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!