When we were starting to research Orthodoxy I was a little wary of confession. I am an American. We don't like other people to tell us what to do. The idea, as I understood it at the time, was that I had to go tell some guy all my deep dark secrets or else God wasn't going to forgive me.
When we had decided we would be converting to Orthodoxy, and I was preparing for my first confession, it was more like a hurtle in a race. I knew I had to run a course, and this was part of that course. I wanted to finish this race, and so I was going to learn to jump the hurtle.
After my first confession, I realized confession was not an obligation, it was a privilege. I don't have to go to confession, I get to go to confession. It's not a hurtle in a foot race, it's a pit stop in a car race. Not something I'm striving to make it past but that I am just trying to keep going until.
Maybe it is all a matter of perspective.
Showing posts with label Spirituality. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Spirituality. Show all posts
11.06.2011
6.27.2011
Agia Skepi
I have been trying to think of what to write about my pilgrimage to the monastery. There are things that are very hard to put into words. I'm going to give a basic account of what my days consisted of. (Leaving out some bits of information that are a little too private for the unfettered internet. If you want to ask me about it I'd be happy to talk to you in person.)
My drive up was a series of wind, traffic, rain, and hail. When I arrived at the monastery I was surprised to learn that I had beat the storm (by hours) and instead of rushing to the guest house trying to keep my things dry I gladly sat on the porch in the sun and listened to the birds and smelled the sister's amazing roses while I waited for my friends to arrive. I had arrived in the middle of Compline & Vespers, which I didn't know, and the whole property was empty and silent. There was something that originally stuck me as unreal about the place. Even the air was different. After some time, and some talk with friends, I realized it wasn't UNREAL, it was HYPER-REAL. This place was more real than anywhere else I had ever been before.
The guest house is laid out and organized like the world's greatest hostel. When Joanna arrived she took me into the church for the end of Vespers. The smell, of course, was intoxicating. The chanting was breathtaking. The language was Greek, which might have been a problem, but I will get to that in a moment. After vespers Sister Marina showed us to our room. Sister Marina is a tall pretty woman. As I typed pretty I realized that I would have described all the sisters as pretty, though they are all different shapes, sizes, and ages. I think the reason I feel compelled to describe them as pretty, or even beautiful, is because the love and humility they each have make it impossible to see them as anything else. People talk about inner beauty, this was so much inner beauty that it was spilling out of them.
Sister Marina is in charge of the guesthouse and she made sure we had food, pillows, clean sheets, and work. By Friday I was starting to listen hard for Sister Marina before meals so that I could go out and help her set the tables, otherwise she would do it so quickly and quietly it was almost like everything appeared there magically. I never felt tempted to just let her do it, which of course she wouldn't have minded, because the warmth of her thanks for even the smallest task (like filling a pitcher with tap water) was intoxicating. She tried to teach me a Greek phrase, which of course I can't transliterate, it is like thank you, but it literally means "you have lightened me". Her task is hospitality, and she is certainly up to it.
I tried to take a walk around the lower grounds at least once a day, it was just so pretty and so peaceful. Sometimes, especially if I was walking with Joanna who has been a regular at the Monastery for the last 15 years, a sister would stop and talk and we would be introduced. They would ask if I was Orthodox, and I would say "Not until July 30th" and each sister would say "Oh I will remember you in my prayers, especially on that day". Joanna says that having one of the sisters promise to pray for you is not like having someone else promise to pray for you, they mean it and they don't say it lightly. (Though they do say it often!!) One sister told us about the icons in the church and found us an akathist book in English to chant with a very special icon.
If you want to work, there is always work to do! On our first day we peeled garlic. There would have been too much for the punch bowl they gave us to put the peeled cloves in. Thankfully, the Greek men staying in the guesthouse while they did construction for the sisters kept coming through and eating garlic like peanuts. On Friday and Saturday we picked rose petals for jelly and helped Kyria Maria make wedding and baptism favors. Kyria Maria is a Greek woman whose family has designed wedding dresses, favors, candles, and the like for 3 or more generations. She is not a nun, but works at the monastery, and is a gifted artist. She has a way of upholding her perfectionist standards without hurting your feelings. (I now have it on good authority that I am not capable of wrapping candy covered almonds in tulle!) I thought I was crafty, but Kyria Maria is on a whole new level.
We talked with her for hours while we worked. She asked me about my background and I asked questions about Orthodox traditions. The conversations were slow, because her English is limited and my Greek is non-existent, but there was no rush.
Church was something else entirely. On Friday morning, Feast of the Nativity of the Forerunner, we went to Divine Liturgy at 3:30 in the morning. Of all the services we attended while we were there, this was my favorite. Partly, it was easier to keep up after Joanna was sweet enough to give me an early Chrismation gift, my very own prayer book in English. Partly it was ambiance. The church was lit only by oil lamps and candles. The sisters added a black veil to their habits in church. It didn't cover the face, but it cast a shadow. It made the sisters indistinguishable from one another. All you could see was a black shape and hands. It struck me as profound. These women found fulfillment, love, and joy in losing themselves to Christ's service. I pray that one day I can tame my passions and my desires are so simple and Godward.
Also on Friday I met the Father of the monastery, Fr. Mark. He is a Texan man who has been speaking mostly Greek for the last 20 years or so. It gives a very interesting quality to his big voice. He spoke to me about the importance of confession and absolution. He answered a question I had about iconography with a lesson in my inability to work out my salvation without the grace and love of Christ. And it was an AMAZING lesson! He told me there are a few monasteries near where I would be moving in Oregon and advised me to build a relationship with one.
On Saturday I met the Gerontissa, or Abbess, of the Monastery. (That is not a literal translation but an equivalent rank.) I had learned from Joanna that I was supposed to touch the ground in front of her and then kiss her left hand, but as a bent to touch the ground she embraced me and kissed my cheek. She wears love like a perfume. I keep thinking of it as a smell. It wasn't something I saw, though her eyes are kind and her smile is gentle. It's not her voice, though she has a beautiful voice whether she is speaking or singing. It's just something that I was aware of. You don't need her to look at you or speak to you to know that she loves you. In fact, you don't even have to meet her if you are willing to take my word for it that she loves you, even if she doesn't know you. She asked me about my conversion. She asked me about my husband. She told me that I should consider the monastery my home in the mountains. She also said I had to come back as often as I can until we move, and bring Brian with me. She ended our little chat by telling me that not only were there a few monasteries on the wets coast, but in fact their sister monastery was in Yakima, Washington and that I should go there as soon as I could and they would welcome me.
One of the more poignant moments was the last interaction I had before we drove off. Kyria Maria said in her broken English, "You must come back before you move so that we can go to Holy Communion together, we will be together." I almost cried.
I was changed for the better, and I am trying to make sure that I don't let it wear off. I don't know if I communicated any of this well, but there it is. It was good for me to work out for myself. I hope it is helpful for someone who reads it.
O Lady, Thou dost help us held fast by a storm of many afflictions: for Thou dost stand before the altar of the Lord, lifting Thine hands and praying that the Lord of glory look down on our unworthy prayer and hearken to the petitions of those who call upon Thy holy Name crying to Thy Son:Alleluia!
Kontakion 4 - Akathist to the Holy Protection of the Theotokos
My drive up was a series of wind, traffic, rain, and hail. When I arrived at the monastery I was surprised to learn that I had beat the storm (by hours) and instead of rushing to the guest house trying to keep my things dry I gladly sat on the porch in the sun and listened to the birds and smelled the sister's amazing roses while I waited for my friends to arrive. I had arrived in the middle of Compline & Vespers, which I didn't know, and the whole property was empty and silent. There was something that originally stuck me as unreal about the place. Even the air was different. After some time, and some talk with friends, I realized it wasn't UNREAL, it was HYPER-REAL. This place was more real than anywhere else I had ever been before.
The guest house is laid out and organized like the world's greatest hostel. When Joanna arrived she took me into the church for the end of Vespers. The smell, of course, was intoxicating. The chanting was breathtaking. The language was Greek, which might have been a problem, but I will get to that in a moment. After vespers Sister Marina showed us to our room. Sister Marina is a tall pretty woman. As I typed pretty I realized that I would have described all the sisters as pretty, though they are all different shapes, sizes, and ages. I think the reason I feel compelled to describe them as pretty, or even beautiful, is because the love and humility they each have make it impossible to see them as anything else. People talk about inner beauty, this was so much inner beauty that it was spilling out of them.
Sister Marina is in charge of the guesthouse and she made sure we had food, pillows, clean sheets, and work. By Friday I was starting to listen hard for Sister Marina before meals so that I could go out and help her set the tables, otherwise she would do it so quickly and quietly it was almost like everything appeared there magically. I never felt tempted to just let her do it, which of course she wouldn't have minded, because the warmth of her thanks for even the smallest task (like filling a pitcher with tap water) was intoxicating. She tried to teach me a Greek phrase, which of course I can't transliterate, it is like thank you, but it literally means "you have lightened me". Her task is hospitality, and she is certainly up to it.
I tried to take a walk around the lower grounds at least once a day, it was just so pretty and so peaceful. Sometimes, especially if I was walking with Joanna who has been a regular at the Monastery for the last 15 years, a sister would stop and talk and we would be introduced. They would ask if I was Orthodox, and I would say "Not until July 30th" and each sister would say "Oh I will remember you in my prayers, especially on that day". Joanna says that having one of the sisters promise to pray for you is not like having someone else promise to pray for you, they mean it and they don't say it lightly. (Though they do say it often!!) One sister told us about the icons in the church and found us an akathist book in English to chant with a very special icon.
If you want to work, there is always work to do! On our first day we peeled garlic. There would have been too much for the punch bowl they gave us to put the peeled cloves in. Thankfully, the Greek men staying in the guesthouse while they did construction for the sisters kept coming through and eating garlic like peanuts. On Friday and Saturday we picked rose petals for jelly and helped Kyria Maria make wedding and baptism favors. Kyria Maria is a Greek woman whose family has designed wedding dresses, favors, candles, and the like for 3 or more generations. She is not a nun, but works at the monastery, and is a gifted artist. She has a way of upholding her perfectionist standards without hurting your feelings. (I now have it on good authority that I am not capable of wrapping candy covered almonds in tulle!) I thought I was crafty, but Kyria Maria is on a whole new level.
We talked with her for hours while we worked. She asked me about my background and I asked questions about Orthodox traditions. The conversations were slow, because her English is limited and my Greek is non-existent, but there was no rush.
Church was something else entirely. On Friday morning, Feast of the Nativity of the Forerunner, we went to Divine Liturgy at 3:30 in the morning. Of all the services we attended while we were there, this was my favorite. Partly, it was easier to keep up after Joanna was sweet enough to give me an early Chrismation gift, my very own prayer book in English. Partly it was ambiance. The church was lit only by oil lamps and candles. The sisters added a black veil to their habits in church. It didn't cover the face, but it cast a shadow. It made the sisters indistinguishable from one another. All you could see was a black shape and hands. It struck me as profound. These women found fulfillment, love, and joy in losing themselves to Christ's service. I pray that one day I can tame my passions and my desires are so simple and Godward.
Also on Friday I met the Father of the monastery, Fr. Mark. He is a Texan man who has been speaking mostly Greek for the last 20 years or so. It gives a very interesting quality to his big voice. He spoke to me about the importance of confession and absolution. He answered a question I had about iconography with a lesson in my inability to work out my salvation without the grace and love of Christ. And it was an AMAZING lesson! He told me there are a few monasteries near where I would be moving in Oregon and advised me to build a relationship with one.
On Saturday I met the Gerontissa, or Abbess, of the Monastery. (That is not a literal translation but an equivalent rank.) I had learned from Joanna that I was supposed to touch the ground in front of her and then kiss her left hand, but as a bent to touch the ground she embraced me and kissed my cheek. She wears love like a perfume. I keep thinking of it as a smell. It wasn't something I saw, though her eyes are kind and her smile is gentle. It's not her voice, though she has a beautiful voice whether she is speaking or singing. It's just something that I was aware of. You don't need her to look at you or speak to you to know that she loves you. In fact, you don't even have to meet her if you are willing to take my word for it that she loves you, even if she doesn't know you. She asked me about my conversion. She asked me about my husband. She told me that I should consider the monastery my home in the mountains. She also said I had to come back as often as I can until we move, and bring Brian with me. She ended our little chat by telling me that not only were there a few monasteries on the wets coast, but in fact their sister monastery was in Yakima, Washington and that I should go there as soon as I could and they would welcome me.
One of the more poignant moments was the last interaction I had before we drove off. Kyria Maria said in her broken English, "You must come back before you move so that we can go to Holy Communion together, we will be together." I almost cried.
I was changed for the better, and I am trying to make sure that I don't let it wear off. I don't know if I communicated any of this well, but there it is. It was good for me to work out for myself. I hope it is helpful for someone who reads it.
O Lady, Thou dost help us held fast by a storm of many afflictions: for Thou dost stand before the altar of the Lord, lifting Thine hands and praying that the Lord of glory look down on our unworthy prayer and hearken to the petitions of those who call upon Thy holy Name crying to Thy Son:Alleluia!
Kontakion 4 - Akathist to the Holy Protection of the Theotokos
6.11.2011
The Future
Brian and I will be moving in approximately 90 days. We are packing only what we can fit into our Subaru, shipping the car across the country, and then heading out ourselves with our faithful puppy Peanut and misanthropic feline Anubis.
No, we do not have jobs. No, we do not have a place to live. But we do have a church, a partner, and a plan. We visited Church of the Annunciation in Milwaukie, Oregon when we were visiting Brian's family in April. When I came into the church I felt warm and many of my apprehension about moving to the other side of the country were softened. I knew that this ridiculous plan was a good one.
We, along with our friend Mylo, want to eventually have a farm (or manor as Mylo prefers to describe it) with a house and out buildings made of Cob. We want to live off of the land, and support ourselves by producing things. We want to extricate ourselves from consumer culture. We want to produce most of what we need in life. For those things we can't produce we want to barter first and buy second. We want to fund the buying by producing, not by working for some business. Eventually, we want to produce enough to care for people we encounter who, through infirmity or ignorance, can not care for themselves.
We have always had this sort of idea in the back of our heads. We have always dreamed of a self-sufficient farm. But now we are done with dreaming, we are doing. Sure, we are starting with little steps, but we are acting and we are not allowing ourselves to fall into a complacent lifestyle of "one day" thinking. Our conversion is a big part of this decision.
There is a sense that by leaving Luther's Five Solas behind our lives must change. Just as leaving Sola Scriptura behind means relearning how to study Scripture and Theology; leaving Sola Fide changes how you make life choices. I am not saying that moving to a farm in Oregon and churning goat's milk somehow saves anyone. I am saying that when you understand that the eternal health of your soul is linked in a very real way to what you do on earth you start to think a little harder about the choices you make.
So off we go, to find a temporary house, some temporary jobs, and maybe even get some (permanent) Bachelor's Degrees from one of Oregon's fine, and fairly priced, universities. Oregonian culture does make our agrarian goals a little easier, but the main goal of our move is psychological. We are purging ourselves of all of those things we didn't realize we held. We are rejecting the Puritanical (and ultimately Unitarian) ideals so ingrained in East Coast thinking. We are rejecting the race to see how much can be gotten. We are rejecting the idea that punching a clock and pushing buttons in an effort to help others consume makes you productive. We are rejecting the idea that good and monetarily profitable are the same thing. Instead we are embracing the holistic ideals of the Eastern church and look forward (if that is how to say it) to seeing how much we can manage to live without while working to produce tangible, and good, things.
It may seem silly, but *MY* ultimate goal is to be able to sit in silence for extended periods of time without anxiety. I want to understand what it means to "be still and know that I am God."
No, we do not have jobs. No, we do not have a place to live. But we do have a church, a partner, and a plan. We visited Church of the Annunciation in Milwaukie, Oregon when we were visiting Brian's family in April. When I came into the church I felt warm and many of my apprehension about moving to the other side of the country were softened. I knew that this ridiculous plan was a good one.
We, along with our friend Mylo, want to eventually have a farm (or manor as Mylo prefers to describe it) with a house and out buildings made of Cob. We want to live off of the land, and support ourselves by producing things. We want to extricate ourselves from consumer culture. We want to produce most of what we need in life. For those things we can't produce we want to barter first and buy second. We want to fund the buying by producing, not by working for some business. Eventually, we want to produce enough to care for people we encounter who, through infirmity or ignorance, can not care for themselves.
We have always had this sort of idea in the back of our heads. We have always dreamed of a self-sufficient farm. But now we are done with dreaming, we are doing. Sure, we are starting with little steps, but we are acting and we are not allowing ourselves to fall into a complacent lifestyle of "one day" thinking. Our conversion is a big part of this decision.
There is a sense that by leaving Luther's Five Solas behind our lives must change. Just as leaving Sola Scriptura behind means relearning how to study Scripture and Theology; leaving Sola Fide changes how you make life choices. I am not saying that moving to a farm in Oregon and churning goat's milk somehow saves anyone. I am saying that when you understand that the eternal health of your soul is linked in a very real way to what you do on earth you start to think a little harder about the choices you make.
So off we go, to find a temporary house, some temporary jobs, and maybe even get some (permanent) Bachelor's Degrees from one of Oregon's fine, and fairly priced, universities. Oregonian culture does make our agrarian goals a little easier, but the main goal of our move is psychological. We are purging ourselves of all of those things we didn't realize we held. We are rejecting the Puritanical (and ultimately Unitarian) ideals so ingrained in East Coast thinking. We are rejecting the race to see how much can be gotten. We are rejecting the idea that punching a clock and pushing buttons in an effort to help others consume makes you productive. We are rejecting the idea that good and monetarily profitable are the same thing. Instead we are embracing the holistic ideals of the Eastern church and look forward (if that is how to say it) to seeing how much we can manage to live without while working to produce tangible, and good, things.
It may seem silly, but *MY* ultimate goal is to be able to sit in silence for extended periods of time without anxiety. I want to understand what it means to "be still and know that I am God."
3.25.2011
Bittersweet Feast
Let us anticipate the feast and celebrate with
exultation:
Gabriel is on his way to announce the glad
tidings
to the Virgin;
He is ready to cry out in fear and wonder:
Rejoice, O Full of Grace, the Lord is with You!
I have to say that The Feast of the Annunciation is a little bittersweet for me. I love the miracle of human reproduction. It is fascinating and awe-inspiring. What makes it even more so is this very feast. God The Word chose this process to redeem his race of Image Bearers. Whenever a woman has a child she is taking part in that same process. So I find myself so excited to celebrate this feast for the very first time tonight. There is the sweet.
As I meditate on The Theotokos carrying not only Life but the Light of Light, True God of True God, the One who was in the beginning, I can't help but wonder what it was like. Women who have carried children past the first few days or weeks must have a taste of her wonder. And a very literal bitterness enters here. I am jealous. I want to understand the Incarnation and the Theotokos in the way that any woman who has given birth can. What makes it all the more painful is that many women, especially my Protestant dear ones, don't care. Today is just Friday. They have the opportunity to stand in front of Christ and His Mother and have just a glimpse of one of the most important moments in human history, and it is just Friday.
It is a similar feeling to when I read Facebook statuses about how exhausting children are and how parents wish that kids would just nap, or that they could go out on a date without having to find a babysitter. Now I don't think these aren't real frustrations and legitimate emotions. I don't think that these friends don't love their children with all their hearts. I don't even think they should keep their frustrations to themselves. But, it stings a little. I want to respond "I would give my life and everything I have for a sleepless night with a colicky infant rather than with my own depression."
So as people's Facebook statuses start to pop up with everyones Friday night plans, and laments of lost pre-baby weekends I'm going to be a little bitter. Because not only don't I have the baby, but tonight I will go to church for the feast and not have the experience of knowing that feeling of life inside of me to deepen my worship.
I think as long as I suffer from infertility this will be the hardest day of the Church Year for me.
3.11.2011
Smoke Filled Rooms
You will have to forgive me as my blog becomes "Diary of a Catechumen" for awhile. It is hard to talk about anything else right now. I have not felt this way about anything since I first met Brian. I am falling in love. I am falling in love with Liturgy, Scripture, God, and smoke-filled rooms. All things I thought I loved before, and yet have discovered in such a new and wonderful way.
I spent a lot of time in smoked filled rooms, back when you could smoke inside. Nothing was easy to see when the smoke got really thick. Faces were distorted and it changes the qualities of light. I can't explain it but it even seemed to make bass seem heavier.
I couldn't help but think of Nocturne, a goth club I use to go to, at Presanctified Liturgy on Wednesday night. Not that there is all that much in common between the two, except the smoke. I was watching The Royal Doors and the icons began to be less and less clear and the embroidery of the veil less sharp. I don't want to claim that I had any deep revelations about God or the nature of prayer. I did have a revelation about myself. It was like I looked back and saw how far I have come in the last 7 years.
I think I prefer my life now, as dull as it can seem when I am working yet another Friday night. If my world is going to seem hazy and far away I would rather it be because I am lost in a haze of prayer instead of cigarette smoke. And if my hair is going to smell I'd rather it be incense than tobacco.
I spent a lot of time in smoked filled rooms, back when you could smoke inside. Nothing was easy to see when the smoke got really thick. Faces were distorted and it changes the qualities of light. I can't explain it but it even seemed to make bass seem heavier.
I couldn't help but think of Nocturne, a goth club I use to go to, at Presanctified Liturgy on Wednesday night. Not that there is all that much in common between the two, except the smoke. I was watching The Royal Doors and the icons began to be less and less clear and the embroidery of the veil less sharp. I don't want to claim that I had any deep revelations about God or the nature of prayer. I did have a revelation about myself. It was like I looked back and saw how far I have come in the last 7 years.
I think I prefer my life now, as dull as it can seem when I am working yet another Friday night. If my world is going to seem hazy and far away I would rather it be because I am lost in a haze of prayer instead of cigarette smoke. And if my hair is going to smell I'd rather it be incense than tobacco.
3.06.2011
Another Step On Our Road
About 6 weeks ago Brian and I were talking about our life. He had been filling out the paperwork to begin his postulancy in the Reformed Episcopal Church. We had a plan for our life and everything was working out. Then, after the Christmas break, Brian was getting so exhausted that he was falling asleep everywhere. It became very clear that he could not continue working and going to school full time. There was something that just was not right with the whole process.
At the same time we were deciding what to do about Brian’s school I started preparing a Bible Study on Esther for my Ladies’ Bible Study. I don’t know how well you know Esther, but there are 2 versions of the book. The Eastern & Oriental Orthodox Churches along with the Roman Catholic Church have a longer and more fleshed out version of the book. The Protestant church uses a version of the Old Testament based on a different text, which excludes some various sections. I decided to get my hands on an Orthodox Bible so that I could read the “extra” text. Abuna Raphael, a Coptic Orthodox priest we know, was generous enough to give us a copy of “The Orthodox Study Bible”.
As we looked at the Bible and discussed our lives and our future I was pressed with the thought that we needed to look at Orthodoxy again. We had been dissuaded easily just before our
wedding by Abuna Raphael. Our only real exposure had been in the Coptic Orthodox Church. We have had wonderful experiences with St. George’s in Norristown, but it was clearly not the place for us. First, the Oriental Orthodox Church, of which the Coptic Church is a part, is non-chalcedonian, and Brian and I do hold to the Council of Chalcedon. Second, the Coptic Church, like many branches of Orthodoxy, is primarily ethnic, meaning it is for Egyptians, in Arabic and/or Coptic.
So we turned to the one of the most useful gifts God has given modern man, Google. We did our research and discovered that there are branches of Orthodoxy that are less ethnically oriented. First there are the Antiochians, as in the Church at Antioch in the New Testament. While they are, or at least were until relatively recently, primarily Middle-Eastern Christians, they are more evangelical than most branches and have in the last 30 years been populated by more and more Protestant converts. Second, there is the Orthodox Church of America (OCA) which is the child, as it were, of the Russian Orthodox Church. The Russians brought Christianity to America via Alaska and the church they planted there spread throughout the continent and became the OCA. The Divine Liturgy is in English and the population of these churches is a melting pot of Protestant and other converts, people who were raised in ethnic Orthodox churches by immigrant parents and grandparents but who are thoroughly American themselves, and beautiful old ladies from “The Old Country” whichever country that might be.
We decided to take a week and talk with an Orthodox priest and see an Orthodox service in English. We went down to St Michael the Archangel Church in Wilmington, which is OCA. One week turned into two and three and four. I was in love with the Liturgy, and more in love with Christ than I think I have ever been. We began to read everything we could get our hands on.
We learned how the New Testament Church grew into the Eastern Orthodox Church and how those first century churches maintained the teaching of Christ and the Apostles for 2000 years.
We realized how much of our personal theology, the beliefs and impressions that we had gleaned from out own learning and study, were in line with the teachings of the Orthodox Church. We were in awe of how much of a shift we DIDN’T have to make.
Everyone warned us that we would need to learn to understand and speak in different language about God and theology. This was definitely true, the language is different, words don’t always mean the same thing in the East as they do in the West. But the things we thought were points of divergence were actually points of semantics. We had inadvertently, and we’ve come to believe by the leading of The Holy Spirit, become Orthodox without the Orthodox Church. There is no other way to say it, as cliche as it has become among Protestant converts to Orthodoxy, we had come home.
So that is where we are. We are leaving Anglicanism for Orthodoxy. I won’t say it wasn’t an easy decision to make, because praise the Lord, the actual decision seemed to make itself. But it hasn’t been an easy decision to carry out. We love our family in the Reformed Episcopal Church, and our actual families have been Protestant for generations. We learned last year that Brian’s great-great-etc-grandfather planted the first Anglican churches in this area. This is a departure from many things that we love and hold very dear.
We are sad to leave people who we love, and who love us, behind. But we are filled with so much joy to be joining ourselves to the church of the Apostles and Church Fathers. We hope and pray that no one is hurt by the path we are taking, but if we turned away from the path laid before us by The Holy Spirit then we would be putting those potential hurt feelings ahead of Christ, and we can’t do that.
Some people may have a lot of questions, and we would welcome any and all of them. Some people may have concerns, and we will do our best to answer them. Some people may have criticisms, and those we would ask you keep to yourself. If you are just curious about our journey and the answers we have found there is a book we can recommend. It is called “Becoming Orthodox” by Fr. Peter Gilquist and it answers Protestant questions about why one might choose to journey into Eastern Orthodoxy better than I ever could.
11.22.2010
Self-Defense
Conservative :
–adjective
1. disposed to preserve existing conditions, institutions, etc., or to restore traditional ones, and to limit change.
I need to say this. I am literally being kept awake by this train of thought.
For those that don't know, I have a nose ring and red hair, like RED red. I am now closer to 30 than I am to 25. I have some ideas that would be classified as socialist after the 19th Century, though it is mostly about caring for the poor and less about Marxist philosophy. I went through a rebellious phase in my late teens and early twenties, but really in the scheme of things my rebellion was minor. I have been in 4 different formal education programs in 3 states and 2 continents, though I never graduated. I am incredibly well read. If you know my father there is a very good chance that he is the smartest person you know, and quite a lot of my informal education came from him. He did not so much teach me what to think, but how to think.
There are certain people who have known me since I was young who seem to believe because I never took my nose ring out and I like my hair to be funny colors, I must still be that crazy college kid. I am some crazy, liberal, punk rock nut. Well this is my least confrontational way to be confrontational.
I am more conservative than all of you.
No I don't vote exclusively Republican, but I'm not talking about American politics. I am talking about centuries of tradition and philosophy which you reject because it isn't trendy. I am talking about choosing your religious convictions based on 20th century pop-theology instead of what every branch of the Christian church taught for the previous 19 centuries.
I cover my head in church because the Bible says to do it for the sake of the angels. I believe in breastfeeding, and natural medicine because I believe that God is smarter than scientists. I attend a liturgical church because I believe that the church is not a building, or even all the Christians on earth, but every believer who has ever lived and so by using the same prayers, Psalms, and movements that have been used for 2000 years I am worshiping with everyone else who has used those prayers, Psalms, and movements. I am a Neoplatonist like St. Augustine, Origen, and C.S. Lewis. I believe that truth is truth. I believe in traditional gender roles because the point of Genesis is not to be a science book but to tell us about the character of God. It shows us that without understanding what makes men men and women women we will never understand what makes God God. I believe that God created everything on earth for our benefit and that moderation shows character and prohibition shows weakness. To quote St. Augustine, "Complete abstinence is easier than perfect moderation." I keep my nose ring because God thinks it's beautiful. I dye my hair because I think its beautiful and God doesn't give me any direction against it.
I am not upset that people don't embrace my opinions or insights. But never claim it's because I'm liberal. Never claim that it is because I am rebellious. Never claim that it is because my ideas are unsubstantiated. Never claim it is because my opinions are uneducated. Never claim it is because I am young. I am an adult. I am informed. I am traditional. I am a Christian. I am conservative. I am sorry if that makes you have to admit your opinions of me are based on shallow sensibilities or extra-biblical philosophies, but that's how it is.
–adjective
1. disposed to preserve existing conditions, institutions, etc., or to restore traditional ones, and to limit change.
I need to say this. I am literally being kept awake by this train of thought.
For those that don't know, I have a nose ring and red hair, like RED red. I am now closer to 30 than I am to 25. I have some ideas that would be classified as socialist after the 19th Century, though it is mostly about caring for the poor and less about Marxist philosophy. I went through a rebellious phase in my late teens and early twenties, but really in the scheme of things my rebellion was minor. I have been in 4 different formal education programs in 3 states and 2 continents, though I never graduated. I am incredibly well read. If you know my father there is a very good chance that he is the smartest person you know, and quite a lot of my informal education came from him. He did not so much teach me what to think, but how to think.
There are certain people who have known me since I was young who seem to believe because I never took my nose ring out and I like my hair to be funny colors, I must still be that crazy college kid. I am some crazy, liberal, punk rock nut. Well this is my least confrontational way to be confrontational.
I am more conservative than all of you.
No I don't vote exclusively Republican, but I'm not talking about American politics. I am talking about centuries of tradition and philosophy which you reject because it isn't trendy. I am talking about choosing your religious convictions based on 20th century pop-theology instead of what every branch of the Christian church taught for the previous 19 centuries.
I cover my head in church because the Bible says to do it for the sake of the angels. I believe in breastfeeding, and natural medicine because I believe that God is smarter than scientists. I attend a liturgical church because I believe that the church is not a building, or even all the Christians on earth, but every believer who has ever lived and so by using the same prayers, Psalms, and movements that have been used for 2000 years I am worshiping with everyone else who has used those prayers, Psalms, and movements. I am a Neoplatonist like St. Augustine, Origen, and C.S. Lewis. I believe that truth is truth. I believe in traditional gender roles because the point of Genesis is not to be a science book but to tell us about the character of God. It shows us that without understanding what makes men men and women women we will never understand what makes God God. I believe that God created everything on earth for our benefit and that moderation shows character and prohibition shows weakness. To quote St. Augustine, "Complete abstinence is easier than perfect moderation." I keep my nose ring because God thinks it's beautiful. I dye my hair because I think its beautiful and God doesn't give me any direction against it.
I am not upset that people don't embrace my opinions or insights. But never claim it's because I'm liberal. Never claim that it is because I am rebellious. Never claim that it is because my ideas are unsubstantiated. Never claim it is because my opinions are uneducated. Never claim it is because I am young. I am an adult. I am informed. I am traditional. I am a Christian. I am conservative. I am sorry if that makes you have to admit your opinions of me are based on shallow sensibilities or extra-biblical philosophies, but that's how it is.
11.09.2010
Housekeeping
Well I suck at it. I get my house together and I have these great intentions. I don't know what happens after that. Its like entropy is stronger than I am. Then things get so bad that its overwhelming and I know it would take a whole day to get everything together, so I wait for a free day. Well by the time that day rolls around it gets so that it would take me a whole weekend. So I wait for a free weekend (which we never have). By the time a free weekend rolls around it is so bad that I would need a few days. See a pattern?
Brian and I are going to attack everything during the next couple of weeks... again. I have gotten my other stuff in order. I'm eating right. I'm exercising 6 days a week. I am in a time of change, I am forming new habits. I want to do whatever I have to do for home to be a haven for Brian when he comes home. I want a home that I would be proud to bring children into.
It is my job. I need to, in the terminology of the Roman church, build a domestic church. I need to ask myself, when I look at my home, how would I respond if I walked into a church and the sanctuary looked like my house looks. In this home I am the minister. It is through my work that my husband and future children are reminded of God's grace. I should maintain an environment that reminds them of God's provision in providing us a home. I should prepare meals that feed their bodies, but also makes them thankful for God's provision in feeding their bellies with something they enjoy.
When I was a kid we would go gem mining. I have sapphires and amethysts that I found in the dirt and they look like rocks. They have value because of what they are, but it is hard to appreciate them in that state. God's gifts are a lot like that. God provides a roof over our heads, but if its falling apart then it feels like a burden on us instead of a blessing. Food is always a blessing, but if it tastes bland or like chemicals then we are tempted to ask why we can't have good food. If I've done my job right then God's gifts to us should be more apparent then they were before.
"Marriage is more than human. It is a 'microbasileia,' a miniature kingdom which is the little house of the Lord." - St. Clement of Alexandria
3.28.2010
My Favorite Moment
One of my favorite things in my life is preparing the table for the Eucharist on a Saturday night. The other ladies in the Altar Guild talk about getting over early and getting it out of the way. I understand the sentiment, and like all things there are days it is not as convenient or enjoyable as others, but I like to wait. I like to wait until the sun has gone down and everyone has gone home. I like to walk into the dark church. I like to turn on the single light above the altar instead of all the lights in the sanctuary. There is a palpable peace in that room then. There are no crying children, no laughing teenagers, or or chatty ladies. Brian is usually with me, but he finds a chair and a book and leaves me to my work.
When I walk up into the chancel I am acutely aware of where I am and what happens there. This is the place where the greatest things in my life happen. This is where I am fed. This is where I was married. This is where I was confirmed. Even when we are in another building, another city, I will be in the same place. This is a square of earth where men have been admitted to the Holy of Holies. This square of earth, and every other square of earth set aside for this purpose are the place where Christ's presence is particular. There is nothing remarkable about it on Saturday night, but tomorrow Christ will feed all those who call upon him in that place. The bread and wine I prepare will be host to the mysterious presence of Christ.
Tonight, I found myself thinking about the women going to the tomb. There was a ceremony to what they were doing, they knew the supplies they needed and the order in which to proceed. I gather my supplies and place everything properly, as I get more comfortable with the process it becomes like a dance. This ceremony held special significance because of their love of Jesus; it is the same devotion that has brought me here. There was a very practical aspect to their work, a body must be prepared properly. I take a moment to look at the calendar and decide how many people I think will be in church. Is it a holiday, or are the kids away on a trip? We want to have enough bread and wine, but not too much. I feel as if I am taking part in a tradition started late one Saturday night 2000 odd years ago.
I've gone to the church on Saturday nights when things just weren't going well. There was one night that I walked through that door and all the tears I had been holding back for days came out. I just knelt in the dark with my head on the rail and cried and prayed, mostly cried. I pulled myself together and started my dance. When I was done I had thought through the problem and had some semblance of an answer. There were no voices or visions, just peace, enough peace to recognize what I should have already known.
The funny thing is, I hate silence, it makes my uncomfortable. I feel like silence is an empty chasm that I might fall into. The silence in the church is different. It is full, like a feather bed, its warm and soft and all around me. It might be selfish, but I wish that I could be the Altar Guild all alone, so that I could be guaranteed that moment every week.
When I walk up into the chancel I am acutely aware of where I am and what happens there. This is the place where the greatest things in my life happen. This is where I am fed. This is where I was married. This is where I was confirmed. Even when we are in another building, another city, I will be in the same place. This is a square of earth where men have been admitted to the Holy of Holies. This square of earth, and every other square of earth set aside for this purpose are the place where Christ's presence is particular. There is nothing remarkable about it on Saturday night, but tomorrow Christ will feed all those who call upon him in that place. The bread and wine I prepare will be host to the mysterious presence of Christ.
Tonight, I found myself thinking about the women going to the tomb. There was a ceremony to what they were doing, they knew the supplies they needed and the order in which to proceed. I gather my supplies and place everything properly, as I get more comfortable with the process it becomes like a dance. This ceremony held special significance because of their love of Jesus; it is the same devotion that has brought me here. There was a very practical aspect to their work, a body must be prepared properly. I take a moment to look at the calendar and decide how many people I think will be in church. Is it a holiday, or are the kids away on a trip? We want to have enough bread and wine, but not too much. I feel as if I am taking part in a tradition started late one Saturday night 2000 odd years ago.
I've gone to the church on Saturday nights when things just weren't going well. There was one night that I walked through that door and all the tears I had been holding back for days came out. I just knelt in the dark with my head on the rail and cried and prayed, mostly cried. I pulled myself together and started my dance. When I was done I had thought through the problem and had some semblance of an answer. There were no voices or visions, just peace, enough peace to recognize what I should have already known.
The funny thing is, I hate silence, it makes my uncomfortable. I feel like silence is an empty chasm that I might fall into. The silence in the church is different. It is full, like a feather bed, its warm and soft and all around me. It might be selfish, but I wish that I could be the Altar Guild all alone, so that I could be guaranteed that moment every week.
2.16.2010
New Words For Old Thoughts
I said something on Sunday I had never said before. It just popped out of my mouth and it was so true but I hadn't thought it through and I hadn't planned to say it. I imagine it is what happens when fictional people fall in love without knowing it and those 3 little words just fly out.
"If my children ever came home and said 'I asked Jesus into my heart today' I think I will cry," and no I didn't mean tears if joy. It sounds weird or, if you happen to be an Evangelical, disturbing. But hear me out.
I don't remember not believing in God. I don't remember not believing in Jesus. But I do remember being told I had to have a conversion. So at five I said a prayer and it was supposed to change something, which it didn't. I still wasn't really a part of the church because I wasn't allowed either sacrament at 5. So why was it necessary? I didn't believe anything the next minute I didn't believe the minute before, or even the year before. It didn't give me access to my church. I was still an outsider looking up and in.
No one would ever have a baby, give them to an orphanage and say, "When this baby decides they want to join our family we will welcome them with open arms." So why would we exclude our children from the church until they can chose it? Why leave them spiritual orphans until they can verbalize something in the language of adults? Is it because we only understand salvation in a personal context? Is it because we've lead ourselves and our children to believe that there is salvation outside of the church? Do we believe that we each need to make our own path to God? Do we leave our infants to find their own way to food? Why leave them to find their own way to God?
I want the opposite experience for my children. I want to give them to the Lord as soon as possible. I want to tell them from that day forward that I loved them enough to give me away. Like Hannah, I prayed to have them, I cherished them, and so I gave the most precious thing I had to the Lord. This is not a hypothetical dedication. This is not a promise. I want to allow them to be grafted into the Body of Christ. I want to grasp all of those promises for them.
They will be part of the church from the beginning. They will know that those promises are for them. They will know that by no merit or action of theirs they are the next generation of the covenant. One day the time will come for them to receive the Body and Blood of Christ and they will have been in our arms at the rail every week. They will have known, from before they can remember, what it is and why we do it. Then when it is their turn they will take all of those promises onto and into themselves.
Finally, when they are old enough to verbalize all of these things they will stand in front of the bishop and he will ask them if they believe. They will confirm and be confirmed and they will stand on their own in the Lord, independent from me and from their father. The Lord will be the same yesterday, today and tomorrow for them. Nothing will change, if we've taught them and guided them well.
No one, if I have anything to say about it, will ask them for their testimony. There will be no pressure to tell a story of a fall from grace and a rescuing hand. They will, if my prayers are answered, be one of the 99 sheep who remained safe in the pen warm from the night and protected from the wolves by their family and the faithful shepherds serving their master. And if they ever feel the need to "pray the sinner's prayer" then I will cry because I failed them as their mother and I have failed the Lord as a shepherd.
9.21.2009
Ramble
I apologize if this is meandering. I need to work this out.
We are going to lose our house. Our mortgage payment is a fraction of what rent would be, even in places I wouldn't be willing to live. Our property taxes are exactly the same each month as our mortgage payment. They went up over $200 a month this year, they may go up again next year.
A could very conceivably get a job that would still make the payment, but that doesn't cover what we are behind on. There is government funding to help with that, but they won't give it to us because our W-2s look awful. The only reason we've survived this long, was some help here and there from family, money from Dan whose rent payments are unofficial, and a job I got in December and had until April. None of this shows up on last years W-2 which is how they are judging our worthiness.
All those "help stop foreclosure" websites and organizations are for people who got mortgages for obscene interest rates from predatory lenders. We have a great rate. Our township is a predatory taxer and there is no help. We will never get another mortgage after what the last 2 years have done to our credit. (In an attempt to avoid hyperbole I suppose I should say we won't get a mortgage for 3-7 years.)
All of that is about money. I don't like money, I don't understand money, and I am bad with money. This is what it come down to. I love my little house. There is work that needs to be done on it, a lot of work, but it is my house. With my purple walls, my green bathroom, and my tiny kitchen. I want to finish the basement as a 4th bedroom and 2nd bathroom. I have plans for cabinets over the island with a wrack for stemware. My bedroom is the safest place in the world and no one can hurt me there. I DO NOT WANT TO LEAVE.
I'm not asking for a mansion. I'm asking for a way to keep my little row home, grumpy neighbor and all. I'm not asking for a hand-out. I am asking for a chance to work. I'm not asking for a 6-figure salary, but a 5-figure one would be nice.
I want a chance to succeed.
My dad told me this story about when he was in seminary. He had no shoes, his only pair got a hole in the sole. He couldn't afford a new pair of shoes appropriate for school, and for pulpit-fill. So he prayed for shoes.I'm pretty sure he was expecting a pair that fit at a 2nd hand store. Instead 3 pairs of new shows, just his size, came into his life from 3 different places. So I've prayed. I've had faith. Every application I've sent in, every interview either of us has had, I get EXCITED. I'm like a kid on Christmas. I figure out how the schedule would work, where the money would go first and how to stretch the pennies for the first 6 months so that we can make up for what we've missed.
Every application, every interview, goes wrong. And now it's passed, unless I get a miraculous job by mid-October we are done. There is no more deferment, there is no more stalling. I know miracles can happen, and I know miracles do happen, but how long do you hold your breathe for a miracle?
I don't know where I will be living in 2 months. I am scared out of my mind. Yet again the lectionary smacked my knuckles with a ruler. Matthew 6:24-34 "No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon. Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment? Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they? Which of you by taking thought can add one cubit unto his stature? And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to day is, and to morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith? Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed? (For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you. Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."
I believe, I really truly believe, I see the evidence of God's faithfulness in other people's lives every day. I see people who have a path laid out for them and as long as they walk that path everything comes together. But after years and years of looking and trying and failing, I thought, THIS TIME, I was on the right path. I thought that this time this path was right. Brian in seminary, me at DCPC, both committing to ministry with zeal and joy. So where do we go from here? Because nobody is calling me back. Because nobody is flying in at this final hour to whisk us out of the fire, at least not yet. So just like everything else in my life I am pessimistically idealistic. No matter how many times life proves to me that I will not win. No matter how sure I am I will never win. I'm always holding my breathe as the buzzer sounds. Maybe, just maybe, this time, I will have been wrong and good things will happen.
P.S. To save you all the trouble: Romans 8:28 "And we know that all things work together for good to those that are called according to his purpose." And to save me the trouble: Trust me, I was an English major, that verse is only comforting if you put the commas in the right places! Are we called according to his purpose, or is the good according to his purpose? And the chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy him forever, so if our misery brings glory, then by definition it is good because it has accomplished our chief end. Just because God promises all things to work together for good, it does not mean that this situation will end well, nor does it mean that I won't be accidentally deported to Siberia with a sun-dress and a bible. Maybe I am meant to freeze and be buried in a snow-drift so that some future post-Christian Siberian can find it and rediscover the gospel. You see all things work together for good, but that doesn't mean I'm going to like it, or that I am not going to fail.
7.06.2009
Universalism
I want to be a Universalist. I want to truly believe that whatever happens you will die and go to a better place. But I don't. It doesn't make logical sense. There has to be a scale or else there just has to be everyone. Either Mao and Mother Theresa sip mimosas together in a shiny villa on the banks of Styx or there is some sort of entrance requirement.This whole concept is against my nature. I am more in line with Terry Pratchett, it saves a lot of effort if everyone just gets what they truly expect deep down. So basic human guilt sends your rapists and genocidal maniacs where they need to be.
I know people who have no problem looking someone in the face and saying, "You're going to hell if you don't
In the end only God can judge what amount of belief is belief or how much ignorance is bliss. So I don't think I will ever say "You are ____ therefore you are going to hell." But I think I will say "I believe in orthodox Christianity and it defines my universe and it is the root of everything good in my life."
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