What the heart sees

"Concepts create idols; only wonder grasps anything." - St. Gregory of Nyssa

I listened to an Orthodox teaching that was very difficult for me, because the speaker patiently insisted that anything of the rational mind was of ourselves. Matters of God, he said, are matters of the heart.

This is a nearly impossible concept for those of us who, as Westerners, feel most comfortable with definitions and spreadsheets, data and tables, logic and reasoning.

But it is also very freeing. Someone very dear to me once explained that he could not list logical reasons for his decisions, which is precisely what I was begging for. Instead, he explained (in different words) that he follows his heart.

Our culture might eat him alive if he confessed to this in front of the many who value logic (of which I can be one of the worst). But his reasoning is actually very Orthodox.

It's interesting to note that one doesn't need to be particularly skilled in logical reasoning in order to grasp the deepest truths about God. It's our hearts, not our heads, that can lead us there.

This "heart-centered" approach to Christianity is probably not at all what people think of when they look at Orthodoxy. They likely see the volumes and volumes of history and tradition as a weighty burden, to be enjoyed only by those who are so intellectual that they can't get enough of that sort of thing. (You know...weirdos.) And it's true - there is a veritable treasure house of theology and tradition that could be a bit shocking to a newcomer.

But what's fascinating is that, interwoven through it all, there remains an unquenchable thirst for God in all of His mystery. Though they have the longest history and the fullest theology, the Orthodox don't for a minute presume to have God "figured out." It seems to be quite the opposite.

In fact, never have I encountered a group of Christians more reverently attentive to God's unending mysteries. It's this humility in the face of the divine that calls me away from the bridge diagram and back to a sense of wonder.

Wonder. Mystery.
The heart sees and knows her savior.
The mind may be persuaded that it did not see anything at all.

Legalism or Discipline? Freedom or Entitlement?

I don't know how it happened, but one thing ingrained in me since childhood is the notion that "legalism" is probably the gravest danger when approaching our Christian faith. Being a little bit of a free spirit in some ways, this was a reassuring notion to me. "I don't have to worry about changing the carefree way that I want to be, because the alternative would be LEGALISM, and that's a sure path to dead religion...."

It's interesting how easy it was to rationalize or gloss over both Bible verses and church teachings about spiritual disciplines. It was only as a young adult in a BSF class that I really looked at the value of discipline. Isaiah speaks poetically about a garden that is carefully tended by the gardener, with weeds regularly pulled out and the plants frequently trimmed and pruned. The alternative, and also what the wicked people had become, is a wild garden, overgrown and unwildy, which no longer bears any fruit.

Given my casual personality, the "wild garden" tends to feel more freeing and relatable, while the "well-pruned garden" feels both unattainable and a bit boring. But it occured to me - the well-pruned garden is the one that is used for the master's will. The wild garden is abandoned by the master and is allowed to self-destruct.

Do I want to be allowed to self-destruct, or do I want to be well-tended? Even if that trimming and pruning changes the very shape of who I think I am? (This is a hard question, because I've typically liked myself just fine the way I am. There has often been a quiet fear about the nature of whatever "change" and "growth" God might have in store for me. What if he wants me to become something less fun than what I am right now? I want to have a certain measure of control over how much I am to change, and in which direction I should grow.....after all, it's MY life, right?)

At some point, God brought me to that difficult place of surrender. Or at least, of wanting to surrender, even if I don't do it very well most days. And it finally occurred to me that, being creator of my very being, as well as the "author and perfector of my faith," it is GOD who has the best blue-prints for my life. I don't have to worry about him "remodeling" me into anything less than what I was always meant to be.

And when you're finally open to the idea of discipline as a way of aligning oneself with the master gardener's blueprint (and get over this crazy idea that it's in some way earning salvation), it suddenly becomes clear that it is not only good but absolutely necessary.

What is a Christian, after all, if not one who is aligned with God's will and used for His purposes?

I'm guessing everyone would give a quiet nod of agreement about this last point, but what I fear is that we live in a culture that subty justifies our own entitlement. Because there is "freedom," (which we will defend to the grave, even at the expense of other theologies), God really doesn't expect us to give up all that much in our daily lives. Nor does he expect us to follow any rules about the way our lives are managed from day to day. All of that business is best left between each Christian person and God himself. After all, it's a personal relationship God is after, isn't it? Far be it from the church at large to tell any one Christian how to relate to God.

Trouble is, I think we give ourselves far too much credit on that last point. I don't know about you, but my track record of "working out how to relate to God" has been fairly one-sided. That is, I'm mostly focused on myself. Not that I'm TRYING to be self-centered and short-sighted.....I just come by it naturally. And because I'm so immersed in myself, my approach to God seems to shift with the tide of my own current. For a God who is never-changing, I very much doubt this pendulum swing of "Katie-directed" religion is His highest goal for our relationship.

So when a church with several thousand years of tradition offers tangible answers to that question, "How do I relate to God," it doesn't (as I used to fear) hinder my freedom. The truth is that my freedom had actually become my noose. I was fighting tooth and nail to defend a notion that had become my own poison. And why? Because when I said "freedom," what I meant was "entitlement." I felt entitled to make my own choices, to seek my own path. While I've always been an outwardly compliant and basically gentle spirit, deep down inside there was a hardened stubbornness that said, "I can do what I want, and I will not yield." The worst part is that I couldn't have named it if I'd been asked. I didn't even know that sin was buried so deeply inside me.

And this, friends, is precisely what I mean when I say that we may trust ourselves more than we should. When God mercifully brought me to a place where I could recognize (if only in part) just how broken I am, and how blind I am to my own depth of sin and selfishness....that is the moment I became keenly interested in what the Church has to say about its various disciplines. I knew I needed someone else to help guide my pruning and trimming, since I could no longer trust my own judgment. If left to my own devices, I'd choose the wild, overgrown garden every time.

Many might say, "Just go to Jesus. Pray and ask God to show you the next steps." That is good. Very, very good - and I dare not slander that advice. But dare I say - if the Church is to be the body of Christ here on earth, is it not in the same breath a wise choice to go to Her for wisdom also? When I'm looking to Jesus, may I not at the same to look to the Church? We may be unaccustomed to this idea, but perhaps that's because we've grown too comfortable living amidst the many fragments of churches we see around us. This subdivided group can only in part, and without complete unity, represent our Christ - so the idea that the church is the "Body of Christ" naturally finds a more symbolic role in our theology. But perhaps when confronted with a church that has remained consistent from the beginning, we would begin to trust Her yet again...

And that's where I am. When looking into my own heart, I see shifting shadows - even some that pose convincingly for truth. When I seek a sturdier ground to stand on, I cannot find even one aside from the Church that has stood for thousands of years.

"But, Elves are supposed to be FUNNY!"

The other day, Lydia (2) uttered a string of gibberish that was kind of elegant and thoughtful, such that it actually sounded like a real language. I turned to Nathan and joked, "It sounds like she's speaking Elvish!"

Of course, Josie (6) jumped on the comment and had to ride it all the way home - What did I mean? What language is Elvish? Did Lydia really speak it? Etc, etc.

In the course of the conversation, we hit a major impasse. I explained that Elvish was the made-up language spoken by the Elves in The Lord of the Rings.

"Oh," she chuckled - "and they probably sound pretty funny, huh."

"Well, not really." I said. "The elves in the Lord of the Rings are very wise and serious, and their language is smooth and flowing and lovely."

Josie - (slowly computing) - "But - elves are funny."

"Well, not THESE elves."

We talked and talked, but it didn't seem to matter how long we described Tolkien's elves.

Josie, by no fault of her own, was very accustomed to only one type of elf. She was probably picturing funny little men with pointy ears and pointy hats fashioning Christmas toys for Santa. It was as if Josie could not fathom an elf that didn't fit into her already established criteria for elf-dom.

And because of that fundamental breakdown, the whole conversation was lost. The word "elf" meant something different to Josie than it did to us. We were stuck.

I think adults are a little bit like that, too.

Words are such a gift, and yet they can be so tenuous. A word can have many different definitions and still more connotations, so that to the speaker or the hearer, there could be hundreds of plausible interpretations based on the arrangement and delivery (and context, and audience, and speaker) of a given word.

I think this is where we can tend to get hung up when looking at Orthodoxy.

We're coming at these things from different angles. We come with different definitions, different expectations, and different experiences that shape the way we see these words. So when someone talks about "praying to the Saints," for example, we immediately have ONE definition of "prayer," ONE definition of "Saints," and a whole host of personal or historical baggage about what this phrase must mean.

So we march on, trying to defend our position (because, after all, "Elves are funny!"...and "Praying to dead people who aren't God in any way shape or form doesn't make any sense!") - and there is a disconnect. We can't go forward, because we are using the same words to talk about completely different things, but we can't seem to land on the problem. So we scoot away from the issue entirely, never bothering to learn what kind of elves may have been in Tolkien's imagination. We are absolutely wrapped up in the ones in ours.

In "The Illumined Heart," Frederica Matthews-Greene writes, "The Western Christian  who begins to explore these things faces a difficult entry phase. Our worldview is very different from this one, and sometimes we use the same words but mean different things. We can also encounter entirely unfamiliar words. In general, we will have the disorienting sensation that things we always presumed were distinct and separate are being put back together. This whole process will take some patience."

I work with high school aged exchange students coming to America. When they come, I talk to them about culture shock. I talk to them about how hard it may be for them at first, and some common symptoms or pitfalls they may experience as they try to integrate into their new cultural setting. This may sound disheartening, but I tell them that it's far better to be able to look culture shock in the eye and to deal with it than to get swept along unknowingly by its tumultuous current.

I suppose I'd like to remind all of us Westerners of the same thing. There is a very real culture shock that happens when one seriously begins to open themselves up to considering Orthodoxy. Far better for us to be able to identify it than to get swept away by our emotions or assumptions.

In the end, the only way to "know" Tolkien's elves is to read the series. To walk with Legolas through capter after chapter, to hear the strong, slow, somewhat terrifying voice of Galadriel, to see the slow, steady movements of the ever-hopeful Arwen.

One Orthodox "motto" I have heard from various groups is "Come and see."

This is fitting. Just as we can't know anything other than "Christmas elves" without first reading Tolkien, we could not even begin to imagine a different kind of Christian worldview without first experiencing Orthodoxy. Visiting a service. Talking with an Orthodox priest or layperson. Reading some Orthodox literature. Praying some Orthodox prayers.

Let's all heed that simple call: "Come and see." But let's not just assume our elves are the only elves and leave it at that, or that the very nature of elf-dom is ambiguous enough to allow multiple interpretations.

Because (excuse me if I'm letting the analogy run away with me a bit!) - I can say "I believe in elves" all I want, but if the "elf" I am putting my hope in is entirely different than the actual elf who really exists - if I'm "believing" in little men with pointy hats who make toys, but the reality is a race of graceful immortals who detest evil and promote beauty....well then. My "believing in elves" doesn't amount to much use, if the thing I'm believing in is a construct of my own interpretation.

So let us go. And let us see. And let us cry out, "Lord have mercy," and let our eyes be opened to whatever it is that is the fullness of Our Lord's revelation to mankind.

If we could suspend our disbelief, just for a moment...

I've had some conversations lately about Orthodoxy, and in each of these conversations I seem to recognize a trend toward doubt, skepticism, or just well-intentioned caution.

In these conversations, ardent Christians would use those things we assume to be basic truths/priorities of Christianity as yard sticks against which to measure the Orthodox church:

"Do they believe in faith alone?" 

"Do they teach that you should pray to the saints?" (Because only God is worthy of our prayers...)

"Do they venerate Mary?" (hushed tones...this is a serious offense...) 

"What about evangelism? Do they have any programs to reach the community?"

"What about fellowship? Is there any chance to grow personally if all you're doing is following the old traditions of dead religion?"

"How are people supposed to relate to it when there is so much to understand? Is the gospel message even preached?"

I totally get it, because I was not only cautious but down-right antagonistic when I first heard the claim of the Orthodox church to be the "original" and "true" Church. (I mean, who actually makes a claim like THAT these days? We Evangelicals know better...)

I look at all of these questions, and I remember.

I remember what it was like to be stuck in this whirlwind of doubt.

I was telling a friend recently that for me, there was a "switch" that got flipped somewhere along the way, and I now see differently. Not only that, but it feels as though I've crossed a bridge, and I'm unable to go back, even if I wanted to.

At the time I was annoyed with myself that I couldn't find the words to talk more about that phenomenon. What WAS it that "flipped the switch"? I've learned more about the church, for sure...but it wasn't one piece of information that changed my mind or left me convinced.

Recently when going through some of my notes written in the margin of The Way by Clark Carlton, I landed on a quotation from a book by Peter Gillquist that seemed to hit the nail on the head. (Peter Gillquist is the author of Becoming Othodox, which details the journey of a small group of evangelical Christians in search for the true church of the Bible...and how their search brought them instead to the Orthodox church.) 

Gillquist wrote:

"Ultimately, the change came for us when we stopped trying to judge and re-evaluate Church history, and for once invited Church history to judge and evaluate us....

Instead of asking if Christian forebears like Anselm, Augustine, Athanasius, and Chrysostom were in our Church, we began to ask if we were in theirs!"

What if, instead of charging into Orthodoxy with a list of my own priorities and immediately looking for all the ways it must be wrong, I simply sat at her feet and tried to learn from her?

Friends, I want to suggest that we put down our yard sticks. Stop measuring the Orthodox church based on our own beliefs and assumptions about what church is or should be. Wipe all those assumptions away and really LOOK.

I suppose the fear here is that if we go into something blindly, we might get swept along into some heretical version of the truth and not even know it. But if we'll take some time to learn more, to read more, to listen more, to pray more....I think we might be surprised.

But first, we've got to suspend our disbelief.

"Truth turns into Beauty in unexpected ways. What was strange and perplexing has become my sweetest home."

Work and managing children is taking about all I have at the moment. So, instead of writing, I might just share some things that others have written.

For starters, the below link will take you to the personal story of Frederica Matthews-Greene, my favorite Orthodox writer. She writes about her conversion to Orthodoxy in a very humble, realistic way - remembering all the misgivings and annoyances along the way. Much of what she says (though not all) resonates with my own experience.

http://frederica.com/writings/from-episcopalian-to-orthodox.html

Granny's Super Amazing Chili!!!

There's a lot to Orthodoxy - thousands of years of well-preserved teachings, practices, and human examples - that can seem overwhelming for us Westerners who think we have to mentally conquer a thing before we can sign up for it. How on EARTH can you assimilate the whole of Orthodoxy, make sense of it, and then accept or reject it with your rational mind? Some might feel this task is too daunting, and might recoil from the idea because they can't handle the self-imposed pressure of figuring out how to "do it perfectly." We see a "legalism" flag going up, and so we flee.

Interestingly, the Eastern mindset out of which Orthodoxy came doesn't expect us to "get it" with our intellect, nor to "do it" perfectly, but to simply show up. To come to the table. To worship God.

But, unaccustomed to this "just come and see" viewpoint, we still tend to feel burdened by the pressure of "too much." It's too "high church" - too "ornate" - too complicated.

So, when a church says, "We stick with the simple truth - we've boiled it down so it's easy to understand without all the extras!" - Well, that feels really freeing.

But how much are we willing to give up in our pursuit of "boiled-down" truth? (And, how do we safeguard against "watering down" truth inadvertently?)

I like analogies. Consider this one:



Great, great Granny has a famous chili recipe, which has 47 ingredients and requires 3 whole days of simmering, resting, and flavor-mingling in order to prepare it "just right." Even so, few have been able to give it that "special something" Granny always could.

So, to make it easier to manage, we "boil down" the recipe to the essentials: ground beef, tomato puree, beans, salt, and chili powder. We celebrate its simplicity, and we reason that this may actually be even BETTER than Granny's original recipe. After all, the myriad herbs and spices in the original recipe almost overwhelmed the simple chili flavor we expect. We can all better focus on the meat and the beans, which is the important stuff, without all those superfluous spices getting in the way. They were distractions, in fact.

So, we celebrate our new invention of Granny's chili, and we proudly serve it up at every get-together in remembrance of great-great-Granny. As this new chili recipe gets passed down, others add their own "relevant" flare: the kids like it with spaghetti noodles! Cheese is easier to add as a topping than minced cilantro! And who uses dried beans anymore when you can just pop open a can? All these changes create a continually morphed "Granny's chili" that - truth be told - looks nothing like the original recipe. That's ok, we tell ourselves. Granny's chili was more of a symbol, anyway. We're keeping the memory alive in our own way, which is what Granny would have wanted...

But let's think about this. Sure it's still chili, and sure we've kept all the basics, but is it the same thing as Granny's chili? Not even close. And if our goal is to truly honor and remember great-great-Granny and her amazing chili, then does "boiling down" her chili recipe help us do that? Not a chance.

I fear the only thing this altered chili recipe helps us do is to fill our own tummies - faster, more easily, and more in keeping with our own tastes. If that's the goal, then bravo! The new recipe is perfect. But if there is a higher goal in mind, we might want to reconsider boiling down the original recipe - lest we make so many alterations and substitutions that we find ourselves eating something else entirely.

What leads a Westerner to Orthodoxy?

I ran across a website that quickly outlines some "noteworthy" Protestants, including a brief description of the circumstances that led each one to convert to Orthodoxy. I just found it interesting, and thought I'd share.

Click HERE if you're interested!

Saint Chryse (Zlata) of Bulgaria

One of the cornerstone beliefs in my Christianity has always been a mistrust of any sort of elevation of Saints. They are just people - they should NOT be prayed to, must NOT be worshipped (which I thought was synonymous with praying to them), and in general, we shouldn't give them too much consideration.

Tonight I was randomly reading about St. Chryse (Zlata) of Bulgaria. (Don't ask me how I discovered her - it was really random. Ok, I'll tell you: I was looking for baby names!)



Zlata lived in the 18th century. In the year 1795, she was kidnapped by a Turkish man who was obsessed with her. He tried to seduce her and to get her to convert to Islam. She refused, so he changed his tactics and began threatening her. She still refused, so he tortured her - for months and months. Apparently, it became almost like a game of wills. Finally, after being enraged that he had been bested by a woman at this "game," he and some other men tied her to a tree and cut her to bits.

This woman's suffering was truly gruesome. She was beaten with clubs, strips of skin were pulled from her body, and a heated skewer was "passed through her ears." She was begged by her family to relent and simply deny Christ, "for the sake of appearances," but she refused.

My first thoughts when I read about this woman went something like this:
- Gosh, I really wish I had chosen a saint with a more uplifting story to read about.
- This is yucky - I'd like to start thinking about something else as soon as possible.
- Man I'm glad we're not at risk of being martyred these days.
- What kind of name is "Zlata" anyway - not a very good baby name.

But then, far weightier thoughts settled in:
- Wow. WOW. This woman and her sacrifice must be so prized by God. The angels must have sung her praises when she entered heaven. Perhaps it's not so crazy for us to honor her here on earth, too. If we want to become like Christ, perhaps we should strive to honor what He honors.
- What an EXAMPLE. Here I am, struggling to say "no" under so slight a temptation as sinful thoughts, slothful idleness, bitterness, selfishness....but she had to fight daily against the temptation to deny her Lord and save her physical body from such agony. What commitment. What resolve. What belief.

The more I think of her, the more I WANT to think of her - because she is becoming a source of strength to me. Her example is strengthening my resolve to cling to Christ no matter what, just as she did. Just as an inspiring older brother or sister in Christ (who is living) can be such an encouragement in my life, so these saints and martyrs can encourage and inspire and draw us closer to Christ.

And that, I'm thinking, is what it's all about. The stories of Saints help complete the picture of becoming Christlike, being themselves noteworthy members of the body of Christ.

Dwelling on the story of a Saint doesn't detract from the story of Christ, as I was taught. Instead, the blessed Saints help point the way to Christ. They are a beacon along the journey of life, illuminating more clearly what it looks like to follow God here on earth - in every century, on every continent, and in every life circumstance. Together, their stories echo throughout the centuries and proclaim the true God. (How very sad to have ignored this great choir of witnesses for so long!) 

And as for worshiping them? That was a misunderstanding, or perhaps an over-reaction to perceptions of common Catholic practice in some places. Perhaps some people worshiped Saints or got too superstitious with their saintly icons or prayers. But the actual dogma of Orthodoxy describes prayer to a Saint as the same thing as petitioning a living friend to pray for us - except this "friend" is no longer living. And - oh yeah - they're enjoying communion with God, right now. If we truly believe in "the communion of saints," perhaps asking these experienced Christians for their prayers is not such a bad idea!

Embracing Mystery

Western thinking is so deeply ingrained in us that, most of the time, we can't even identify the lens through which we see the world. We can't take this lens off our faces, examine it, and determine its validity - because to us, it simply is.

One such "norm" of Western thinking is a certain degree of rationalism. And from that rationalism, we feel an inborn need to make sure that whatever we do, whatever we say, and most importantly whatever we believe all stem from logical conclusions based on reasonable facts.

The way this translates into Christianity? The bridge diagram. Careful blueprints of various passages of scripture, picking apart each word to carefully define concepts like predestination, salvation, redemption - typically mapped out linearly on the page so that you can easily comprehend with your intellect every detail of the process. So that it provides a tight explanation. So that it makes SENSE.

Other things impacted by rationalism are simply the way we perceive the text. The way we understand basic concepts like indebtedness and forgiveness and repentance. These are all colored by our rationalist cultural indoctrination. It's not bad that we see life through this lens, but it'd be a mistake to ignore its influence. As we seek to understand the gospel, the only lens we have to look through is incredibly colored by our own imperceptible worldview.

Unless - we take the time to look through somebody else's lens.

Orthodoxy is very rational in that it does make sense - it's not all over the place like a crazy person made it up. But it's not rationalistic. That is, instead of placing a high premium on intellectual knowledge of any kind, Orthodoxy celebrates mystery.

In Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy, Father Damick writes, "Orthodox dogma never claims to expound the whole truth about anything, but only delineates the borders of the mystery."

God does not owe us any explanations, nor is he compelled to fit into our systems of understanding.

But that doesn't sit well with us, because of our conditioning to be rationalists. We want a system that explains, as fully as humanly possible, the gospel message. We want to know, most importantly, who is "in" and who is "out." We want to go to bed at night knowing that our system of theology has a long arm and a ready defense.

So, many of us stick with Calvinism. :)

Clark Carlton, former Baptist seminarian turned Orthodox, says that "you won't find a more beautiful system of theology than Calvinism." If you want a logical, thorough, clear-cut theological framework, Calvin's your guy. But, Carlton says, a system like Calvinism "puts a lid on God." It creates a careful framework which helps us feel more comfortable as we fluff our pillows at night, but it boxes God in. It adds a roof where there should be none, and perhaps more importantly, it creates a method of self-soothing for us as His creation -  who should instead remain filled with awe and a healthy fear of God.

I think it might do us some good to step back and remember that God isn't caged by our perception of His reality. He can do literally anything he wants. But when I mention this concept to friends, I sometimes get the response, "Sure, God can do whatever he wants, naturally - but it's God who wrote the rules, so I don't think He'll go and change them." But if we look closely, we'll find that we're assuming our system is an accurate perception of "God's rules." What if it's lopsided? Or even worse, what if it's just plain wrong?

Orthodox faith "delineates the borders of the mystery." So, we know some things with certainty. We know that Jesus is the son of God. We know that other "gods" are NOT the same as the true God. And of course there are a host of other things we can know fully and for sure, and the Orthodox church will not waiver (and I mean they WILL NOT WAIVER) on any of these. But one cornerstone of the Orthodox understanding of God is an awe and reverence for the incomprehensible mystery that is the fullness of Him.

While Orthodox are committed beyond question to the truths that God has revealed, they at the same time refuse to define that which is beyond definition. 

So - Who is in? Who is out? Only God knows with certainty. Lord, have mercy upon us. 

In my soul, it makes sense to me that THIS is the God whom we serve. A God far too big, too mysterious, too dangerous, too consuming to ever comprehend or define or diagram. (All of a sudden, the practice of regular bowing seems to make a lot more sense, too - who wouldn't willingly bow to the ground under so weighty a presence?)

What IS worship, anyway?

I don't know how I've made it this long without blogging about worship!

Seriously - this should have been the very first post, because it's probably the first thing that really compelled me to look deeper into Orthodoxy. The church history stuff is compelling, but I'm not a history buff, so my natural inclinations didn't start there. But WORSHIP  - that seems pretty central to the Christian existence.

So - what about worship?

To me, "good worship" always meant "good quality music" - that is, music that I personally enjoy, connect with, and/or that sounds moving. Emotionally moving lyrics, cool melodies/harmonies, and great female solo parts where you can really belt it out.

Orthodox worship can feel very strange for a first-timer (it did for me!) - because it has none of those things. But once you get over feeling "weird" in this ancient style of worship, it starts to really feel a whole lot more like WORSHIP - unadulterated by the things I prioritize, unaffected by the strengths or weaknesses of the choral group, uninhibited by preferences in musical style.

Orthodox liturgy includes a ton of repetition of key phrases, like "Lord have mercy," and "Glory to thee oh God, glory to thee," and "Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal." Phrases that are obviously and overtly worshipful in nature.

And, while there is a brief homily (sermon) where the Priest delivers a teaching, the bulk of the 2 hour long service is actually composed of this kind of worship. The liturgical style is sometimes chant-like but often more like singing. There is always a choir, ranging from a few people to 10 or more, who lead the congregation in worship. They're usually positioned off to the side of the room, in a position where all can hear them but where none will be giving them much visual attention. The eyes of the worshipers are instead drawn toward the large icons at the front of the room - reminders of Christ on the cross, the last supper as a picture of communion, and so on. Visually reminders of the cornerstones of their faith.

The thing that first struck me about Orthodox worship is how God-centered it is. And it is very thorough in this regard. It is "Trinity-centered" - almost constantly naming the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

By contrast, I started to notice that the worship at the church I was attending (while it may have been heart-felt) seemed very "people-centered."

I started to pay closer attention, and I noticed that many of the songs, while they were generally positive and uplifting, failed to mention God at all. They really couldn't be placed in the same category as phrases like "Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal."

So, depending on the smattering of songs chosen for any given week, it'd be theoretically possible to go to church, "worship," leave church, and never mention the name of God during worship.

This cannot be right, I started to think to myself. This cannot be the same thing as worship. 

One popular song that was sung regularly for several months goes like this:

We are the light of the world! We are a city on a hill. We are the light of the world! We gotta, we gotta, we gotta let the light shine.

And another example:

The voice of truth tells me a different story. The voice of truth says 'Do not be afraid.' The voice of truth says 'This is for my glory.' Out of all the voices calling out to me - I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth.

You could argue that the above songs are affirming to the Christian. They are probably even "true." But are they WORSHIP?

I know, you might think that I'm straining at gnats. But the problem I see is this: If we don't have any sort of guidelines for what IS worship and what is NOT worship, how on earth can we hope to attain one of the chief ends of man - to worship our God?

I also began to see that in the past, worship had been about ME. What made me feel good? What tugged at my heartstrings? What invoked an emotional response from me? These were my measuring sticks.

I felt ashamed, then, when I recognized that my worship had been me-centered. If my aim in coming to church is to worship God in a corporate setting, then my preferences about worship literally have no place whatsoever in the discussion. It's about God. It's ALL about God. And the minute I've taken even an iota of the focus off of God and placed it onto my own feelings and preferences, I've lost something. I've lost everything.

Of course, like many things, there's a continuum here. We recently became members of a Presbyterian church. Because they're one of the "high churches" of Protestantism, they're liturgical instead of contemporary. Sometimes their liturgy even includes little bits and pieces of things you'd see in the Orthodox service, like the "Trisagion" - "Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal One, have mercy upon us."

It's so simple. So simple that you might think we've got to jazz it up a little. It's a little outdated - right? But there is something about this simple style of worship that draws the heart to God.

Once when the Trisagion appeared in the Presbyterian liturgy, my otherwise distracted kiddos brightened up. "Hey!" Ellie said to me: "This is from Uncle Bitz's church!" Josie agreed with a wide smile that she recognized the tune. "That's right!" I said. The girls, who are generally apathetic and fidgety, started to sing along.

A 3 year old girl and a 5 year old girl. They remembered this tune.

Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal One - have mercy upon us.

So simple - so powerful.

We are physical bodies.

With so much sin/temptation seemingly originating within our frail physical forms, doesn't it make sense to involve our imperfect flesh in worship? To involve our physical bodies in being set apart for God?



I used to think bowing and using the sign of the cross were crazy. Superstitious. An unnecessary inconvenience.

Then I tried both - and they are actually liberating! It's the chance to align my physical body with my spiritual desire to follow God. I engage my body in prayer, I actively make my body "set apart" for God. And in so doing, I'm given the gift of a physical/tactile reminder that I belong to Christ.

Plus - what do people do in the Bible when they encounter God in any form? They bow. What does the Bible say will happen in the end of times? Every knee will bow.

Maybe we should get in some practice. :)

It's about the PICTURE

Nathan and I were captivated by Ray VanderLaan's teachings. We listened to him describe the fundamental difference between Eastern and Western worldviews. It blew our minds to imagine that we have been completely blind to the Eastern way of perceiving scripture. Personally, it made me feel like I could no longer be certain about my own ideas when reading the Bible - which was both a terrifying and liberating feeling.

Among other things, RVL talked about the value of a picture over a definition. A picture speaks to experience, to intimately knowing. A definition is all rational knowledge, all intellect - which can be completely divorced from experience.

(Its worth noting that my brother Fritz listened to RVL's teachings, and he was wide-eyed in response. "He's talking about Orthodoxy!" Interesting.)

Why use icons? I'm sure there are many reasons/purposes for the use of icons, both in depicting people from the Bible as well as saints throughout history. But I can think of at least one reason that speaks to me -

A picture is transcendent in many ways. A story, much more than a definition, paints a picture that invites us in to an experience. Language is always shifting, and definitions can be shaped by translation, cultural interpretation, cultural understanding. Definitions require a rational and intellectual discernment - a logical interpretation. But a picture provides us a window into something that bypasses definition, and therefore brings us right to the feet of the experience.

RVL helps us see that the stories of the Bible are not about dissecting definition or creating diagrams, but about seeing and participating in the experience of the reality of God on earth. I now see that icons do the same thing.

"I don't want my faith to be reactionary."

"I just don't want my faith to be reactionary."

I sipped my coffee and nodded, mulling the word over in my mind. Reactionary. Reaction-ary.

Ben was one of the many people I met in the fellowship hall of my brother's Orthodox church one Sunday.
I was still processing the fullness of the liturgy itself, and though I busied myself with many conversations, I have no idea what else he, I, or anyone said that day.

But Ben's words - "I don't want my faith to be reactionary" - those quiet, unpretentious words seemed to stick with me and encapsulate so much that I hadn't yet been able to put into words. The words have hung with me to this day.

Looking at history, it seems a lot of the "new" within the church springs up as reactions to an off-base or dangerous idea. Growing up, half of the way I defined my version of Christianity was in terms of what I was not - I was not Catholic! I did not use icons. I did not pray to Mary. I did not believe in purgatory. Etc, etc.

I was so focused on the construct of "my Christianity" - the system which defined my faith, the diagram used to explain it - that any pursuit of real Christ-worship slipped away silently in the background.


But reacting to a wrong doesn't make a right. If you go wrong in math - if you make a mistake in the equation - you can't simply move forward from that point to get to the right answer. You've got to go back to the error, fix it, and then move forward.

In the discussion of church history, one might be able to reasonably argue that the early/Eastern church started out just fine - and then an "error" was introduced (arguably) by the Catholic church. Some attempted to correct the error by reforming the church. Reformation aimed to keep the truth and ditch the "extras."  In-so-doing, the reformers introduced a new idea into Christianity: the very idea of reform on the level of the common man. The idea that a person or a group of people have every right to break away from a larger church authority in order to pursue their version of "true faith" and "right belief."

And so began the domino-effect that's ensued for the past 300+ years - one reform leads to another, and another, and another - we experience an element of sickness in a church, and so we break off and start a new church trying to "fix" what we have experienced...trying to get back to the "real faith."

Reactionary. Yep.

Church History

Yeah, I haven't posted in a while.
It's for a specific reason. I got stuck.

For a while, my fingers punched away peacefully at the quiet keys, feeling a sense of positive release - and maybe even a positive addition to an important discussion.

I decided over 2 weeks ago that I wanted my next post to be a general overview of church history. I wrote a post....and then I stopped. I couldn't click "publish." I just couldn't.

My once peaceful fingers felt fretful and tense. The words seemed to stick in my throat like an unwanted fishbone swallowed too hastily.

And that's when I cornered it: I had been hasty. I had wanted to be compelling, perhaps even convincing, on a topic about which I'm not even qualified to write an introductory statement. Ah, the humility. Praise God for showing me.

I still want to write about church history....but this time, instead of trying to tell you "all there is to know" and to be convincing about it, I'll just share my personal experience and some of the things that grabbed hold of me. This is my humble experience, to which I'm sure volumes could be added.

Most people I know who converted to Orthodoxy did so in part because of church history. 

I suppose I’m no different, except that I didn’t really want to pull at that thread, because doing so threatens to unravel the fabric of much of my understanding about which church doctrine is true and trustworthy. 

Pulling at the “church history” thread is a slippery slope.

Growing up, I knew basic church history from the time of the Reformation onward. For many years, I assumed that all reasonable Christian people, those who really know God, agreed that the Reformation was the start of the “true church.” That somehow, the church had become irreparably marred before that time, and that our only hope (and God’s intent) was to withdraw from all "vain tradition" and focus solely on the Bible (sole scriptura), from which we could draw all REAL truth about Christ and avoid any pitfalls of “dead religion.”

Looking further back, however, raises some questions. Here is the another (simplified) timeline that is similar to the one used in an earlier post. I think it's helpful to have a visual:

Assuming the above is basically correct, here are some things I started to wonder about: 

Who changed what, and when?

The Catholic Church added to the faith throughout the years, as documented here. It is those additions that I, like most Protestants, used to rail against. It is those additions that fuel our passion to hold true to the Bible ALONE, lest we be swayed by add-on doctrines of all kinds. However, Protestants notably took away from the original faith. Some things I always assumed were "add-ons" (venerating Mary, praying to the saints, using icons) were actually original. When "cleaning house" after Catholicism, we did away with anything that smelled of dead tradition. Perhaps when we were pruning the faith, we cut and trimmed too much.

One way an Orthodox person would summarize this is as follows: the Catholic Church has added to the faith, the Protestant Church has removed things from he faith, but the Orthodox Church has maintained the original faith. 

When peeling back the layers of doctrine, it's remarkable to see that many of them I reject actually find their origin in the original church and (even more remarkably) have been maintained throughout several thousand years since that time.

Where do I fit - and is that a good place to be?

In the end, that title looming to the right that says "Thousands of Denominations" applies to me. I could give an argument about why MY denominational beliefs are sound. But - couldn't all those around me? How are any of us certain that we're standing on solid ground? I used to feel pretty good about the approach of "teaching the Bible" - surely you can't go wrong if you base everything off the inspired Word of God! But we all know of people and churches around us who have some pretty nutty ideas that they claim are "based on scripture." Who is right?

And what is more, I became amazed to see that the Orthodox church is teaching from the Bible as well...Each practice, belief and tradition can in some way be supported by Biblical text, even if it is also supplemented by Tradition. It's the lens you bring to the text that seems to make all the difference.

The stuff I feel icky about might actually be cornerstones of original faith. (!) 

It's interesting to note that some things we Protestants reject (like Papal infallibility) were added after the Schism between the Catholic and Orthodox church, but MANY things we reject were actually foundational beliefs since the beginning of Christianity - things like praying to saints, using icons, and a deep honor for Mary.  Could it be that we "threw out the baby with the bathwater"?

For roughly the first 1500 years of church history, even with the split of Catholic and Orthodox, ALL Christians believed things that we Protestants firmly reject. Some examples:

Mary:  The importance of Mary's role in the gospel story and our appropriate response to her.

Saints: The reality of the "communion of saints" including a dialogue via prayer with saints who have died, requesting that they pray to God for us. (It's not "worshiping saints" - a sticky misconception.)

Icons: The validity of the use of icons as a way to treasure our God and remember the inspiring stories of his saints, capturing in a photo what words alone could not do, and inspiring our visual senses.

Sacraments: The inherent importance of sacraments in our worship, and the affirmation that sacraments are sacred and are more than just "outward symbols."


When I, as a Protestant, firmly reject many or all of the above, I adhere to a Christianity that is a mere shadow of the original. 

Praise God for the Gems! 

I say this not to weaken the value of those gems that I HAVE been given: the truth of God the Father, His Son Jesus Christ's death and resurrection, and the life-saving work of the Holy Spirit. Praise God that we have those truths!

But in doctrine and practice, my Christianity doesn't look much like that original model. Perhaps it's time to go back home.

Prayer of the Optina Elders

I used to think that all prayer had to be original in order to be genuine and pleasing to God. But upon discovering the vast treasury of prayers in Orthodoxy, I can see how much I was missing by adhering to a firm policy of originality. The below morning prayer is a good example. It succinctly summarizes everything I need to ask for in the day, and it gently steers my wandering mind back to God's will. While I still value originality in some prayers, I am increasingly valuing the power in these ancient words - words that I wouldn't come up with on my own, but do my heart good.

Prayer of the Optina Elders

Grant unto me, O Lord, that with peace of mind I may face all that this new day is to bring.
Grant unto me to dedicate myself completely to Thy Holy Will.
For every hour of this day, instruct and support me in all things.
Whatsoever tidings I may receive during the day, do Thou teach me to accept tranquilly, in the firm conviction that all eventualities fulfill Thy Holy Will.
Govern Thou my thoughts and feelings in all I do and say.
When things unforeseen occur, let me not forget that all cometh down from Thee.
Teach me to behave sincerely and rationally toward every member of my family, that I may bring confusion and sorrow to none.
Bestow upon me, my Lord, strength to endure the fatigue of the day, and to bear my part in all its passing events.
Guide Thou my will and teach me to pray, to believe, to hope, to suffer, to forgive, and to love.

Amen

Akathist of Thanksgiving recording

My brother Fritz supplied me with the Akathist of Thanksgiving on my phone before my iE trip to Costa Rica last fall. I listened to it in the airport waiting for my flight, and I was blown away by not only the beauty of the singing, but also by the words that strike at the heart of our human experience in a remarkable way. It seems to be a living manifestation of the command to "give thanks in all circumstances." (1 Thes. 5:18)

One of my favorite parts goes like this:
"The storms of life are not frightening to one in whose heart shines the light of Your fire. All around the weather is bad; there is darkness, horror, and the howling wind. But in the soul of such a one there is peace and light - CHRIST IS THERE! And the heart sings alleluia."

Here is a youtube clip that, as far as I can tell, mirrors the recording I have on my phone. Listen when you have about a half hour to kill, preferably at a time when you can look out a window at the beauty of creation. :) Sunset is a nice time for this, but I listened at about 3:00 a.m. in an airport terminal and was just as touched. :)

Oh, and FYI, "Theotokos" refers to Mary. It literally means "God-bearer." (More on that one later...)

Can it really be TRUE?

Can it BE?

I think it's normal to be skeptical of the idea that one church claims to be "the true church" of Christ. Goodness, many denominations try to make that claim without a leg to stand on, and those of us who have enjoyed a "nondenominational" status get sick of hearing about it. 

But....what if, just as a child waking on Christmas morning to discover they really did get a pony - that unthinkable dream - what if we could imagine for a moment that the original church of our Lord and Savior still exists today? What if we can say prayers and sing songs that were spoken by the apostles in the early years of the Christian church? What if we could put down our defenses and trust without question (the way we trust the Bible!) that our church doctrine and tradition is sound and full of life. The first time I imagined this idea it took my breath away! I realized I had become a bit cold and calloused, assuming that it was just our lot in life to wrestle with doctrinal discrepancies, hoping to make the best of them with as much wisdom as we could muster. 

But when I was shown another path...it was such a delight. I hope, somehow, I can communicate that delight in small ways through this blog. For starters, it feels as though the secret wish I never dared to utter has been fulfilled: there is a Church that stands firm before me, as it has since its inception. My heart leaps to think that I could dare to trust that Church as a gift from God, just as I trust the Bible as being divinely inspired. 

I Always Thought we NEEDED Reform...

I always believed that the early church was a mystery to us, except what we are able to perceive by reading about it in the Bible. I believed that the church had been obscured and marred by man's own purposes - that the Catholic church took liberties outside of God's will and created a "works-based" religion that removed Christ from his rightful place at the center. 

The goal, then, was to "make it right." This is what the Reformers set out to do, and this was our task as well. Since sinful man will always stray away from the truth, we must "always be reforming" to be sure that we come back to our "true North" - the Bible. So, we're always reforming and re-reforming....until we've re-reformed ourselves into several thousand different Christian churches across the country. 

While I did always recognize that this was a little bit crazy, I didn't really think there was anything we could do about it. I mean, if the early church was still around, then there'd be no question of who is right, how to structure the church, and so on. But it's not around, so we just have to come before God with humble hearts and do the best we can using the Bible and the guidance of the Holy Spirit. (Interestingly, 1000 people can come at that same goal, using the same resources, and land on different results. And this is exactly what has happened.)

Here's the game-changer: What if the early church DOES still exist today? 

Each individual Orthodox church across the world can trace its lineage directly back to the time of the Apostles. (Can you believe that?) And what's more, while there HAVE been human failings and disputes, the original faith and the common practices of that faith seem to be completely in tact. Those disputes have not resulted in a broken and dismantled Orthodoxy. It's my understanding that they have been confronted and settled, with the common goal being to clarify existing doctrines and to defend original truth, but never to change them or add a new "more relevant" interpretation.  Even today, the original faith marches on. 

This sounds a good deal like Jesus's own description of his Church: "On this rock I shall build my church, and the gates of Hell shall not overcome it." 

This post, in a nutshell, is why I feel it's so important to explore Orthodoxy: If the claims of Orthodoxy are true, it's a game-changer for the rest of us.  

Illumined

We turn 

to shield our eyes from Truth

as from the bright blare of sharpest sunlight.

Comfort from our own hands. 

Familiar. 

But - 

a cautious glance (and then another - if we dare) 

will not burn us up, as we so quietly fear. 

We become illumined. 

We become. 

Prayer Before Reading the Holy Scripture

Illumine our hearts, O Master Who lovest mankind, with the pure light of Thy divine knowledge. Open the eyes of our mind to the understanding of Thy gospel teachings. Implant also in us the fear of Thy blessed commandments, that trampling down all carnal desires, we may enter upon a spiritual manner of living, both thinking and doing such things as are well-pleasing unto Thee. For Thou art the illumination of our souls and bodies, O Christ our God, and unto Thee we ascribe glory, together with Thy Father, Who is from everlasting, and Thine all-holy, good, and life-creating Spirit, now and ever and unto ages of ages. Amen.

- Orthodox Church in America 

"We can do whatever we want."

You know how some moments of your life seem to stick with you? It's as though your brain randomly selects those moments and locks them into a permanent holding tank that doesn't fade even as other memories slip away.

I have one such memory of a conversation that has since become meaningful to me as I consider Orthodoxy.

A church I once attended was going through a transitional period, to say the least. There had been some rough patches, but the leaders and the congregation truly wanted to serve God and the people around them.

I remember being part of a group of people who were discussing possible changes. How should we orient the seating? Where should the "stage" be? What about having couches in the back, or lounge style tables with tall chairs, like in a coffee shop? What about the art on the walls - perhaps something artistic that depicts God's love in a creative way?

One of the leaders - a young, cool guy who we all generally liked and respected - said this (and yes, I oddly remember his quote verbatim):

"We're starting fresh here. We can do whatever we want."

The implication of course was meant to be a positive one. We can really go the extra mile to make our service more "user-friendly." More "seeker-centered." More "relevant." Those are all good things, right?

But there's a dark and shifty danger in the idea that "We can do whatever we want." It is born when we start to imagine that we could (or should) use our own measuring stick to assess the worship of God. It grows out of infancy when we begin to apply our own wisdom and skills to define what worship truly should look like. And it becomes a tyrannical monster when we feel we've achieved (by our own decisions, our own choices, our own talent) the pinnacle of what church was really meant to be.

Of course, people largely have the best of intentions. At least, that's what I believe. But that's what's so sneaky about evil. It doesn't come charging in with a battering ram to announce itself. It slips quietly through the back door, perches imperceptibly on the shoulder, and whispers half-truths that have the sound of genius about them. If we let it in, it clouds the mind and sedates the heart, lulling us into submission when we didn't even realize there was an enemy about.

Today at Redeemer Pesbyterian, Rev. Cassidy spoke about "me-centered worship" vs. "God-centered worship." I appreciated the truth he shared and feel he is probably right on. What I wonder about is this: Are we even able to see just how rooted we've become in the "me-centered" worldview?

We're a culture of rebels. (Hey, that's not entirely bad!)

In a recent book (you'll have to forgive me - I believe it was Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy but I'm fuzzy on the details and can't go check for a reference at the moment) - the author of said book pointed out that in America, we have been brought up in a  worldview that champions revolution. Our great nation was born out of revolution (something we see as a positive) - our brave forefathers kicked off the constraints of England and worked to create their own, better state (again, a positive). The Reformation was seen similarly, and the Reformers became saintly figures (without the title, of course - because that would be too Catholic). :)

While other cultures might inherently have a deep respect for time-honored tradition, our culture was created by men and women who were willing to question the old ways. We are always striving for change - for the next best thing.

So, naturally, being an American leads me to have a natural propensity to value the new and to be cautious of the old.

It was amazing the first time I was able to step outside of myself for just a moment and to look at myself, at my neighbors, at our culture. We really do seem to be a culture of "reformers" and "revolutionists!"

Why am I bringing this up?

I think it's helpful to recognize that much of what we may deem to be "common sense" may actually be "cultural sense." We perceive only what we are able to perceive through the filmy lens of our cultural perspective.

So when a small internal voice says, "We can do whatever we want," it sounds a lot like wisdom to our culturally-trained ears.

"Whittled to fit the same shape..."

I want to close with another excerpt from The Illumined Heart. This little 100 page volume gives us a lot of good things to think about. :)

In a chapter titled "Why we don't like repentance," Frederica Mathewes-Green talks about the me-centered, consumer-based culture that we live in. Whether we like it or not, it colors how we see ourselves, God, and the world around us. We believe (because everbody seems to believe) that our personal happiness and wellbeing is central to our life's purpose. We are at the center.

Unfortunately, we can easily apply this same worldview when seeking God. And the scary thing is that we have no idea that we're doing it.

Please note that the emphasis added below is all mine.


...... 
Excerpt from The Illumined Heart by Frederica Mathewes-Green, pg. 33-35

I call this the Frosting Cycle. Imagine the person who decides to comfort herself with a can of chocolate frosting. For a whie it tastes very, very good, and she feels better - and then she starts feeling a good bit worse. Submerged in bad, icky feelings, what can she do? Then the can's bright label catches her eye, and she thinks, "Chocolate makes me feel better." 

This cycle of excessive consuming just adds to our lousy feelings. It is debilitating to see ourselves as passive, nonproductive gluttons. But even to the sickness of too-much we can't see any solution except buying, acquiring, seducing, viewing, eating, or drinking more. Self-esteem is wrecked by self-indulgence, because a million self-indulgences add up to a person you can't respect very much. 

Thus, when we face eternal questions like "Why is the world so messed up?" and "How am I part of the problem?" we have a reduced pack of available answers. The quick answer, "Buy something and forget about it," is supremely seductive. It's also a more available solution than it was for our forebears. 

Many well-intentioned sources try to help by addressing the symptom rather than the disease, offering advice on gaining self-esteem or losing guilt or becoming more assertive in our quest for extra frosting. A good bit of the self-help section of any bookstore will be filled with titles about consoling and pampering ourselves, self-pity titles, and advice on getting others to give us what we want. 

Unfortunately, if we move over to the Christian bookstore, we will find much the same tone. Here, I'm sorry to say, Jesus is too often offered as a consoler whose only purpose is to meet our needs. His focus is on us, and we are invited to take the role of unhappy child and bask in that doting care. 

I can understand where this approach comes from. It's true that Jesus is the only answer to this eternal problem, the problem of meaninglessness and loneliness. When the surrounding culture thinks in terms of "What can meet my need?" or "Where can I get the frosting I deserve?" it's natural for Christians to say, "What you're really looking for is Jesus. He does what frosting does, and more." 

But the basic attitude of "How can I get what I want?" has still not been questioned. It hasn't even been recognized. "Jesus" may be a different answer from the one given by advertising, entertainment, and the consumer culture, but it's been whittled to fit the same shape. 

.....

Though we have the best of intentions, modern Christians are at risk of using Jesus as the answer to the self-serving question of "How can I get what I want?" instead of putting ourselves aside and asking "What does God want of me?"

But there is hope...

While church in American continues to be shaped in quiet ways by the surrounding culture, there is a church that has transcended culture for several thousand years.

It can show us, if we dare to look, what worshiping God looked like in the original church, before it was tainted by our judgments and corrections.

When we "try on" this new church perspective, some of it will itch and scrape. But we shouldn't be persuaded by the voice on our shoulder that those feelings of discomfort betray a falsehood. In actuality, it's just the discomfort we find in trading one worldview for a completely different one.

After all, we must recognize that any "me-centered" message ("I should prioritize my own comfort") is more likely a dangerous enemy than a trusted friend.

Glory to Thee Oh Our God, A Glory To Thee! 

Nuggets of Truth

In Orthodoxy, there is the lovely idea that, since man is made in God’s image, we are literally incapable of being 100% wrong all the time. (woohoo!) J 

Because of that, there are nuggets of truth everywhere. So when we learn a tidbit about Hinduism that sounds fitting in our experience and our worldview, and so silently tempts us to question our faith, we need not become anxious. There is a ready explanation: 

That Hindu nugget is just one little piece of truth that we can embrace while rejecting the things we know to be false. And that nugget can be affirmed as a testament to the truth of Christ that springs up in all cultures and across all continents, unintended and undirected by the people who may be ignorant of its full message. 

Likewise, Orthodox would say there are likely nuggets of varying sizes throughout all religions. Perhaps the Buddhist nugget is quite small, while the Lutheran nugget is quite large. 

I find it helpful to think about these nuggets, because otherwise we might get locked into a debate about absolutes when it comes to "who is right" and "who is wrong." 

We can instead start on common ground by standing firmly on our "nuggets" and moving forward from there. 

Praise God for showering the earth in so many ways with His Truth and His Glory!

"Lord Have Mercy" section from Akathist of Thanksgiving liturgy

This is just a small excerpt from my favorite liturgy, the Akathist of Thanksgiving. "40 Lord Have Mercies." I just thought I'd add it as a little "ps" after my last post. It's also a good example of the rich beauty of Orthodox liturgical singing. I find that this tune gets stuck in my head easily, which is such a gift.

"Lord Have Mercy"

I need to ask for your forgiveness. 

My dumb pride gets in the way of everything. Even yesterday's blog post - which was supposed to be largely about HUMILITY - gave me a little zing of pride as soon as I hit the "publish" button. I wondered if my writing would relate to anybody. I wondered if I had come up with an analogy that would really get the job done (because, you know, I'm just so brilliant...)

And then, as it often does, the pride turned into fear and self-deprecation..."Gosh darnit, you got too passionate again. You said too much. You were too wordy. You were too bossy. Why do you try to be clever. They'll probably just stop reading, because you're doing it all wrong..."  

I want to start a discussion that God might use for His glory, but even subconsciously, my stupid pride tries to sabotage that goal. Please forgive me for me for any hidden, selfish motives. I know they're in there. I'm asking God to get rid of them, but they've become a familiar companion. Pray for me. 

Maybe the best topic for today is "Lord Have Mercy." 

This is probably the cornerstone phrase of Orthodoxy, as far as I can tell. It's repeated over and over (and over!) in Liturgy, it's laced throughout prayer books, and it forms the heart of the Jesus Prayer: "Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner." 

"Lord have mercy" may be a surprising Orthodox cornerstone for those of us who used to look at "High Church" as pompous, arrogant, and removed from the true message of our need for God's grace. If you're like me, you saw repetitive prayer, ornate churches, and scripted liturgy as "vain religion," a form of legalism that does not emphasize (or perhaps even acknowledge) God's work of saving grace and mercy. 

In actuality, the Orthodox seem to have a firm grasp on just how much we need God's mercy. They ask for it daily - even hourly - and seem to recognize that God's mercy really does offer us grace in every moment of the day. Truly, in what moment are we NOT in need of God's mercy? I can't name even one. And when in those moments, when I'm at a loss for words, I don't have to be clever enough to come up with my own. I don't even have to be clever enough to memorize something. Even children who can barely talk can remember the words, "have mercy on me." 

What a beautiful and freeing gift. 

Fr. Rohr wrote about the phrase "Lord Have Mercy" in a Huffington Post entry: 

This is not a self-demeaning prayer, nor a self-defeating prayer, nor is it a dis-empowering prayer. Relying upon mercy, in fact, protects you from the arrogance and pride that wants to judge others, even in your mind. It situates you in freedom from any sense of your own sufficiency or superiority, and affirms a non-need to justify yourself, and thus keeps your heart open for others and for God. It is basically a prayer for detachment from the self, both mind and heart, and its endless games of self-validation. "Lord, have mercy" seeks validation only from God and not from any inner or outer attempts to be worthy, independently "good," or not-in-need-of-mercy.

My favorite (very slim) book about Orthodoxy is called The Illumined Heart, by Frederica Matthews-Green. 

If you're at all interested in reading about Orthodoxy, I highly suggest this as a first read. It's easily read and intended for the modern Christian audience. I also have a copy you can borrow. :)

She writes a lot about the Jesus Prayer. I'll end this posting with a teaser from The Illumined Heart. Note that "..." indicates that I've jumped forward a bit to the next section, just for the sake of space and your time.

From the beginning, Christians had wondered how to implement St. Paul's command to "pray constantly." It was of course impossible to speak verbal prayers without ceasing, day and night, not that some people didn't try. 

...

The Jesus Prayer arose as a way to practice unceasing prayer. It offered a short and simple form that can be repeated in an unhurried way no matter what else a person is doing. Since the prayer is silent and interior, it can be kept going in all situations. 

...

Murmuring like a brook, the prayer becomes the background music of every other thought and deed in life. It beats in the heart through long years, accompanying the believer at every moment. 

...

This may sound a little craven to modern-day believers, for whom a healthy idea of repentance is still somewhat new. Yet the discomfort we feel is based partly on misunderstanding. This prayer doesn't ask Jesus for forgiveness, it asks him for mercy. We don't have to keep pestering Jesus to forgive us; if repentance is sincere, asking only once is enough, as was shown to the thief on the cross. 

But mercy is slightly different. The Hebrew word is hesed, meaning "steadfast love," a love that perseveres to save the beloved. In Greek it's eleos, and "Lord, have mercy" is Kyrie, eleison. In that language it resonates poetically with elaion, olive oil, the medium for medicinal balm. The Good Samaritan bound the wounds of the beaten man with elaion. This healing mercy is an inherent attribute of Jesus, and it is steadfast and constant, streaming toward us ceaselessly. 

The problem is not in God's willingness to have mercy, but in our forgetting that we need it. (emphasis mine) We keep lapsing into ideas of self-sufficiency, or get impressed with our niceness, and so we lose our humility. Asking for mercy reminds us that we are still poor and needy, and fall short of the glory of God. Those who do not ask do not receive, because they don't know their own need. 

What is the "Given"?

One of the few things I remember from high school math is doing proofs. Remember? You start by writing out what is given, and then you work the equation from there to "prove" the formula or equation or whatever. Like this:




I always kind of liked doing proofs, because they provide you with a solid ground to start on. The "given" in a math formula gives you clear parameters to guide the rest of your work. No matter what you do to solve the problem, you must stay within the guidelines of the "given."

I feel like church examination works a bit this way.

When looking for God's truth (and his "true church," whatever that may be), I think we all start with a set of "givens" and work forward from there. For many of us, the "givens" are defined by our culture, what we were taught growing up, and what others around us believe.

Nearly all Christians will agree on certain "givens": that Christ is the Son of God, was crucified, died, and buried; rose again; ascended to heaven; is coming again to judge the quick and the dead - essentially, the Nicene Creed. But there are scores of very diverse churches who claim they believe the Nicene Creed and yet hold very different "fringe beliefs." (I used to think the "fringe" doesn't really matter that much....but then I asked myself, "Who am I to judge what matters and what does not matter in God's church?" Best to hold my tongue, put on a little more humility, and leave the answer to that question to Him.)

My "Givens" looked a lot like this:

• The Bible is the backbone of Christianity. Churches should "teach the Bible" and nothing more. 
• "Sola Scriptura" (Scripture Alone) - and the rest of the 5 "Solas" - are foundational truths. 
• Belief in "Assurance of Salvation" is important - almost a cornerstone.
• Church Tradition that is not directly taught in the Bible is dangerous. 
• It is wrong (and kind of superstitious) to pray to Mary or the Saints. 

Also (and this is important!) - In Christendom, there are Catholics, and there are Protestants. You've got to pick one or the other. Since we believe we have seen so clearly the folly of Catholic practice, both in history or in our own experience, we conclude that the only choice left is to move forward confidently as a Protestant.

The nagging in my heart truly started when I began to question my "givens." 

In math, your "given" has to be rock solid in order to do your proof correctly. If the given is even slightly off, then it doesn't matter how much you work toward the right answer - you'd just be spinning your wheels. You could probably explain an answer that "makes sense," but with a faulty "given," the entire equation would be distorted at best. You're not going to get the same result if you have an incorrect "given." 

I wanted desperately to believe that my "church givens" were rock solid. (I mean, who really likes to change? Anyone? Anyone?) But when I started prodding at them to see if they would stand (and I really hoped they would!) - it seemed that they raised more questions than answers.

For instance - the 5 "Solas" (Scripture Alone, Faith Alone, Grace Alone, Christ Alone, To God Alone Be the Glory) are considered the "Pillars of the Protestant Reformation." These are unfaltering "givens" for many people, and from a modern American perspective, those "pillars" that are over 350 years old do seem to offer sure footing.   

I was amazed, then, the first time I saw the below timeline. Notice that we're dealing with several thousand years of church history here, not just 350. Suddenly, the "given" that Sola Scriptura is a foundational truth seems to falter. If the below timeline is accurate (and I've come to believe that it probably is), that means "Sola Scriptura" and the rest of the 5 "Sola" pillars are new doctrines. They were not believed by early Christians. What do I make of that?



The Bible itself raises some questions as well...

We believe ardently in the infallible truth of the Bible (a point no one in the Orthodox church would dispute) and so "Sola Scriptura" feels right to many of us. After all, what else do we have to guide us that offers the purity of God's inspired text? But if we look very closely, we soon have to wonder: WHICH Bible should we be applying "Sola Scriptura" to? I was taught as a child that Catholics added books to the Bible. (An abomination!) In actuality, we took some books away from the Bible.

There is also the matter of having a correct translation, as many argue that some key words have been altered, which in turn alters the overall meaning of a passage. In Fr. Damick's book Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy, the author writes:

"Luther was so insistent on this formulation (sole fide) that, when he was translating Romans 3:28 into German, he added the German word allien ("alone"), so that the verse would read: "Therefore we conclude that a man is justified by faith alone without the deeds of the law." But the word alone is not present in the Greek text." (More on this in a future posting....the Orthodox DO believe that we are saved by grace through faith and not of works - but they also believe that there is a "works" without which faith is "dead" (James 2:17-26). 

And lastly, the question of interpretation came across my radar. There are many, many churches who claim they "just teach the Gospel." And yet, among them you can find a host of varying doctrines. The preachers and teachers all believe their doctrines are true because they are able to prove them using their interpretation of the Bible. And yet, many of these interpretations sharply disagree with one another. (Their "givens" were different, and so they led to varying "proofs"....with the same colors maybe, but differing in substance.) 

Through examination like what I've shared above, I soon found that my "given" of Sola Scriptura began to teeter.  Because of the above questions, I could not in good conscious move forward feeling assured I was on solid ground. In like manner, many of my other givens had to be equally shaky simply because they were new doctrines. Reactionary doctrines. Doctrines born out of a revolution, and not part of what original Christians believed. At the very least, I should be cautious.

Another Thing: Our "Givens" create their own "Tradition."

While I was always quick to rail against "Church Tradition" because it seemed to add something to the Bible, God opened my eyes to see that we all act under the umbrella of some kind of church tradition. Sola Scriptura became our "tradition," as did "cultural relevancy," social justice, "Assurance of Salvation," or popular opinion. I realized that the "givens" I embraced became my Church Tradition. I held to their "truths" just as firmly as I held to Biblical ones. (And while I believed all of them were firmly planted in scripture, I now see that, just as with many doctrines, interpretation is in the eye of the beholder. I have no guarantee that my interpretation, or our interpretation, is fully accurate.)

It's really interesting, actually. While I thought that what we needed was ONLY the Bible with NO Tradition, I soon discovered that we ALL interpret the Bible according to our own Tradition.

The question, then, is not "should we follow a Church Tradition," but rather, "WHICH Church Tradition can be trusted?" 

If I'm to pursue God fully and without reservation, no matter the personal costs, and no matter how much comfort is lost - then it's important to submit to the solid, original, trustworthy Church Tradition. It's the only way. Otherwise we can argue and translate and interpret ourselves into a real mess - which is kind of what's already happening.


So, after all of that....that IS the "Given"?

God really brought me to a place of humility by knocking all my "givens" out of the water. Not that any of them were completely false, but that none of them were infallible. With closer examination, it looked like each of them were at least partially skewed. And a skewed "given" will lead to a lopsided conclusion.

The only "given" now must be the reality of the glory of our Triune God - The Father, The Son, and the Holy Spirit - His perfect presence and Holy will. 

A humble and contrite heart will find Him. Pride (my personal stronghold) will not.

The answer has to lie within the very person of God. It does not lie within man's understanding.

Do I Really Want to Know Who God Is?

When Orthodoxy first crossed my path in a real way, I found myself struggling with a bit of an identity crisis. My brother had converted (along with half a dozen or so trusted friends) - and I was starting to feel an inner tug to learn more.

The trouble is, as soon as you start learning more about something you're not, the tendency is to justify that you're perfectly fine the way you are. At least, that was my experience.

As I looked at Orthodoxy, I saw a lot of my own practices that would have to change if I ever (really, seriously) considered converting. And I didn't like the idea of change. For example, I'd have to embrace liturgy, confession, and a whole host of other things I had always firmly rejected. Things like...

• Regimented daily prayer and regular fasting....isn't that just "works religion"?
• A literal "communion of saints," including patron saints, icons, prayers to Mary....isn't that diverting worship away from Jesus and onto people who don't deserve our worship?
• Sacraments....aren't those close to superstition? (I mean, logically, the bread and wine stays bread and wine.) 
• A claim to be the only true, historic church. Man, this one is hard to swallow when you've become a card-carrying non-denominational believer. After all, isn't the "golden rule" of modern Christianity that we don't claim that any one denomination has it completely right? We are all under God's saving grace....we enjoy "unity in diversity"....we should "major on the majors, and minor on the minors," and so on. 

These are dangerous waters if you've grown up as an Evangelical Protestant. 

But for the life of me, I couldn't escape one nagging question: "Do I really want to know God, no matter what?" 

This question became a burning fire that I could not extinguish. I knew I had been selfish in the way I had always approached this question, preferring my own comfort above all else. And so I wondered: Do I have the courage to put myself aside and really pursue God, no matter the costs? 

For several years, I lived in that inner turmoil - pitching and tossing on a sea of uncertainty, but too stubborn to really look God in the eye.

(If God had some hidden closet that I didn't know about, I would really prefer that it stay hidden.)

I am touched to think that, despite my sinful motives - my fear and stubbornness and pride - God drew me up out of that pit anyway. I don't truly know how or why, but I feel I can now answer, "YES, I DO want to know God - no matter WHAT."

God won that inner wrestling match. If I have to choose between myself and my savior, I choose Him. Having that matter settled gave me some inner peace. I felt free to pursue God without fear of what I might find.

Back to Orthodoxy: Why even take a second look? 



It's a faith that is ancient, rich, and cohesive. The well-documented traditions date back to the time of the first church, and no foundational doctrines have been changed since that time. It's so rich, in fact, that I feel at a loss for words anytime I start in and try to "sum it up."
(It would struggle to fit on a Bible tract!)

"Why Orthodoxy?" I hope you'll get glimpses of the answer to that question through future blog postings. If you'd like, you can google it now to see what others are saying. :)

It's kind of like Narnia...

I feel like I've been looking through a key-hole at a world completely foreign to me. First I just glanced at it, and it was easy to turn away. I was even relieved to turn away, because what I saw through that keyhole seemed like it might be able to change my life. That sounded risky. Better stay away.

But I soon grew comfortable studying the world beyond the keyhole. I read books to learn about the perspectives, customs, beliefs, and stories of that world, which was beginning to richly unfold before my eyes.

And now, I have my eye pressed tightly against that keyhole, taking in as much as I can from this side of the door, enjoying each sound and scent that wafts through that small opening.

And suddenly, I'm aware that I'm different.

It's as though I've passed through the wardrobe, discomforting as it may have been, and now find myself a Narnian. Remember when Narnia felt like home to the children, and the Wardrobe and the Spare Room were but memories?

I feel similarly. It's an experience that is very hard to quantify.

Somehow, in many ways, Orthodoxy - the world beyond the keyhole - has come to feel like home. And so I find myself feeling like a foreigner in my own land, without a way to explain to my fellow men anything that I've seen or heard. (And if I could explain it, as Lucy tried to do - perhaps no one would believe me?)  It feels like too much to grasp, too much to share, too much to explain.

And so here I am, starting this blog, trying to recount some of the things I've experienced. I'm an unworthy messenger, but the message is of such great value that I have to give it a shot.