboard, and look past my feeble efforts to see the glory of the Church created at Pentacost. I hope that those who share my love for the Holy Orthodox Church forgive my errors, and my efforts to explain this great Mystery.

May God richly bless all of you on your journeys!

Take me to the river

2005-02-28T18:44:00.000-05:00

I missed church yesterday, and that is NEVER EVER a good thing for me. My mom's in the hospital and I was back at the ol' hometown to kinda keep an eye on stuff for her, and bring her chai.

I hate it when I miss church. It makes me spiritually ouchy, and then when I come back to work and the everyday life, it's like trying to drive a car on the rims. Sparks have been flying all day long.

I really expected myself to get tired of the liturgy, tired of the SAME service every Sunday and occasionally during the week. But I have found the opposite to be true. Each line of the service is so theologically rich, from the Creed, to the pre-communion prayers, to the hymns for the day's saint and the Mother of my God, and to the veneration of the Precious and Life-giving Cross as I leave. It connects me and grounds me in a way I cannot begin to explain. But I'm going to try anyway.

The service feels like a rushing river -- the prayers, the litanies, the readings, the entrances. It moves along, gathering me up and carrying me in a rush of words and incense. I chant with fervor as I pray the Lord's Prayer--asking for forgiveness and His provision. I bow, I cross myself, and I kneel--each action connecting me physically to my faith. And there are parts of the service where we know we join with the angels, singing with the Cherubim and the Seraphim--Holy God! Holy Mighty! Holy Immortal! It is my spiritual home. It is the wings to my soul. It is the cry of my heart.

This is my church.

Freedom of choice

2005-02-26T21:30:00.000-05:00

One of the things I've noticed is how IN LOVE we all are with choice, and we associate the freedom to make ANY choice (to do anything we want) with the freedom to make IMPORTANT choices (to be able to worship freely or not). If you doubt my assertion, please visit the toothpaste aisle in your local super(size)market the size of ten football fields. It is now absolutely impossible to discern what's the best or yummiest product to use on your teeth. And oh how we've extended this insatiable desire for choice. If you doubt that assertion, please contemplate the arguments for abortion rights, all kinds of odd sexual proclivities, and income tax evasion. I think that's what happens when one of a country's founding documents contain the language "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." I don't believe those three are inherently equal to each other.

How does this apply to Orthodoxy? Good question. Here's how.

Western Christians (particularly American Evangelicals/Protestants) have taken this love of choice to religious heights. If you doubt that, please visit Beliefnet and check out the interview with the illustrious head of the Crystal Cathedral, Dr. Bob, who said the church experience should be similar to that of the shopping mall. (Somewhere in heaven, venerable foreheads are being smacked by venerable palms in sheer frustration.)

But that's how America does church in this postmodern age of Baby-boomer enlightenment. We like our Christianity on the Jumbotron, with some film clips, and a good rock and roll band. We do not like Creeds, we don't like statements of faith that are too exclusive, and we don't like to be told that there MAY BE A BEST way to do this thing, as opposed to the way we want to do it.

We couch the argument in language of seeker-sensitivity, in the need to be "relevant" and in the desire to approach people where they are.

I heard all that. I thought all that, once upon a time. But I can tell you when I lost it. It was about two years ago, and I had managed to push the truth of Orthodoxy into a small box in the closet of my mind, while I continued to justify to myself why it was ok to go to the easy churches. But I was fast running out of places to go. A friend suggested I check out her church, a new church, meeting in a cafeterium in some middle school on the north side of the city where I live. So I dutifully checked it out. I was looking for a church called Pathways, but pulled into the parking lot of the wrong middle school, and in the wrong cafeterium found a church called Crossroads, and I could not, for the life of me, tell the difference.

I felt like I was shopping for spiritual khakis, and all I needed to do was find the closest Gap or Anne Taylor. But I realized, again, that this had to be more than finding whatever pair of pants fit my soul the best. This was much too serious for that.

I know this sounds weird, because I can go into any Orthodox church, and with a few regional/cultural differences, find the service to be almost exactly the same as the liturgy performed at St. John Chrysostom Antiochian Orthodox Church every Sunday morning. It's easy to say it too looks like just another toothpaste on the shelf. But I guess the difference for me was this: the Orthodox church stands there every Sunday morning, doing the same thing it's done for centuries. It's not trying to be relevant. It's not too concerned about being seeker-sensitive. It is preaching the truth, as it has done for 2,000 years. It is not a franchise, nor does it say that if you can't find the size you like here, you can try another one on next door.

I could not make church come to me on my terms. I could not be a consumer with my spiritual life, nor should church exist to make me as comfortable as possible, like some kind of flight attendant on life's little journey. Nope, church is CHURCH. It is stepping into the presence of the Almighty GOD and worshipping Him, on His terms. It is above me, it is beyond me, and yet, in a strange way, it is me. And because I make up that church, I want to make sure I'm at the right one. I want my worship to be as true as possible, as right as possible, and as close to that of the angels as I can get it.

It's a bit more than choosing between Colgate's latest whitening formula and Crest's fancy flavors. It has to be.

The still, small voice

2005-02-16T17:48:00.000-05:00

Every Sunday, as I listen to Fr. Isaac's sermon, my brain is noting things to blog about. But do you think I can remember them when it's time to sit down at the computer? Absolutely not. I should jot them down, but it just doesn't feel right.

We're getting really, really close to Great Lent--my first as an Orthodox Christian. I am equally excited and nervous. It's a big deal to us. Last year, everyone around me joked I was giving up Protestantism for Lent. In a real way, I guess that was true. The crunch of my conversion began this time last year, a period of great personal doubt, spiritual wrangling, and nagging convictions.

Anne Lamott wrote once that she never really felt pursued by Christ, but rather found Him winsome, gently persistant in His love for her. She likened Him to a stray cat waiting by the porch door. In some ways, I felt that way about Orthodoxy. It just waited for me to open up to all its love, beauty, and spiritual wealth. He does stand at the door and knock, you know.

I spent a good portion of the five years after I first became acquainted with Orthodoxy trying to talk myself out of the correctness of it. I kept looking at all those other churches, looking for the REAL one, and in my heart knowing where it was I belonged. And all that time, it seemed like the Lord was gently whispering in my ear, pointing in the direction of the Holy Orthodox Church, saying, "It's over there. That's it and you know it."

Each time I tried a new church, I knew it wasn't going to work. It was like really, really liking a pair of shoes, but they don't fit quite right. You justify why you'll wear them anyway. You spend too much money, buy them, and then they sit in your closet because they don't fit. (I do that, too). And it seems like the more churches I tried, the more miserable I became and the more awkward the experience in that church.

I left the Vineyard after talk of a prophecy conference, and more talk of "God doing a new thing", which made me worry they were going to start barking like dogs or rolling on the floor. It had happened before.

From there, I went to a small, non-denominational church that wonderfully, and wisely, incorporated a large amount of church history and practice into its worship. We recited creeds, knew who Arius was, and could kind of define the hypostatic union. This, I thought, is good enough. But it was not. It was a pretty flower without the pot. There was no context for all that we were learning. We had knowledge for knowledge's sake. It didn't draw me closer to God, it drew me closer to my brain. But, thankfully, through a number of circumstances related and unrelated to my quest, I left, and found myself still looking.

I knew where I needed to go. It made me very uncomfortable, because there was not a doubt in my mind that I would never, ever be a Protestant/Evangelical again.

I wish that I could say that I went completely willingly. I wish that I could say that I was obedient to that voice, that I didn't worry more about what my friends or family would say than what I knew was the right thing. But I can't. And while my journey to chrismation was shorter than some, for me it was an agonizing process.

But I guess it should be. There is nothing more serious than faith. It would have been so much easier if Orthodoxy came to me in the form of an altar call, if it pursued me, if it asked me to do something dramatic right now. But it didn't. It haunted me. God kept asking me what I needed. He asked me what He wanted. He asked me what was right.

Closet crosser

2005-01-24T22:58:00.000-05:00

Hi, my name is Rebecca, and I cross myself.

For years that's how I felt I needed to introduce myself in some of my Protestant/Evangelical churches. I secretly and vigorously crossed myself for years prior to my conversion to Eastern Orthodoxy, particularly after taking Communion.

Oh, don't think I was bold about it out in Rome-a-phobic land. Nope, I was quite furtive, slipping the right hand up, across, over and down with great speed. It probably looked like I was just swatting a fly, but I'm hoping God understood. I'm sure He did.

I remember watching those Catholic neighbor kids make the sign of the cross when they would come over for dinner, and I remember being strangely drawn to it. My customary question "Why?" drew the answer "Because they're Catholic."

"But why don't we cross ourselves?"

"We just don't."

Unacceptable.

The practice of making the sign of the Cross on one's person is one of Christianity's oldest, appearing somewhere before the 3rd century. I read a story some months ago of a handful of Christians working for a pagan Roman ruler. He had ordered a pagan ritual of some type to be done by his priests, and the Christians were present in the room (deeply closeted I am sure). When the priests were performing the ritual, which was to have had some whiz-bang effect, the Christians discretely made the sign of the Cross and whatever was supposed to happen didn't. They went home and told their brothers and sisters, and all glory and praise was given to God.

The practice still exists in all the more traditional practices of Christianity (Eastern Orthodoxy, Roman Catholicism, Lutheranism, Anglican). But it was nowhere to be found in my free-church Evangelical/fundamentalist Baptist worlds.

Somewhere about halfway through college I found myself unable to refrain from making the sign. I have no idea why or what triggered it, but often in private prayers, particularly times that felt particularly fervent or reverent or whatever, I'd zip the hand up. I don't know if I did it from right to left (Orthodox way--oldest way) or from left to right (Roman Catholic et. al). And it didn't happen all the time, but there were times when I needed, HAD TO HAVE, a physical expression of what I was feeling/thinking inside my head.

When I attended a small, charismatic homechurch, and then later a raucous Vineyard congregation, nobody batted an eye when I did it. It was all good, whatever you needed to do to get in touch with Jesus was OK. Besides, who noticed at the Vineyard when there were people running down the aisle waving big flags.

The mega-churches required a little more discretion, though it was easy to get lost there, too. The last Protestant church I attended used creeds, church history, and taught a little bit on the lives of the Saints (though of course they didn't call them such), so they noticed what I did occassionally, but they didn't seem to mind.

The snowy night before I visited St. John Chrysostom's, as I scoped out the parking lot and its quiet neighborhood, with tears streaming down my face, I crossed myself as I drove by and looked up at the cross on top (We kinda have a steeple, and pews...our building is a bit liturgically challenged...it looks like an old Baptist church. My mom felt right at home till she saw the icons :) ). That night was the last time I felt the need to be sneaky about it, though my family still looks at me funny when we bless holiday meals.

The whole idea of physical practice in worship (crossing, prostrations, standing, bowing, etc.) has been very helpful to me. I am weak and struggle with finding words for my prayers, or ways to express those things so deeply inside. Sometimes I am unsuccessful. But at those times I can cross myself, my right hand demonstrating a belief in the Triune God as it accepts for me personally the saving, life-giving Cross of my Lord Jesus Christ. When I struggle, when I feel lost and helpless to connect with that faith, it is ok to rest under that Cross , to know that He is enough and He will save me.

Looking for the true Church

2005-01-20T18:15:00.000-05:00

Disclaimer: I do not know where the Holy Spirit isn't, only where He is. It is not my place to say who is a Christian and who is not. I am only recounting my own journey to the Holy Orthodox Church.

When I was preparing to go to college, a pastor at my Baptist church grabbed my hand in the hallway after church one Wednesday night and asked me where I was going to school. I gave him the name of the ridiculously expensive, but academically solid Midwestern evangelical liberal arts college, to which he responded "I'll pray for you."

For some reason, I didn't think he meant that in a general way, but rather specifically, since I was venturing outside the folds of conservative Baptist land. That comment rang the gong of my childhood curiosities about the other churches in my community. "Which one is right?" "Are we right?" "What happens to those people who go to other churches?"

While at that college, I talked with devout Catholics, Pentacostals, Presbyterians, etc, etc. It was like a Christian zoo--as many species as you could think of were represented in chapel every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I saw my first Advent candles. I started wearing a cross. And I really, really wanted to know where we came from. I found a few other students who had similar curiosities and we debated the issue for hours, talking about what it meant to be an authentic Christian, about how the earliest Christians must have done church. I didn't have the answers, but I began to understand that you absolutely could not have Christianity without the Church. The institution itself mattered at the most basic levels.

The newest edition of Christianity Today has an article about this. It examines how this generation is OK with just spirituality, a more virulent form of "Jesus and Me" then we have probably seen in a long time. Take a good helping of American individualism, mix in some free-church Protestantism, and some Baby Boomer feel-good spirituality, and wha-la...

What's interesting to me is the big, chain-rattling ghost in the CT article...the ghost of the "True Church". The article says, for the most part, that Christianity cannot be done outside the confines of the church, that church matters, and it needs to be the right church. Herein enters the ghost (hear his chains rattling). He asks "Who decides what is the True Church?"

As I thought about and wrangled over this issue years ago, I got spooked by those echoes. Somebody has to decide. At the end of the day, there has to be an authentic measurement of what makes a church OK, and what makes it qualify as preaching "go-to-Hell" heresies. It's the question too many don't ask for real. Our culture does not want to really know where the boundaries are drawn. If they do, then maybe they're not standing on the right side.

When God commanded Noah to build the ark, he said those inside would be saved. But Noah had to do it in the way he was told.

Why do we think Church is any different?

Apologies and some more musings on Christmas

2005-01-04T20:06:00.000-05:00

To my few loyal readers discouraged by my lack of posts...I'm sorry. I've been away from a computer, and am now away from a high speed connection. (I know, I know...there's always some type of excuse with me, isn't there?)

Tomorrow marks the end of the Nativity season with the Theophany. My work schedule has taken me from my parish home and will make it impossible to get to a service. (I'm seriously bummed)

It's been a difficult Nativity season, for probably a number of reasons, but one being that it's hard enough to be the one of the only Orthodox Christian I know outside my church on a normal Sunday, but it's harder by far on a major American holiday. My deep thanks to my mom and grandma for traveling with me to my parish on Sunday, Dec. 26. It meant so much.

But I did have a little bit of time to reflect on a few things, and one was how much the Christmas season has always spoken to me spiritually, though it has often been an extremely difficult time personally. One of the things I'd noticed was how reverent the period was for so many Evangelical Christians, not particularly known for their love of tradition and symbol. There's more candles, more artwork, more somber hymnology (Silent Night, O Come O Come Emmanuel). It almost felt, to me anyway, that Christians seemed to need to reach backward in their history a bit to make the holiday even more meaningful. They talk more about Mary and, occasionally, they use words like "advent" and even "vespers."

I have a theory about this. I not only think many do reach further back into their history to make the holiday more meaningful, but I think they do it at some kind of subconscious level. In some earlier posts, I have written I believe, truly, God created us with an internal understanding/need for symbol. We understand the meaning of things, even if it is not explained to us outright. It's something basic, yet beautiful, about our nature. Christmas (and Easter) is one of few days left in the modern Protestant church calendar with any symbolic weight left. And I believe that resonates with those in the pews.

It resonated with me before Orthodoxy. Baptists (particularly fundamentalists) are not known for their Christmas Eve services (too Catholic), so we would often venture to a nearby United Methodist Church to sing Silent Night while holding lighted candles. I LOVED IT! It was the most beautiful thing and I felt it connecting somewhere deep inside me in a way I rarely felt throughout most services. I guess in some ways the earliest steps to Orthodoxy for me led through that Christmas Eve service at that church, along with my Christian college's insistence on lighting the Advent candles.

What is it they say? "The chief end of man is to glorify God forever." We are hard-wired for worship. And I believe we know the difference between emotionalism and worship. We know reverence whether we practice it on Sundays or not. That is in part, I think, why Christmas remains so darn-near liturgical. (Prediction: As American Christians try to figure out how to wrestle the day away from the retail establishment and experiment with "emerging church" and other post-modern inventions, Christmas will only get more liturgical in the next few years.)

Yet one more ghost...

That's it for now, I guess. I'm having more internet troubles. I'll try to get more up this weekend.

Fast-forward through the Nativity

2004-12-14T18:00:00.000-05:00

I really, really, really like chocolate. And I really, really, really like meat.

But I'm Orthodox now. That means so much of the practice of my faith is about learning to submit my "passions" to the will of God. And there's this thought that if you can learn to control your stomach, you can learn to control anything. So we fast.

I knew the Orthodox church practiced the discipline of fasting, but if I'd had any idea how much it would be, in reality, maybe I would have thought twice. Nah, I wouldn't have. But every now and then I have to shake my head a bit, in surprise at yet another way my Orthodox practice is so different from my Evangelical one.

Orthodox Christians fast from meat, oil, dairy, and wine nearly every Wednesday and Friday, in remembrance of Christ's betrayal and crucifixion. Among others, there's the strict Lenten fast, the Apostle's fast in early summer, and the Nativity Fast--the 40 days prior to Christmas.

That leaves us vegetarians about half the year.

Christ commanded us to fast, though it is something that is not often done or done with any structure in Evangelical/Protestant land. In Scriptures, we read the words of our Lord saying "When you fast..." which implies that we WILL do this, not that we won't. In Orthodoxy it is a means of spiritual discipline, it is a way to draw closer to God, and to become more like Christ. It also sharpens our spiritual awareness, making us more attuned to the spiritual realities around us and causing us to bring to mind things we may not think about otherwise.

And now, as we approach the Nativity of our Lord, we abstain. As holiday parties, cookie trays, and eggnog pass our way, we give pause. And we wait. For me, in a way, it seems like we're in the waiting room, pacing, as we anticipate news the Child is born.

I'm not super-hot at all this yet, and I'm still figuring it out, with the help and guidance of my priest. (Thanks, Fr. Isaac!) But I anticipate as I spend future Advent seasons, upcoming Lents, and these other times throughout the year reflecting on the wonderful gift of our Salvation, I think I'll figure out a little more about myself, my God, and my faith.

Ghosts on the calendar

2004-11-26T16:07:00.000-05:00

When I was younger, I remember I asked why the church celebrates Easter and Christmas when they do. And I remember it being one more question that never received the straightest of answers.

I think I know why, or maybe I've narrowed it down to a few possible explanations.

Reason #1. I think most Christians do not know a thing about the history of their faith (emphasis most definitely added). And why should they? Few churches offer any kind of teaching on the history of the ancient church, the teachings of the ancient church and how or why things are done somewhat differently today. Some Christians have a kind of rough general outline of the past--they have Acts, Luther and then the subsequent history of their own denomination. But as denominational distinctions continue to blur in the era of the mega-church, those few little pieces are washing out with the tide.

I think that's sad. I believe we would better appreciate the value of our religious freedoms if we truly understood the dangerous journey made by Christianity into the 21st Century. I think we would better understand the way to live the faith in a modern society if we understood the context of its origins 2004 years ago. I think we would be better Christians.

Reason #2. Those that do know something about the history of their faith may not want to answer any subsequent questions about why things have changed so much, because I think those questions are harder to answer. Why is it that we have reduced the Christian calendar to just a few days a year? Why is it that we don't recognize the history of our faith and honor those who have gone before?

Christmas in my church is called "The Nativity of our Lord God and Savior Jesus Christ." It is celebrated on December 25 using some calendars, and on different days on other calendars (which I am in no way getting into here). It is one of a number of major feast days giving to us by the Church to celebrate the redemptive work of our God. Some other major feasts include:
*The Universal Exaltation of the Precious and Life-Giving Cross (Sept. 14)
*The Theophany of our Lord God and Savior Jesus Christ (Jan. 6)
History note: This feast predates Christmas, and in many ways celebrates the same things as Christmas--celebration of His birth, the adoration of the wisemen, childhood events of Christ, and His Baptism in the Jordan by St. John the Forerunner. And if you notice it is twelve days after Christmas (cue the pipers piping and drummers drumming).
*The Entrance of Our Lord Into Jerusalem-that would be Palm Sunday.
*Pascha-- or known to Western Christians as Easter.

Isn't that fantastic?! Look at all those days that draw our eyes from the mundane struggle we find ourselves in, and turn them up to our Lord God and Savior Jesus Christ. And that's not even all of them! There's many other feast days, lesser feast days, and then the days we just observe the life of a saint, or reflect on some other aspect of our faith in practice. I have LOVED getting to know the liturgical calendar, and I regret not taking full advantage of all it has to teach me. And as I've looked at that packed calendar, I've wondered why I had never seen most of this before.

My guess is that as the Protestant church pushed itself further away from the Roman Catholic Church, it shed so many of these dates like some kind of shell, along with so many other worthwhile practices. And the further away it gets from Luther/Zwingli/et al, fewer of these will remain. Maybe in a few more centuries, some Christians will just combine Easter and Christmas into one big day so they can worry about other things the other 364 days a year. It's, sadly, probably not outside the realm of possibility. I'm sure if you told a Christian in the year 904 that many Christians in the future would not have a great use for Mary or the saints, or would reduce the Christian calendar to just a few days a year, he or she would shake his or her head in disbelief.

And by the way, today we observe Venerable Alypius the Stylite of Adrianopolis, among others. Have a blessed day!

Like the Greeks

2004-11-21T15:24:00.000-05:00

I took my very first class in Byzantine chant today, during coffee hour after liturgy. It's taught by our priest's son who makes it sound so much easier than it really is. I play the piano and can read music, but this is unlike anything I've ever tried before. (And I was just getting used to the few Arabic phrases during the Liturgy.)

Byzantine chant. It sounds so, well, foreign. It is. And it's one of the oldest musical systems in the world, or something like that.

When I first met an Orthodox Christian, my first thought was "Oh, like the Greeks." Yep, like the Greeks. And the Russians. And in my case the Antiochians (Arabs).

As I tried to explain my fascinating encounter to those in Protestant land, I found myself saying "Like the Greeks" anytime I needed any kind of context. Sometimes I cheat and still do.

But that's really a cop-out, and it allows those who want to ignore the claims of the Holy Orthodox church to do so under the argument that's just an ethnic expression of Christianity. It is not. And for the sake of intellectual honesty, I had to be willing to accept my own practice of Christianity as one that shared certain ethnic roots as well.

My grandparents are, largely, German. And hailing from rural Iowa, they attended German Baptist churches. So we were also Baptists. Other Germans are, duh, Lutherans, and of course Catholics. The Dutch--well, they're Reformed. English--Anglican. Scotch--Presbyterian. Italian--Catholic. And so on.

And our new mega-church inventions are equally ethnic. They are 100% an American construct, with a heavy emphasis on entertainment (we call it "seeker sensitive) and consumerism/product placement (only this time you're consuming Jesus).

I don't mean in any way to be sacrilegious or too critical, but we need, I needed, to be honest about this.

I had to come to the conclusion that Christianity, here's a shocker, originated not when Luther nailed his little list to the doors, nor when Tyndale worked so hard on making Holy Scripture accessible. Christianity came to existence in the Middle East, where they eat cucumbers and yoghurt, pitas and falafel. Jesus WAS NOT likely blue-eyed and blond-haired. Nope. He was a Palestinian.

One of the things that was so hard to get over for me was that the Western way of doing church may actually not be the way that it looked in a post-Acts church. They probably didn't have a "special" before the sermon, an altar call or pass out bulletins. And as I studied and read those who studied better than I ever could I realized that my uncomfortable hunch was correct.

The Scriptures were chanted--it carries the voice quite far without the need for fancy sound systems and it eliminates the presence of emotional inflection that can be misleading or manipulative. They believed the Eucharist was more than just a symbolic cracker crumb and shot of Welch's. They had deacons, priests, and bishops.

Fr. Peter Gilquist, in his book Becoming Orthodox outlines the surprise of his Campus Crusade cohorts as they discovered all this stuff, and subsequently what they had to do about it. The more I read and studied, the more I knew I too had to do something about it.

It is easy to dismiss Orthodoxy as just an expression of the cultures that largely still practice it here in North America. But that is much too convenient. It's much harder to say that maybe our post-Reformation, post-Enlightment, post-Great Awakening, and post-modern practices of it may not be the BEST way to do this Jesus thing.

And as more Americans join the Orthodox church, it will take on, probably, a little more Western expression (a little less Byzantine). It has happened in every culture that has practiced it. Greek chants sound different than Russian which sound different than Arabic. The Ethiopians in my church venerate the cross a bit differently than those from Syria. But don't expect any change to happen too quickly, or for them to be big ones. We are, after all, still Orthodox. (Question: How many Orthodox priests does it take to change a light bulb? Answer {imagine spoken in a Russian accent}: Change? What is this change?)

I didn't think the Western, Reformed/Protestant way was the BEST way. So now I find myself in our little choir loft, muddling through the tones.

Lord, have mercy.

Sacred spaces (or Eyes of My Faith, part II)

2004-11-18T10:03:00.000-05:00

With some hammering and the use of a friend's drill (thanks Phil!), I was able to (FINALLY) set up my very first icon corner. In my last place of residence, all the corners were occupied, and the few icons I had were placed wherever I could find the space. But in this new, bigger space, I have plenty of room for my books, and the icons. So I stained some corner shelves, mounted them on the wall, and hung my larger icons all around them. The way it's set up, they are visible right when I walk in the front door, and then when I leave, they are the last things I see. There are a few more things I need to make it proper (a vigil lamp and some incense) but it's great so far.

Why, you ask, do you need an icon corner? Good question.

As I grow (oh, so slowly) in my understanding of Orthodoxy, I see all the different ways that God speaks to me through the practice of this faith--fasting reminds me of how pathetic my will is and how necessary it is to rely on His; the beautiful written prayers show me that I'm not the first person to pray nor the first person to wrestle with issues of self-doubt and sin; and icons remind me of those that have gone before and connect me with the ideals of Christianity (virtue, piety, sacrifice, love.)

This seems to be what the early Church Fathers had in mind when they defended the use of Holy Icons during the Seventh Ecumenical Council in the 8th Century. From the Decree of the Second Council of Nice, the Seventh Ecumenical Council, and, yes, I know it's a lengthy read:

"We, therefore, following the royal pathway and the divinely inspired authority of our Holy Fathers and the traditions of the Catholic Church (for, as we all know, the Holy Spirit indwells her), define with all certitude and accuracy that just as the figure of the precious and life-giving Cross, so also the venerable and holy images, as well in painting and mosaic as of other fit materials, should be set forth in the holy churches of God, and on the sacred vessels and on the vestments and on hangings and in pictures both in houses and by the wayside, to wit, the figure of our Lord God and Saviour Jesus Christ, of our spotless Lady, the Mother of God, of the honourable Angels, of all Saints and of all pious people. For by so much more frequently as they are seen in artistic representation, by so much more readily are men lifted up to the memory of their prototypes, and to a longing after them; and to these should be given due salutation and honourable reverence (aspasmon kai timhtikhn proskunh-sin), not indeed that true worship of faith (latreian) which pertains alone to the divine nature; but to these, as to the figure of the precious and life-giving Cross and to the Book of the Gospels and to the other holy objects, incense and lights may be offered according to ancient pious custom. For the honour which is paid to the image passes on to that which the image represents, and he who reveres the image reveres in it the subject represented. For thus the teaching of our holy Fathers, that is the tradition of the Catholic Church, which from one end of the earth to the other hath received the Gospel, is strengthened. Thus we follow Paul, who spake in Christ, and the whole divine Apostolic company and the holy Fathers, holding fast the traditions which we have received. So we sing prophetically the triumphal hymns of the Church, "Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Sion; Shout, O daughter of Jerusalem. Rejoice and be glad with all thy heart. The Lord hath taken away from thee the oppression of thy adversaries; thou art redeemed from the hand of thine enemies. The Lord is a King in the midst of thee; thou shalt not see evil any more, and peace be unto thee forever."

Creating a space in my home for prayer and spiritual reflection leads to a deeper intentionality in my spiritual life, it gives me a place to come apart and think about my relationship to the Most High God, and it helps me to shut out the distractions of the world around me. And in the way my living room is laid out, unintentionally, the icon corner places my back to the television set. How wonderfully appropriate!

I had rarely seen an icon in my Protestant life. But the most vivid recollection of childhood Bible stories was a picture of Jesus in the big, dog-eared Bible story book my mom would read from at the foot of her bed in the evenings. That picture brings tears to my eyes now as I think about it. Jesus, albeit a blue-eyed European one, was holding a chubby-fingered blond-haired, blue-eyed girl. His loving eyes and open face were laughing, and she had her little hands on his beard, an act of a child's intimate trust.

All my life I was looking for that Jesus. That image had burned its way into my conscience, into my soul. When I walked into St. John Chrysostom Antiochian Orthodox Church the very first time, I saw Him. This time, He was on the ceiling--the icon of the Pantocrater. As I slipped into the very last seat in the back row (yep, we've got pews, but that's another topic) it was as if He was watching me, with those great loving eyes, welcoming me home.

So when I muster the discipline to pray, when I stand before those icons, I don't pray to them, but in a way I pray through them. I pray to that Jesus who loved me so much He left Heaven to come to earth to rescue the souls of men. I pray to that One who knows that I stumble and fall over the place, like a sort of spiritual toddler, and watches me with hopeful eyes, encouraging me to get up and try again. And I am surrounded by the images of those who struggled in the same ways that I do, but who nonetheless became so filled with Christ they were recognized as saints by the Church.

In that icon corner I am not alone, and I am loved.

Sleepless nights, part II

2004-11-09T18:30:00.000-05:00

Sorry it's been so long since I posted...

In my spiritual journey, if it wasn't the Rapture, it was predestination/election that kept me up at night, and that only got worse the older I got.

When I hit college, I learned all about the TULIP of my faith, which I had been hearing all along, but not really in such a helpful acrostic. For those of different persuasions, or unlearned about the wisdom of John Calvin, it goes something like this:
T-total depravity
U-unconditional election
L-limited atonement
I-irresistable grace
P-perseverence of the saints

It was the second point that I found particularly troubling. If we are totally incapable of turning toward God on our own and unable to desire spiritually good things (as the T demands) then only God Himself can turn our heads toward Him. So we have the "U"--which says that He softens the hearts of those whom He has chosen, on those He has elected to serve Him/join Him. And if your heart is never softened, well, sorry.

So, if I desire to know Him more, is that from Him? According to JC (John Calvin) it has to be. But if I'm raised in a Christian home, in church every time the double-doors were open, could I NOT want to know Him? It would be impossible, unless I plugged my ears, closed my eyes and howled through every Sunday School lesson not to absorb the lesson of my need for a Savior. So, in my little brain, if I have always been exposed to the need for Christ, I could, in theory, not be one of the elect, and just desire it out of exposure. (You follow?) In this warped little world, it didn't matter how many times I walked the aisle, raised my hand, read the Wordless Book and prayed the Sinner's Prayer, if He didn't choose me to go, I WASN'T GOING.

I know, I know, if I wasn't elect I wouldn't want God, but I'm sorry, I never saw a 5-year-old that didn't want to know Jesus. (So...are you only predestined if you are above that age of accountability?)

If that all wasn't terribly confusing, you then throw in the whole "doctrine" of double-predestination--that some are predestined for Heaven and others are predestined for Hell--and you have nothing more than a recipe for insomnia.

And I saw so many people around me walking the aisle with the frequency of trips to the fridge, and then they would behave completely "unregenerately" the rest of the time. I wondered about the efficacy of Calvin's definition of salvation and regeneration (though again, not by name, since I hadn't yet seen the beauty of the TULIP, but in speculation about Salvation in general). Maybe these poor souls were just not EVER going to get it.

I know in Calvinism the TULIP provides for humility and thankfulness, that those that know God have been chosen by Him, in spite of anything they want/do to the contrary. But to me it seemed to create an arrogance--"Gee, aren't you glad that we're the elect? I wouldn't want to be a reprobate. "

I guess I don't believe God sorts souls like beans going into the soup. While Calvinists distill the faith to a TULIP, it seems God's viewing it more like a daisy--this one's in, this one's not.

My God says that He wants all to be saved. Period. Will all be saved? I don't know. I have enough to do worrying about myself. But I guess I worry a lot less since I know He loves me, and wants me to know Him. I know I want to know Him, and I think that is that thing He has instilled in all of us. Sure, that divine image has been marred by the fall, but a dirty/distorted mirror is still a mirror. The race of men didn't lose that desire to know Him when Eve plucked that fruit off the tree.

Wow, we're not even into eternal security yet...

Nov. 2

2004-11-01T17:36:00.000-05:00

Sorry it's been so quiet on the blog front lately. After tomorrow, things will slow down and, hopefully, there will be a larger entry forthcoming.

For those of you who are voting tomorrow...thank God He remains sovereign and in control regardless of what ridiculous choices we are forced to make in the voting booths.

God bless!

The eyes of my faith

2004-10-21T19:30:00.000-05:00

I've been having some struggles of late, wrestling with the demons and ghosts from my past and trying to figure out how I'm supposed to apply my Orthodox faith to all this. It's made me want to, frankly, curl up in a little ball and pull the blankets way up over my head.

The disciplines of faith are extremely difficult right now. Prayer is hard, study is nearly impossible, and I have not been able to be in my church for a Sunday morning in almost three weeks. That is never good. And, out of that old Protestant sense of guilt, I have found myself running and hiding like Adam in the Garden.

Then the other morning, as I was loading the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher, pouring coffee in the travel mug and getting ready to head out the door, He caught my eye.

(Yes, I said He caught my eye.)

I have an icon of Jesus right smack above my kitchen sink: Christ the Pantocrater. This particular icon is a favorite of my godmother. It is known for its eyes, which are strikingly different. One holds a soft gaze, the other eye is more stern. It seems to balance itself out, and is incredibly moving.

Anyway, I could not turn away from that icon, both eyes speaking to me of His great love and strength. I found myself praying out loud for strength and confessing my weakness. It was as if God Himself met me in my kitchen.

Saturday night at Vespers, my godmother gave me an icon of the Ladder of Heaven, depicting us on our journey to heaven, with demons trying to pull some off the ladder, and other travellers just falling on their own.

It offered me an instant snapshot of how serious this journey is--how vulnerable we are to our own failings and to the attacks of our enemy. But we are to press on, regardless of the perils that surround us.

I needed those two reminders this past week. And I know that I would not have heard them from words spoken to me. I know that I would have ignored them if they had come in any other form.

I need my icons. I really do. I need to be able to look up while doing dishes and see the face of the One who loved me so much that He would be found in fashion as a man, and humble Himself, even unto death on the cross. I need to look at the pictures of my patron saint, Eunice, a teenage martyr who gave up more and suffered more than I would ever be able to do. I need to gaze upon the mournful face of St. John in the icon of the Taking Down of Christ's Body from the Cross--to remind me of how it is ok to love, to be sad, and to mourn.

One of the services that "got me" was on the Sunday of Orthodoxy, a feast devoted to remembering the triumph of those who argued for Holy Icons. As I stood in the foyer of my little church, I watched smiling children gingerly remove icons from the walls of the sanctuary, carrying them as if they were glass. As the adults, the children carried them outside in a procession led by Fr. Isaac, waving the censor, marching around the building. I felt, as a non-Orthodox, I should not participate, though I think that was mental wimpiness on my part (I probably didn't know exactly what I thought about it). So I stood in that foyer and watched through the glass doors as they approached from the sidewalk. And as they came in, singing hymns and clutching those icons, I broke down completely, crying as I watched that "great cloud of witnesses" parade before me back into the sanctuary.

Often those who criticize Orthodox worship level charges of idolatry, unable to discern the difference between venerating (showing respect) to the person or truth represented in the icon, and worshipping the Triune God. (Maybe that is because, as Fr. Peter Gilquist says, they merely venerate God, instead of truly worshipping Him.) But I believe that other Christians have eliminated this practice at their own peril, again cutting off another way in which God has provided to communicate His truth.

We were made to understand Truth visually, and concretely. Throughout the Old Testament there are countless examples--the promise in the rainbow after the flood; the serpent on the pole in the wilderness; the rich physical detail included in the temple, the priests robes, and the manner in which His people were to worship Him.

Why much of Christianity has turned its collective back on this I will never know. For me it is a way to connect with God in a way I had often experienced, but never recognized. It is yet another part of my soul that Orthodoxy feeds.

Guest appearances

2004-10-12T19:00:00.000-05:00

Since my conversion to Orthodox Christianity, I am constantly shocked by how "Orthodox" I must have always been. Nowhere is that more evident then when I get to visit the Protestant churches of my friends and family.

Note to readers, especially the aforementioned friends and family, this is NOT meant as a criticism of your specific churches, but rather part of this continued discussion on WHY I'm no longer happy in many of those specific churches.

I attended one of those churches on Sunday. It was all the things I would have thought I was looking for in a church 10 years ago: friendly, warm, upbeat/talented worship, and a good (but brief) sermon.

As I walked into the cream-colored sanctuary, the absolute only thought in my little brain was "where are the icons." I was dying for something to kiss, to venerate, to respect. There was no Great Entrance, no time to literally and physically bow in awe of the gift of salvation. There was no corporate prayer. It just doesn't feel like church without a few "Lord, have mercy"s. And I cannot describe the size of the hole left by the absence of the Eucharist.

The word liturgy comes from the Greek word for, and I'm sure someone can correct me if I'm wrong, an act of the people.

It is this thing we do together. We don't sit and watch a great concert, or a drama, or a film clip. We don't clap and sway to the music as if at a dance hall. We come before the throne of the great Triune God and together we seek His face, together we seek His mercy, together we worship Him.

In my church on Sunday, the priest comes out and stands before us, not as one who is between me and God, but as one who helps to lead me, and as one who stands among us.

We are all in this together.

Apologies

2004-10-12T18:01:00.000-05:00

To those who read the blog...please allow me to offer an apology for a lack of posts in the past week. It's been a bit crazy, and I haven't been home to write much. But please hang in there, and do come back. I promise something by the end of the week, if not by the end of the evening.

God bless!

Sleepless nights, part I

2004-10-04T00:01:00.000-05:00

BLOGGER NOTE:I promised my brother-in-law a new post…so here ya’ go. ... There are so many things I want to write about, that it actually freezes me up every time I sit down to write. So for those two loyal readers who wish I would write more, I really will try. ... Shout out to Pee-wee ;)

I never needed to watch scary movies when I was little. I had the Rapture to keep me up at night. While my friends were watching Freddy slash his way up and down Elm Street, I was creeped out by the still-buzzing electric razor rattling around the porcelain sink during “A Thief in the Night.” No offense to Lahaye and Jenkins (at least not right now) but “Left Behind” has nothing on the “Thief” film. I cannot tell you how many of my church friends cited that movie as the thing that got them “saved.”

I remember listening to youth speakers at AWANA camp talking about the evils of Satanism in rock and roll, and what you would hear if you played a record backward. I heard more than my fair share on the 70 weeks in Daniel and the Beast of Revelation.

All that led to my constant sprinting up the stairs into my parents’ bedroom to make sure my mom had not been snatched away. When my sisters were really young, I would stand in their bedroom and watch them sleep. For a long time the youngest was under that mysterious “age of accountability” (sola scriptura, my eye), so I was pretty sure that they would be taken away.

Yes, my readers, I doubted my “salvation”. I prayed the “sinner’s prayer” so much, it was like a Rosary. I would lie in bed at night, mumbling it over and over and over. Finally, at about the age of 12, I just had to stop. I was driving myself completely nuts, and there was enough going on around me to do that, without me having to do it for myself. I used to feel guilty for all that worried praying—if only I could trust Him, if only I could know for sure if I really meant it, and if only I could know for sure if He really accepted my prayer.

Silly, isn’t it. It’s what happens when “salvation” becomes fire insurance, instead of the restoration of Communion between the Creator and His created, if that makes sense. I was never too excited about Heaven, but I really didn’t want to go to Hell, and even worse, be left behind like that electric razor, rattling around without anyone to steady it.

But here’s the thing, I don’t think it’s about going to heaven or not going to hell. Heaven is heaven only because we exist there with the One whom we were created to know. The better we know Him here, the more we will want to be with Him there, and the more we understand His great mercy and love for mankind. That means we also learn to trust Him more.

Orthodoxy is tailor-made for people like me. My morning prayers, my evening prayers, the Divine Liturgy, the Jesus Prayer…these things are a constant hurling of oneself on the mercy of God. We say things like “Lord, have mercy” and “have mercy upon us and save us.”
Do I say these things because I fear His wrath? Nope, I say these things because I trust His love. I know that He saved me through His death and resurrection, I know that I am being saved as I follow Him, trust Him and worship Him, and I believe I will be saved when I stand before Him. They are no longer prayers from a heart of fear, but from a heart (I hope) of trust, one that is a part of His bride, His inheritance, His beloved.

That’s not so scary, is it?

The Creed

2004-09-29T18:53:00.000-05:00

The Nicene Creed gave me chills Sunday morning.

When was the last time reading a statement of faith did that to you?

Growing up in a "NO CREED BUT CHRIST" household (that's a creed, by the way), I had not ever given creeds much thought. Hey, they didn't appear in the Bible (that I could find) so we didn't have to worry about them. We didn't need them anyway. Creeds smack of a hierarchy, of tradition, of all those things that make Protestants shake in their pews. We were able to establish for ourselves what we believed, how our Christianity should look in this time, and this place.

But shouldn't it be something more than that? Our God does not change. There is no shadow or turning with Him, so why should our beliefs about Him be whimsical, tossed about by desires to be relevant, to be accepting, to be (cringe) tolerant?

The Creed demands something of me as I recite it, and I am finding that each time I say it it seems to burrow its way further into my soul:

"I believe in One God, the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth...and in one Lord Jesus Christ...begotten of the Father before all worlds ...and the Holy Spirit, which proceeds from the Father...one Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church...one baptism for the remission of sins...the resurrection of the dead...and the life of the world to come."

If I believe them, then I must act on them. I must worship this One God rightly. I must unite myself to that Holy Church. There is no wiggle room in these words, no qualifications, no exceptions.

These words have worked for more than 1,600 years. They have stood against countless heresies and attacks. I like the fact that my church won't change this. It's been all these years and we're still standing there, reciting it. It occurred to me during my Chrismation how many people have said these words before me, and how many more will say these words after me. It was and remains incredibly humbling.

Amen.

Denominational Existentialism

2004-09-26T01:56:00.000-05:00

I always wanted to know how we (Christians) got here. I read the four Gospels, the Acts of the Apostles and the Epistles. But there always seemed such a disconnect between the Day of Pentecost and a lazy Sunday evening service, at least to me. Compounding that question was the other churches that occupied my small town--lots of Catholic churches, a few United Methodists, Presbyterian, Episcopalian, a Mormon, and a Pentecostal or two.

Where did they come from? And why weren't we all going to church together? Are they going to be in Heaven?

{Evangelicals are often, by their very nature, obsessed with who is going (to Heaven) and who is not. And we prefer it, thank you very much, if you can narrow down a specific time when you yourself became sure that you were, in fact, going. If you can't, then let's take care of this right now.}

My neighbors went to Catholic school Monday through Friday, confession on Saturday and Mass on Sunday. They had confirmation classes and a First Communion. It was as if their lives centered around their church. But were they Christian?

It wasn't that I didn't have fun at my church--with Sunday school, AWANA, and going to my church's grade school. But I was always a little bit curious about the other churches, and concerned about who went to them. And to really make me worried about my neighbors, their dad smoked cigarettes and drank beer.

But I digress--back to the questions of origins.

Nowhere in any of my perusing and studying of the Bible did I find any real mention of church denominations, such as "And on the 14th day, God created the United Church of Christ"... "Blessed are the Protestants, for they shall inherit much confusion"... They (the denominations) had to come from somewhere. But no one really could explain it.

All this to say, I think I packed up for this spiritual and theological journey rather early. I don't even think I knew I was taking this trip, and as I look back I really, honestly can see how every doubt, every question led me to this place. Even this question of from whence we came ...

I'm a "why" kid...

2004-09-23T20:55:00.000-05:00

I always drove my mom nuts with "WHY".
*It's time for bed.
"WHY"
*Eat your broccoli.
"WHY"
Bless her, for she always answered, and sooner or later we'd find one that I could live with. "Because sleep/broccoli will make you grow taller." (I was tiny). It wasn't so much the quality of the answer, as the thoughtfulness and concern of actually taking the time to try to come up with one. I appreciate effort, even if it leads nowhere.

Growing up in the church, I had a lot of "WHY"s along the way. But too many of the churches could never seem to answer that question for me:

*There are thousands of Protestant denominations.
"WHY"
*There are only 66 books in the Bible.
"WHY"
*We don't speak in tongues.
"WHY"
*We do speak in tongues.
"WHY"
*We believe 'once saved, always saved'.
"WHY"
*We believe you can lose your salvation.
"WHY"

...and on and on it has gone for me, for so many years now. Different churches brought different attempts to answer those questions, but nothing ever to my satisfaction, and I had a lot more questions than these.

For some reason, Orthodoxy has thus far been able to answer so many of my questions. Sometimes the answer is a simple one...because that is how the Church has always done something. As I look back over a 2,000-year history, I'm ok with that. Sometimes the answer is a shrug, and then "It is a Mystery." And I'm ok with that too.

There's a courage in admitting you don't really know how God does what He does, or why He does it.

I respect that.

Thanks!

2004-09-20T23:06:00.000-05:00

My mom and grandma made their first visit to an Orthodox church on Sunday…all things considered it went pretty well. They didn’t sneeze when Fr. Isaac got going with the incense. They didn’t sigh at the sight of a wall of icons. My grandma did suggest to my godmother that we needed less liturgy and more preachin’ (spoken like a true Baptist), but all in all I was so proud of them and honored to have them as my guests.

I know that my conversion to Orthodoxy has been a difficult one for them, as I came out of the liturgical closet, as it were. We have had our fair share of arguments, we have cried and we have learned together. But I want to thank them, above all else.

They took great care to raise me with a fear and love for our God. They made sure I knew not to run in church, knew that you treated a pastor with respect, and that church was the most important place one could choose to be.

To my mom and grandma, thank you so much. I love you.

Square peg and other metaphors

2004-09-16T20:37:00.000-05:00

I can safely say I tried almost every single type of church that's out there. Small fundamentalist churches, big fundamentalist churches, mega-churches, college town churches, charismatic churches, and house churches. It would be easy, and probably reasonable, to fear that Orthodoxy is just the next stop-off. I would be less than honest if I said that fear hadn't crossed my mind in the days after I joined the Church.

But here's the difference. All my life I had been the spiritual square peg, trying to stuff myself in the round holes of Western Christianity. From absolutely the moment I walked into an Orthodox church and found myself stumbling through the Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom, I fit.

I've been trying to figure out why that is. Intellectually, the evidence of the unbroken chain of history from Sts. Peter and Paul is impressive. Theologically, my church's statement of faith, which we recite during each Divine Liturgy, is the pre-filioquian Nicene Creed (it's worked for centuries). And spiritually, its practices provide for complete healing and accountability in an active faith community.

But I think it's something more than that. It was home to me. It was as if all my spiritual life I had been outside in the snow, my nose pressed to the frosty glass of a window. Inside the window was all the safety and warmth I could ever need. Now that I'm inside, I couldn't ever leave. Why would I? There wasn't any "wrapping my head around" that decision. The decision wrapped itself around me. I am captive.

And I don't mind.

Something to shoot for...

2004-09-15T18:00:00.000-05:00

About six months ago, I joined the Holy Orthodox Christian Church. My whole life was preparing me for that step, though of course I had no idea. If you had told me 10 years ago, as a first-team Protestant, that that was what God would call me to, I would have told you you were crazy.

But here I am, an Orthodox Christian, in a world of die-hard Evangelical Protestants.

I am not big on journaling...it feels too much like work, so I didn't write a lot of this down. But over the months and years, at times I felt kinda like Mary, the blessed Mother of our Lord, as I "treasured all these things" in my heart.

Now my heart is full, and I must get it out. And for some reason, this seemed like a good way to do it. So over the next few days, weeks, months, or however long it lasts, this little blog of mine will detail some of my thoughts, feelings and fears as I was led closer and closer to Orthodoxy. I'll also probably throw in some of these things that I am learning now, or need to learn, or don't want to learn.

That's my goal. Let's see if I can stick to it.

Welcome to the Web...

2004-09-14T18:13:00.000-05:00

This is it...my first post to a blog. I've been commenting, lurking, and sneaking peaks at others' blogs for some time. Now I have one. My very own. Wow! Now that I have one, I'm not sure what to say...as a writer I fear the blank page on occasion. But it will come...and hopefully those lurking here will be challenged, blessed, or whatever.

God bless!
Bec