Feeling Like Such a Newbie

This morning during the homily it struck me: I know this story, but I feel like I'm learning it again.  Today was the Sunday of the Paralytic.  The story of Jesus meeting the man at the Pools of Bethesda, asking if he wants to be healed, and restoring his legs under him so that he can get up and walk home.  I've known this story since Kindergarten, I've been to Bethesda, and have even translated it from the Greek.  I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's not the first time I've heard this miracle of Christ retold, preached on, and/or applied to daily life.  Today it was like hearing this story for the first time again.

I'm such a newbie, and I'm actually really comfortable with that.  I have to admit that I don't know what I'm doing!  It's so bizarre to be okay with that.  I'm not the type of person who is just fine with not know what's going on, having all the answers, or teaching (read: telling other people what to do).  I'm finding that putting myself in the position of learner (not teacher) is both spiritually and psychologically beneficial.  Spiritually, I'm learning what it means to be childlike.  Psychologically, I'm finding healing in the beauty and life changing experience of the Divine Liturgy.

My previous experience in church didn't allow me to be a learner.  I had to be the teacher.  I had to have the answers to hard questions: I was a minister of the Gospel after-all.  It led to a lot of pride and judgmentalism.  I was in a position to see and experience everyone's brokenness and compare it to my own comparative wholeness.  This is the lie I told myself and heard every day for three years.  I'm finding that, as I sit on the floor of our tiny mission church, that I am too separated from what it means to be a disciple of Christ.  I am beginning to realize that I'm such a baby in the Faith.  Praise God for my parents, pastors, mentors, teachers, and others who have patiently raised me to this point; but it's time to move beyond milk toast and date syrup.  I need to eat meat--not just ground chuck (easy to chew and digest), but steak.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm contented.  I realize that I don't have all (or any) answers.  I don't know what I'm doing.  I don't know what's happening to me, but I pray that all of this means that God is at work in my life and the life of my family.  Pray for us.

Our First Sunday at Our Church

We made the decision last week.  If you've been reading, then you know this.  What you may or may not realize is that we have been sitting around as restless as if we were sitting on an ant hill, waiting for today to get here!  I haven't been this excited to go to church in well over a year.  This is "our" church now.  We have a priest.  We have a choir.  We have a calendar of church events!  What does all this mean?  It means we feel like we belong.  This isn't our first Sunday at this parish.  It is our first Sunday at this parish as our parish.  This place is where we go to church, along with so many other wonderful people!  More to come later.

Becoming Excited Again

As we begin to put some chronological distance between ourselves and the vaguely negative undertones of the previous weekend, we have found ourselves becoming excited about next weekend and our return to the OCA parish.  Partially, this stems from the wonderful reception we had there a few weeks ago.  But, additionally, we need to be part of a community again and interact with other adults.

Peter, especially I think, needs to get out into society.  I'm used to being at home all day with the baby and am actually rather excited - home now consists of a 5 bedroom, two story house with front and back yards, instead of a two bedroom apartment - but I am realizing that my introvert-self is doing just fine and I should invest in my extrovert-self, puny and neglected though it is.  For Peter, who is very much the extrovert, not only is he unemployed, and therefore spending most days on the computer filling out job applications, but he was accustomed to working at our church where, even at it's lowest points, was always filled with interesting people and work for him to do.We now have a church to call our own.  This weekend we will try to see how we can fit in there and be useful.  It's exciting to be ready for this.  We had said that we want to pour ourselves into parish life for a year, but I don't think either of us realized how much we would need that involvement for our own sanity.

St George, Pray for Us

Last night I went to a joint Liturgy at St. George (one of the local parishes which only has occasional liturgies due to funding and size) for the Eve of St. George.  I got their late.  I always seem to arrive right at the Trisagion of Matins before the Liturgy proper begins.  I was a little disconcerted because, though it was a joint service, it was definitely more for the "regular" parishioners at St. George than for either of the other two churches.  That being said, I found my seat in a pew (still weird for me) and prepared my heart/mind for worship.

Everything was in Greek.  Everything.  I was also one of the the like four people who weren't Greek.  So that's not so big of a deal.  Let's just say that, where the Greek church from this past weekend was aware that there were non-Greeks in attendance, that didn't seem to make a difference at this church.  I say all of this in love.  God was definitely in that place last night.  I was blessed to sit next to a man named Paul who was that guy who exists in every church: completely in love with and devoted to Christ.  He moved to the back of the church so as not to bother people by standing or making deep bows while the majority of the crowd sat through a large portion of the service.  I felt incredibly honored to be worshiping with him.

The service wasn't what I expected.  Most of it was truncated.  The Greek liturgy seems to be shorter and less complex than the Russian.  If that's not true, or if there's a reason for that, let me know. 

The church was beautifully decorated.  St. George's icon was festooned with flowers of red and white, candles were let everywhere, and the pews were full!  There were four celebrating priests and a deacon who--if there was any English--was the one who read/spoke it.  There was a service at the end for blessing five loaves.  I don't know what that was.  I wasn't able to process the name, and the priest apparently mispronounced it, because one of the chanters corrected his Greek--which was kind of cute.  It was a very nice service.


I am so glad that I went.  There was a couple from our church (I love typing that) that I gravitated towards during the feast that followed.  They commented that they had spent a long time in the other Greek parish, and how happy they were to be part of a church where they could understand everything that's going on.  It's true.  Worship in your heart language is really important.  I'm glad that Greek, Arabic, Russian, Bulgarian, etc. are all languages of Orthodoxy and that there is unity between the Jurisdictions.  I'm also glad that English is becoming a Liturgical language as well in the US.

I'm so glad to becoming part of this community of Orthodoxy.  It's going to take quite a lot of getting used to, though.  I need to learn how to navigate between Greek, Russian, and English, it seems.  I'm really thankful for the work the OCA is doing by making Orthodoxy accessible to Americans.  Having visited so many different churches over time, I'm ready to begin my journey in my own language.  Please God, stay with us through all of this.  Holy St. George, pray for us.

Processing Elimination continued

Having reread my last post, I feel a bit guilty and need to apologize to any Greek Orthodox readers who may have stumbled upon our little experiment/lifestyle change.  I have nothing against the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese in America.  In fact, I often use their website for info about the lives of saints, lectionary, icons, links to other Orthodox sites, etc.  I have nothing against people who are Greek or converts who enter the Archdiocese.


One of the things we talked about when we decided to head in the direction of Orthodoxy was a want to be in an English speaking parish.  Understanding that a lot of people in Orthodox churches speak a native tongue other than English, we wanted to be in a parish where the main language of the Liturgy was English.  Nothing against Slavonic, Serbian, Russian, Greek, or Arabic; they are not our mother tongue, and being part of a church where we feel like we can be a part of the congregation without a foreign passport is very important to us.  Having a service where things take place half in Greek (or another language) and half in English is hard for the uninitiated.  Every now and then is fine, but if it's central elements to the worship, it's very challenging to walk in and have no idea what is going on.

I don't know how to best finish this thought.  I keep returning to the fact that we just come from a church that was very enmeshed.  As I said before, everyone was related and had grown up there.  There simply wasn't a schema for how to say "You are welcome here" beyond maybe asking you to volunteer for something.  They certainly bent over backwards when we first arrived, but those things disappeared rather quickly.  Felicity, especially, felt very alone and isolated from the life of the church we attended.  We don't want to be part of that again.  Psychologically, spiritually, emotionally, I need to feel like I'm part of a church and not just an observer--an attendee.  We did that, and that's been overdone in our family.

This isn't/wasn't meant to be polemical.  I'm sorry if it came out that way.  I'm trying to process this whole experience.  We were talking yesterday, and commented that were so thankful that it wasn't a matter of doctrine, theology, or worship.  These things are united.  It was where we felt most welcomed, invited, loved, and accepted.  No icy stares.  No cold shoulders.  No how-do-I-get-out-of-this-conversation fidgets.  I know that Fr. T. will be a great part of our spiritual journey, but he will not be our priest...in the sense that we will be attending another parish on a weekly basis.  Praise God for His priests!  May we always be thankful.

Processing Elimination

I want to begin by saying that the best thing we've encountered so far, aside from purity of doctrine and worship, is--for me, at least--the unity present between Jurisdictions.  One can go between churches, no matter their ethnic or Jurisdictional background, and hear the same liturgy, see the same gifts offered, and be connected in bonds of love and theology with anyone in the room.  Granted, this is an idealized picture; but it is accurate.  Having been to four different churches (across Jurisdictions), I can attest to the theological and doctrinal unity of the Church.  Glory to God in all things.  This is definitely the atmosphere we have stepped into.  Both priests in town have stood firmly behind each other, supporting the others' ministries, and offering us their support and guidance on our journey.  This is a blessing we didn't expect, but it is truly a wealth and treasure of our newly emerging Ecclesiology.

This weekend was really our first Orthodox weekend.  We spent all week saying morning and evening prayers (a rediscovered experience) and went to Vespers last night at the local GO church.  Aside from the priest, two readers, the wife of one of the readers, and their baby, we were the only ones there.  Pretty conspicuous.  It wasn't awkward, but it was disconcerting.  I knew that the service was new to this parish, but I had expected to see some more people.  The church was aesthetically very simple, but quite nice.  Beautiful stained glass windows, a full iconostasis with rather Russian looking icons.  The service was very informal (for an Orthodox service), and quite nice.  Fr. T. made sure to speak with us afterward and the reader and his wife took us out for dinner for a very honest conversation about their lives and their experiences at the two churches.

As Felicity and I were driving home, I felt very much that God was calling us to drive the extra 15 minutes to the OCA church.  No one, and certainly not this couple, has come out and said "Don't go there, it's a bad place."  That would be a lie.  It's not a bad place, and we had a very nice morning.  They were able to give us a little bit of history and background to help us make up our own minds.  One of the things they told us, and the thing I remember most clearly, is that the GO church has a history of drama.  Every 3-5 years or so something happens and people who've been in the church for longer than 20 years suddenly feel like (not being Greek), they're unwelcome.  One thing they mentioned that sticks with me is that the OCA church is a church family vs. an extended family.  That is an important distinction.

The church we left was an extended family church.  Everyone was related.  Everyone grew up there.  They weren't uncaring and unwelcoming, but they didn't see the need to open their doors wide and be inviting--which is part of what's brought them to their current state of turmoil.

This morning's service was confirmation, to me, that we aren't going to be going to the Greek church regularly during our time here.  This idea requires more processing.  To be continued...

Prepping for Another Weekend

Something original.  Finally.  There hasn't been a whole lot to write about that Felicity hasn't covered, but I wanted to process this coming weekend a little bit.  This weekend we're going to the Greek church in town.  Let me give you some background and then go on.

There are three churches in this area.  There's an OCA church and two Greek churches.  We will be going to either the closer of the two Greek churches or the OCA church.  We visited the OCA parish this past Sunday, met with the priest, etc.  The Greeks have been a harder nut to crack: no real website, no e-mail, not big office hours people--but that's neither here nor there.

Only one person that I know, love, and respect has suggested that I go there.  Everyone else has thrown their weight behind the OCA parish.  This puts me in a bit of a bind, emotionally.  I have no reason not to go to the Greek church.  I have no reason not to assume that the Greeks will be just as open, loving, welcoming, and amazing as those we met this past week....except that's not the picture being painted for us by people who either used to attend or used to be the parish priest there!  What's a guy to do?

Our plan is to go.  We'll be at Vespers tomorrow night around 5 and the Liturgy begins around 10 on Sunday.  We'll see how it goes.  I'm not really excited.  Is that wrong?  I have nothing against Greek Orthodox people.  One of the most important people in my life was this priest I mentioned above who made sure that we would be looked out for when we moved here.  He even called ahead of us to make sure that Fr. T. knew were were coming and we're beginning our search.  Leaving things in God's hands is so hard!

Is this what we have to look forward to?

Borrowed from Fr. Joseph Honeycutt's blog.

YOU KNOW YOU'RE SOUTHERN ORTHODOX WHEN:

Number 10) At Pentecost, your church is decorated with Kudzu.

Number 9) You spell "feast" with only three letters: B B Q.

Number 8) You say "Father," "Barsonuphios," and "Monastery" without any pronouncing an "r."

Number 7) You drive 3 hours to an Orthodox Church. But, could hop, on one foot, with your eyes closed (and a rock in your shoe), to the nearest Baptist Church.

Number 6) Your services are all in English -- at least that's what YOU call it.

Number 5) There are women in your church known as: Photini Beth, Thecla Beth, and Elizabeth Beth.

Number 4) There are men going by: Athanasius Lee, Euphrosynos Lee, and Vasiliy Lee.

Number 3) You got white folks, black folks -- even Democrats -- in your parish, but no Russians, Serbians, Arabs or Greeks.

Number 2) You know someone who knows someone who knows someone with a velvet picture of Elvis celebrating the Last Supper.

AND ... the number one sign that you are an Orthodox Southerner:

You think grits are too good to be considered fasting!

(Original found at http://southern-orthodoxy.blogspot.com/2008/06/bless-your-heart-smallah-smallah.html)

The will of God

I'm not trying to swipe anything from Molly Sabourin's Close to Home blog or podcast, but I wanted to share this prayer.  Since Felicity and I arrived in our new locale (and I'm still unemployed), I have been pondering what God wants from us and from our lives.  The priest at the OCA church we visited this Sunday mentioned this prayer, and I wanted to post it here.

The Morning Prayer of Metropolitan Philaret of Moscow
My Lord, I know not what I ought to ask of Thee.
Thou and Thou alone knowest my needs.
Thou lovest me more than I am able to love Thee.
O Father, grant unto me, Thy servant, all which I cannot ask.
For a cross I dare not ask, nor for consolation;
I dare only to stand in Thy presence.
My heart is open to Thee.
Thou seest my needs of which I myself am unaware.
Behold and lift me up!
In Thy presence I stand,
awed and silenced by Thy will and Thy judgments,
into which my mind cannot penetrate.
To Thee I offer myself as a sacrifice.
No other desire is mine but to fulfill Thy will.
Teach me how to pray.
Do Thyself pray within me.
Amen.
(copied from the website of the Orthodox Christian Fellowship)

Let Tomorrow Worry About Itself

Over the past few days we have been profoundly blessed by God's grace and provision.  Through a series of little instances (coincidences, one could call them) we have found ourselves taken care of - financially, spiritually, relationally - in the midst of this tough transition.  It began with unsolicited gifts from members of the church we left in Michigan.  People who wished us well and wanted to help with the move, show appreciation or just felt God's prompting to bless us monetarily.  Then we came here and were showered with love by Peter's parents who took our little one for a few days so we could breathe, scream, cry and generally recover ourselves from all the emotional wreckage of the past few months.  When the movers brought our things the weather threatened, but held off and didn't soak everything.  We then discovered that the moving company refunded part of our deposit - a significant sum.  And, just today, I received an online order of diapers and baby wipes in duplicate due to a system snafu, customer service said I should thank my lucky stars.  I also got a call from the apartment complex where we had lived asking for a forwarding address so they could fully refund our security deposit. Cap all this off with the wonderful experience from Sunday which still leaves me with a warm glow and the message is clear: you are where I want you to be, and I will take care of you - trust Me.

Beginning to Pray

Felicity and I used to pray together all of the time.  We would pray Morning Prayer from the BCP, read the Psalms morning and evening month to month.  It was a pattern we both really liked, appreciated, and enjoyed.  It wasn't something we ever intended to stop doing, but we did.  Somewhere between Thanksgiving and the birth of our little crumbcatcher, we lost the plot and just stopped praying together.  We'd do it every now and then--fits and spurts mostly.  We were reading My Utmost for His Highest until the move (haven't done that in a month's time, either).  We stopped; and that was it.

Sunday night we started praying together.  I have a little blue prayer book (for personal prayers) that was given to me by the priest at the Greek church before we left.  I figured if we were going to actually begin our Orthodox year, we needed to begin.  So I found my icon of Christ in its box and put it on a little table we bought, and we started praying.  It was weird.  It was awkward.  It was a relief.  Our plan (until we settle in at a church and have a priest) is to continue in this method (morning and evening) until given further instruction.  This is good for both of us.  It keeps me from running ahead of her and prevents her from "lagging" behind.  This puts us on equal ground together, and that's a good thing.

Content just to be there

I don't just want to just rehash the post that Felicity wrote yesterday.  I simply want to add a thought or two to the experience as a means of reflection for myself.  I want to think about obedience, hospitality, and contentment.

I went to church expecting another indescribably mystical experience of God's presence through His people, the hymns, and the Eucharist.  I didn't get it.  What I got was incredibly mundane and full of God's presence.  I needed those huge moments in church before to get me here.  God knows me, and He knows how I operate.  I need something spectacular to draw my attention away from whatever is the most glitzy thing towards the most important.  I've had a lot of "mountain top" experiences up until now.  This Sunday, however, was blessedly normal.
I don't mean to belittle the church, it's people, or the holiness of the Liturgy.  I am only expressing to you that it wasn't anything more than church on Sunday!  It was beautiful, sensual, and mystical; but it wasn't explosive or breathtaking.  There was no overwhelming sense of the presence of God hovering over the building.  I'm glad there wasn't.  I needed to see that this service, like so many others around the country, is made up of sinful people in need of Jesus who have come together to worship Him.  That was the most important thing I could have experienced.  Felicity and I were talking on the way home and she mentioned that we were simply being obedient to what God had called us to do.  I suddenly got a picture of the Israelites wandering through the desert, following the firey column.  Sure they were following God's brilliant presence, but they were only walking--nothing special about walking.  I realized that what I felt was content.  What I felt was at home.

The people at this church were the friendliest I have encountered in years.  In fact, the last Orthodox service I went to was decidedly unfriendly.  No one greeted me.  No one made me feel welcome.  I got icy stares from old ladies and indifference from the deacon.  At this church, I think 8 people made sure we knew about the "coffee" hour (really more of a potluck) afterward.  Before the priest had even finished his prayers, it seemed, one of the readers came up and offered to hold A. while Felicity and I went through the lunch line.  People made it a point to say hello, to welcome us, to talk about our story and theirs.  It was a truly heavenly experience.  I felt welcomed, embraced, and loved by everyone in that room.

Contentment is not something I do well with.  Like I said earlier, I crave the flashy thing in the room--not the dull brown thing I have.  I was incredibly contented yesterday.  I liked the people, I had a wonderful experience, and I felt like my family could plant itself in this church and prosper.  This coming Sunday we will be at the local Greek church which is both closer and the priest is expecting us.  In the most reasonable way possible, it is my contention that this church is going to have to be pretty amazing for us to decide on it over the OCA church.  No offense to either, and without trying to be drawn to the flashy thing; our experience was incredible this past Sunday.  I hope it is again next week.  I want to find a church home here in this new place, and I think we may have found it yesterday.  I don't know what I'm really saying anymore, so I'll stop.

Christ is risen!

Our First Sunday

This morning we went to our first service at the local OCA mission church.  We left about an hour before we needed to, but stopped at Walmart to get some snacks for the baby and arrived on time, or thereabouts.  Keeping A quiet during the service ended up being a daunting challenge, especially since Divine Liturgy began right about the time when she would usually be going down for her morning nap.  The congregation was full of small children, a number right around her age, so we were able to follow their example - taking her out when she got too fussy, making liberal use of the changing table and fellowship hall, pulling out quiet toys to keep her amused and, when all else failed, letting the older congregants take turns holding her so she could examine their necklaces, scarves, glasses, etc.

I was surprised to find that I recognized some of the music from having listened to Ancient Faith Radio.  I had assumed that the tunes were so foreign to me that I wouldn't be able to recognize them.  I have since learned that the Russian tradition has a more western tuning than the Byzantine/Greek tradition.

I enjoyed the homily, though I caught myself thinking that the service would be ending soon after it finished.  Silly me, I forgot about the whole Eucharist part.  (I actually appreciate the fact that Communion is the focal point of Divine Liturgy, not the rushed afterthought that it is in so many Protestant services.)  

Talking to Peter on the way home I related that it is hard for me to follow what is being said when it is being sung or chanted - I'm more apt to follow the melody.  He suggested that next week we grab a copy of the Liturgy so I can follow along to some extent.  We'll see how well that works.

The highlight of the morning was definitely the "coffee" hour after Liturgy.  Yes there was coffee, and birthday cake, and brownies, and about six different main dishes, three types of potato salad, two types or rice and lots of bread.  I think we met about half the church - parents of other small children, the choir director and his wife, the priest and his wife, and any number of other people who came by just to say hello.  I'm not sure how much of this is an Orthodoxy thing, how much is the small church with obvious visitors, and how much is Southern Hospitality.  I suppose it doesn't really matter.  We felt welcomed and affirmed.

Over all, about as positive an experience as one could ask for.

Tomorrow and tonight

I (Peter) have been to any number of Orthodox services.  I've even been to one completely in Slavonic/Russian.  I've met bishops, lit candles, venerated relics, and talked with countless priests.  I have never been more nervous than I am right now.  I'm jittery.  I'm biting my nails.  I'm not sure why, but I haven't felt this way before attending services.  I like it.  It means that I still have no idea what I'm doing.  I'm not going in as an insider.  I know how the service works, I feel comfortable crossing myself, etc; but I am not on the inside yet.  I'm just now coming to the place where I'm willing to sit "outside" the church and listen and watch the way the ancient catechumens did before the were allowed to come in and actually hear the services.

I cannot wait until tomorrow.  God is so good!  I can't believe this past few months are going to culminate in this event tomorrow morning.  It's going to be a long drive "just" to get to church.  It's like the pilgrim trail to the holy shrine.  A journey of three years is going to "end" here and begin here as well.  To quote someone from outside of the Church: The journey of a thousand miles is beneath your feet.  In other words: if you want to make it to your destination, you have to begin walking--even if the trek is a total of a thousand miles.

I have no idea what this next year is going to throw at us.  We may be here in my parents' old house for a very long time, or it may be very short.  We may be attending this church for years to come, or we may be called overseas to serve as missionaries.  All I know is this: I want it.  Whatever this year is going to bring.  I want to experience it all with an open mouth and a heart willing to receive whatever God has in store for us.  We'll be setting up an icon corner in our house.  We'll be beginning to say morning and evening prayers together and reading the lectionary.  From there, we don't know.  Come and join us!

Now that the moving is over

We have made it to our new locale.  We're camped out in a beautiful house in the Southeast, and waiting for all of our earthly possessions to arrive.  We know they're coming, we just don't know exactly when.  Glory to God in all things!  We love our new neighborhood, though, and are currently preparing to enjoy a grilled sweet potato, onion skewers, and some marinated chicken breasts.  I don't even care how long it takes to cook!

We got a chance to sit down with Fr. C. at the OCA church we're going to visit this weekend.  I have been such a fan of the priests we have been talking to.  Fr. Ph. back home was a loving, caring, grandfatherly figure.  Fr. Hans from Orthodoxy Today was an intellect and a compassionate heart.  Fr. C. was like a dear friend.  It seems that Felicity and I are being watched over by any number of God's servants as we try to follow His leading in our lives.

There's a lot to unpack before we start to post about our experiences in our Orthodox Year.  First, we have started telling our families about our decision.  Felicity's parents have a girl living with them who is also considering Orthodoxy (an unexpected blessing) and we let them know that we'll be visiting an OCA church as well this weekend.  My parents will find out on Saturday when they ask (as they no doubt will), "Where are you going to church tomorrow?"  Our take: very humble and honest--we're going to visit an Orthodox church.  Hopefully the response will be honest curiosity and not antagonism.  Either is possible with my family.  We love each other, and we like to argue--go figure.

God is so good.  This morning while considering our upcoming conversations, I received an incredible peace about everything.  It was as if the Holy Spirit was reassuring me that He (and not we) is in charge of our salvation.  If we are faithful to Him, He is at work in our lives to shape us into the likeness of Jesus.  When it comes to telling my family about the decision to explore Orthodoxy, I know that He has already gone before us.  The funny thing is, is that I once went to an Episcopal church while living with them, and they never had a problem.  I'm not sure what I think the difference is going to be.  Maybe it's that this is going to be so different.  I've just stopped worrying about it.  With God's help, we'll be able to have mature conversations and real dialogue about theology, doctrine, etc. and hopefully they'll come with us some week!

So here we stand.  Nervous, but not afraid.  Apprehensive, but not alone.  Excited, but trying not to overdo anything.  Ready...steady.....

Transitioning away

Yesterday, the church where I (Peter) have been serving for the past three years announced my departure.  As of yet, only a handful of people know that our plan is to "depart" in so many other ways--which is probably for the best.  Nothing says, "We're ungrateful" like leaving your denominational church in the dust as soon as you leave your posting there.  Not wanting to burn any very wonderful bridges, we'll be slowly letting people in on the "secret" as we transition into our new life in a new state.

Complications as of now include getting everything in our small apartment packed up in time for the movers to come on either Good Friday or Holy Saturday to be at my parents' house by Pascha.  Thrown into the mix that neither of our families know yet of our intended move into Orthodoxy for the next year, and neither of us are really looking forward to those conversations.  My father would also like me to apply for a position at their church.  I'm trying to patiently explain that I'm not looking for church work right now, and that I'm also not going to be going to any churches that they would recognize (or probably feel very comfortable in).

I don't know what to expect out of these next few days.  We're both a little bit confused, concerned, and disconcerted.  I feel like God is going before us less as a pillar of fire, and more like a lightning bug.  We're following Him the best that we know how, and trying to take all of these things as they come our way.  I know there's more to this life than just a weekly paycheck or the daily grind, but those are things I've grown accustomed to, and I'm not sure that I'm looking to replace them with anything else.

Getting to this point - his story - part 3

Orthodoxy re-entered my life in seminary.  My friend S. moved into the fourth bedroom of an apartment I was sharing with some friends.  He had just begun his catechesis during the early spring of that year.  I have no idea what it was that drew me in, but our relationship is one of the most important in my journey to this point.  During the summer months, I read a copy of Eastern Orthodoxy Christianity: A Western Perspective in order to get an understanding of where he was coming from.  Having lived my life under Western presupposition, I was caught off guard by the stark difference I saw in his developing worldview.  That book was incredibly influential, and really opened my eyes to the "otherness" inherent in Eastern Orthodoxy.


Sometime during that year together I went to my first Divine Liturgy.  I was told to make myself comfortable, sit towards the back, and soak it all up.  Having been to enough Anglican services I guess at a couple of the crucial points where I should stand (little and great entrances, et al.); but I mostly confined myself to a pew on the side of the church where I could observe my friends and store up my share of questions.  To tell you the truth, I was mostly put out by the whole thing.  I remember being really offended that so much happened behind the iconostasis.  I was also really confused by the constant repetition of "Most Holy Theotokos, save us" and I couldn't follow along in the service book at all.  Basically, I was completely lost and felt really sleepy afterwards. (I found out later that this is apparently all really really normal.)


I talked with the priest after the liturgy, and had an excellent conversation with him.  He recommended I pick up a prayer rope and gave me some basic instruction in the Jesus Prayer.  I also prayed with my roommate every couple of mornings through the Morning Prayer rule of the Jordanville Prayer Book.  It was a very different experience.


Nativity that year my roommate was baptized and went to the service.  It was like watching someone being born again.  Literally.  The person who came out of the font was not the same person who went in.  He was truly reborn.  Holy Saturday that year another friend was baptized and I stayed for Pascha.  I think at that point I realized that someday, I would be making this choice.  I just expected that it would be year from now...a long long time.


When we moved, I got in contact with the local Orthodox priest for occasional chats about ministry, faith, and  practical spirituality.  He would give me advice on fasting and prayer and would sit down with my wife and I to talk about God or just to be friendly.  It was a wonderful relationship, and his prayers were really important to me during my time here.  Now that we've reached the point of making the decision to explore Orthodoxy, I see that God has been brining us slowly to this point without ever making us feel like we were being coerced. S. and I still talk each week about faith and life, and he's an amazing friend to listen to my rants about what we're going through.


We're nervous about the upcoming conversations that we're going to be having with our families.  It's going to be very hard to get my parents to understand what we're doing.  My father will have a very informed (usually by Christianity Today or Chalecedon Report) opinion, and my mother will have a definite opinion: This smacks of [Roman] Catholocism.  So here we are.  Standing on the brink, waiting to plunge in.  I'm excited, terrified, and very much aware that we move forward by God's direction only.

Getting to this point - her story - Part 2

In the past year, things have moved very fast in many areas of our life together.  We had a baby, moved three times in an unsuccessful attempt to buy a house, and finally came to the realization that Peter's position at this church isn't going to work.  Through all the stress and pressure, we've learned a lot about ourselves, our marriage, and our faith and, a few months ago, we were faced with the stark reality that, given the choice, we would not choose to attend this church.  Now, with his position drawing quickly to a close, we're not bound by a paycheck to attend anywhere and that choice again belongs to us.

This is the first time in our marriage that we've had this choice, and we've realized the importance of truly choosing together.  We did go to church together before we were married, but it was almost by accident: he was a good friend who had a car, and I wanted to go to church, which one didn't really matter.  After a while, I continued going because I liked him and our rides home usually included lunch pseudo-dates (but that's another story).  That sort of decision making (if one could even call it that) was not going to work this time around, it's more serious and we need to be intentional.  The church we choose will, probably, be the first church that our daughter (and new baby due this summer) remember attending.  It will send a message to our parents about what type of family we will be, and how we will make important decisions in the future.  There is a lot of pressure from all sides to get this right, and to be able to defend our choice.

In the midst of all this, Peter began to toy with the idea of being ordained.  I'm still not sure how serious he was (or is) about the idea, since he'd always avoided the topic before, but it certainly served as a useful way to narrow our focus.  If he wasn't comfortable being ordained in a given denomination, then we didn't want to consider it in our "church shopping" (a horrendous phrase which I dislike using - it seems to equate choosing a church with choosing a pair of shoes or a box of cereal, as if it were that trivial).  Perhaps some would resist our resolutely chopping off entire branches of Christianity in this way, and I'll allow that not all churches under any given theological or ideological umbrella are uniform in their beliefs or practices, but we simply aren't willing to wade through all the choices one by one (I don't have the stamina, frankly).  In any case, it became obvious fairly early on that we were looking for some specific things, and number one among them (Liturgical Style) cut out most denominational churches and the vast majority of non-denominational ones anyway.

Having had a very good experience with an Anglican church in college, we found ourselves leaning that way.  Peter called an old friend, who has since become an Anglican priest, for advice. His asked a simple question, which was predictable, because he knows my husband, but still caught us off guard, "what's stopping you from going all the way and becoming Orthodox?"

It took us a while to answer that.  Eventually, we realized that it was mostly fear of the unknown and of disappointing and alienating our families, that stood in the way.

I feel I should take a moment here to explain that I had not really come to feel "called" to Orthodoxy to this point.  I had always found the idea interesting, but in the same way that one finds the idea of being the star in a big stage production interesting: fun to dream about, a thrilling part to play, a "wouldn't it be cool if" scenario, but not anything that I, as a normal, average person, would ever get to do or, honestly, be very good at if given the opportunity.  Now the reality of that opportunity stared me in the face with a very real, very frightening supposition behind it: are you willing to give up your family for Me?

It had never occurred to me that I might come face to face with the choice presented in Luke 14:26: "If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters...he cannot be my disciple."  And yet, here was the choice: become a part of this community, take the ideas seriously, follow and support your husband, obey the tug in your heart and be willing to anger your parents for the sake of it,  and face the possibility of that relationship not ever fully recovering - or - take the safe road, keep your parents happy, sing happy songs about Jesus without ever really knowing what living them out looks like, and always live with a twinge of regret, wondering what would have happened if you had chosen differently.

I'd like to say for sake of dramatic effect that the process of making that choice was hard and that we wrestled over it for a long time, but we didn't.  Over the course of a single evening (whose date I should probably have recorded, given it's significance), we decided that, if nothing else, we needed to give Orthodoxy a try.  We still aren't really sure what that means.  We haven't had "the talk" with our parents about it (though I have gained insight, thanks to a good talk with my sister, into how best to have it with mine).

Until the end of the month, we can't really move forward.  Even though he's officially resigned, Peter's last day is still two weeks away.  After he's done, after we move, then we'll begin what we've termed our "Orthodox year".  We'll find a church, become involved and, after a year, see what steps forward or back need to be taken.  I have a lot of learning to do, a lot of Protestant assumptions to overcome, a lot of doubts and confusion to be cleared up.
It will be another busy year.

Getting to this point - his story - part 2

My first contact with the Orthodox church came on a study tour of the Bible Lands.  We saw Coptic and other Eastern Orthodox churches, chapels, and cathedrals in Istanbul, Egypt, Jordan, and Israel.  We were even privileged enough to go into St. Catherine's Monastery after visiting hours and see the grounds while the brothers took their mid-day nap.  After all that I saw, I pretty much ignored it.  I was 18 and arrogant, very Presbyterian, and afraid that all of this idolatry was seeping into my system.  There are only two icons that I can remember seeing that stuck out to me--both of them frescoes of the Resurrection.  The image of the triumphal Christ remains firm in my memory.

The Orthodox church fell off my radar after that trip.  I still had postcards of mosaics and icons that I showed people as souvenirs of the trip, but they held no real spiritual significance for me.  I know that I was supposed to see the Sinai icon of Christ, but I have no recollection of it.  I was in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and my only excitement was that I had spent the school year researching it, and my interest was purely academic.  There was nothing that stuck in my psyche (my soul) to keep me attached to the Church.

One year in college, we had a day of prayer (actually, this was an annual occurrence; but this is the only year that I attended the Orthodox service) there was an Orthodox prayer service.  The flier listed it as Vespers.  I was intrigued, and so I went with a really good friend who, it turns out, grew up Roman Catholic.  The service was either a Paraklesis or an Akathist service.  I honestly didn't know the difference at the time, and I still am unsure which service it was.  Either way, it was a service in praise of the Virgin Mary.  I was slightly taken aback and refused to say things like "ever-virgin" throughout, yet the service stuck with me.  I was left with a question after that service: How do we fulfill the requirement to call Mary blessed?  My father's response: we read that passage and remember that she gave birth to Jesus--no more; no less, and that was where he left it.  That wasn't enough for me.  For me, there was something missing in that response: it wasn't enough.

I traveled about for a little bit during college.  My friend invited me to the Easter Vigil at the local Anglican church my senior year, and my worldview was blown wide open.  I had never celebrated Christ's resurrection with such joy and gusto.  People were literally whooping in the church, shouting, raising their hands, and praising God at the top of their lungs!  At that point I was hooked on liturgy; and I coincidentally went to a very liturgical Presbyterian church for a time as well.  I was being pursued by the ancient Tradition of the Church.  During seminary I attended weekly mid-week liturgy with some friends of mine and generally tried to convince my girlfriend that this was actually worship and authentic and true.

Getting to this point - his story - part 1

I was raised in a very pious Christian home.  My parents were loving, dedicated, faithful.  They were committed to seeing me and my brothers grow up in the Faith and to become leaders in our churches and our families, following God wholeheartedly in the world and in the church.  Daily prayer time and Bible study were a regular part of our upbringing.  By the time I was in high school I had read every book in the Bible several times.  One of my lasting memories of my mother and father will always be their daily prayer time-- before we were supposed to be awake-- heads bowed over their Bibles and interceding for our family, our [future] wives, and the world around them.

I was always that kid growing up.  I had all the right answers in Sunday School, and breezed through the tiny Bible school where I spent one year after high school.  I have never ever allowed myself to doubt the tenants of the Reformed tradition in which I was raised.  My TULIP was tight as a drum and not relaxing for anyone.

And then I went for a semester to a very Calvinist institution and saw the level of hubris I had achieved in my 19 years.  I couldn't take it anymore.  I still thought I was correct, but I wasn't willing to be so smug about it.  I wasn't going to sit around judging other Christians as being in a lower caste of redemption because they didn't believe the way that I did.  When I transferred to the school where Felicity and I eventually met and formed a relationship, my uptight Protestant upbringing was relaxed and my receptivity to other religious backgrounds was high.