Saturday, March 28, 2009

Vain Repetitions

In my previous life I was very cognizant of Jesus' admonitions directed against those who practiced "vain repetitions" in their prayer life.  I had been diligent about not doing such things, to the point that I was adverse to saying the Lord's prayer in a public worship service for fear that I would be guilty of disobeying Jesus' admonition.

In one of our first meetings with Fr. Michael he handed us a small prayer book and told us to begin praying out loud the prayers designed as "morning prayers" and "evening prayers".  Parenthetically, there are also many other prayers for various times and purposes, people, and things.  He explained that these prayers had been written under the illumination of God by very holy people, monks, saints, etc.

Part of our move toward and within Orthodoxy involves a progressive dissolution of personal pride, and a move toward greater spiritual obedience.  Using this prayer book was one small step in that direction.  So, in front of our home alter, we began to pray the morning and evening prayers.  It has not been almost two yeas  since that injunction to pray in this way.  Let me make some observations:

These prayers are very precise prayers.  I have never been conscious of prayers directed specifically toward the Father, or toward the Son, or toward the Holy Spirit.  As a protestant, I never thought of praying to specific holy ones of the faith, nor did I ever have any thought or praying to a guardian angel.  In prayers on behalf of specific people (parents, children, friends, self) these prayers contain thoughts that I had never thought of before, but that I probably should have.  In prayers directed toward humbling ourselves, or being more thankful the effect is the same.  Because there are precise prayers, they cause my prayerful thinking (before, during, and after prayer) to be more precise in ways that I have never known before.

Because there are specific prayers for each specific day of the week, one gets into a weekly rhythm of prayer that can only be appreciated when experienced.

A predominant expression in Orthodox prayer is "Lord, have mercy."  It is repeated many times, in private and in corporate prayer.  It has a way of keeping us mindful of the proper context  that we stand in before God.  It elevates our thinking about our God, and it helps to progressively  deflate any inflated ideas that we have of our selves.  It directs us toward the parable of the publican and the pharisee, and it reminds us of who we should emulate in that story.

"Glory to the Father, to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit" is repeated a lot, too.  Once again, it reminds us of Who the God is that we pray to, and it puts the focus in prayer on God, where it belongs.

A favorite passage of mine in in Hebrews, where Paul speaks of the great cloud of witnesses that surrounds us, cheering us on as we contend in, and for, the faith.  There is also that great parallel passage in Revelation, where the Theologian speaks of the prayers of the saints rising as incense before God.  Praying these prayers written by some of those very ones who are cheering us on brings us into communion with those great saints as well.  We are not alone.  We are in a communal faith.  We are one Body.  The church transcends time, space, life, and death.  I know that I am loved, and that I love in making use of these wonderful prayers.  

Prayer in the Orthodox Church is not just of the mind.  Prayer, like every aspect of life, is of both the body and the spirit.  Therefore, when praying the body works along with the mind.  That wonderful expression that dates back to the first century, the sign of the cross, is used.  Grace is transmitted to us as we pray these prayers and we are transformed.

I find myself repeating these prayers throughout the day, particularly when there is a special need within me for that prayer.  The prayers get shared with others, sometimes with wonderful effect.

As the mind is transformed by the repetition of these prayers, I find that my extemporaneous prayer is also transformed.  Some things I simply don't pray for anymore.  Some things I don't feel that there is a need to pray for anymore.  I find that my personal prayer words are transformed, elevated, and distilled.

These changes are not a matter of some magical metamorphosis,  They are simply a matter of obedience.  They are not a reflection of anything having to do with me.  They are entirely the working of grace in the life of a self-confessed sinner.  The lower I can bow before my Lord and God in prayer, the higher I am elevated toward His heavenly glory.

Through the prayers of our Holy Fathers, may God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit bless these words and all those who read them. 

 







Sunday, March 22, 2009

From the Desert to Orthodoxy

After my personal turmoil of 2001-2002, I made a vow to myself that I would never be a part of any church that was of a non-hierarchical nature.  It seemed that everyone should have someone looking over their shoulder to provide a measure of accountability.  This ruled out any type of church that I had ever been a part of.

Down the street from my home was an Episcopal Church--one that proudly enshrined the very pew that Robert E. Lee used to sit in.  The tree he tied his horse to is still outside the church.  I clearly was not in agreement with the national stance of the church, but the local folks seemed nice enough.  I found myself a pew near the back.  At the time I really wasn't interest in much beyond just being in church.  The pastor was nice, and it was a non-threatening situation.   It was not to be a permanent solution, but what I came away with from this experience was an appreciation for liturgical worship that I had never had before.  They actually used more scripture than did the Baptists, they had communion each Sunday, there seemed to be a reverence there which was lacking in my previous experience, and which I appreciated.  I was also, for the first time, exposed to the idea of a liturgical year.

The spring after our marriage, Kristi and I decided to go out to John Michael Talbot's monastery in Arkansas to attend a couple of his seminars.  I had appreciated his music in my youth, and had been surprised when he had become a Roman Catholic.  In recent years I had seen him in concert and was impressed with his demeanor and his message.  I had been reading some of his Catholic writings, as well as those of Thomas Merton and others.  

The seminars were fine, and it was a good trip.  But, the most significant thing that came out of it was that a couple at the monastery (yes, there are married Catholic monastics) encouraged us to think about being monastic, and they recommended that we read a little book called "The Way of the Pilgrim".   We came home and bought a copy of the book, not having any idea that it is an Orthodox standard, especially in Russia.  We began the discipline of the Jesus Prayer and to pursue what seemed to be a deeper version of Christian spirituality.  

The following summer we spent at week at Christ in the Desert Monastery in northern New Mexico.  It is in a beautiful, secluded desert canyon where the Benedictine monks practice the rule of silence.  We were taken in with the chanting of the hours, starting at 4:30 in the morning.  We enjoyed the silence, and the lack of amenities  (like electricity) that we are so used to.  After coming home, we tried our absolute best to become Roman Catholics, thinking  that it would put us closer to original Christianity.  We spoke to Catholics, including the local priest, but the big hang up for us what that we were both divorced.  We were told that if we annulled our previous marriages that we could become Catholics.  After coming to an understanding of what this meant, we both felt that it would be dishonest to do. We both had been married, we both had children, and the divorces were a very real failure and part of both our lives that we didn't see any point in trying to cover over.

Along the way we had gotten to be friends with Fr. Warren, a retired Episcopal priest (turned Anglican), old school (1928 prayer book), who had encouraged us to read nothing but the early church fathers.  Along the way we had begun to practice Benedictine spirituality:  simplicity, Christian meditation, and more prayer.  We sold our house and bought a townhouse.  I sold my Harley, gave up  subscriptions to football tickets and other events, and just tried to simplify our lives.  

Two summers later we were back in New Mexico at the monastery.  We visited with the abbot, we prayed with the monks, and we seemed no closer to any decision about what we should do.  Our last day there I was visiting with one of the older monks, and he finally said to me, "you know, you could always become Orthodox".  When he said this, it was as if the scales had fallen from my eyes.  I thought back to my last trip to Romania in 2002, and how much of an impression some of the monks had made on me as I had visited the painted monasteries in the north of that country.  I thought of the recent documentary that I had seen, of all places, on the Catholic cable channel that had detailed the  sacking of the Orthodox capital city of Constantinople by the Catholic crusaders.  

We came back to Virginia and found what we thought was the closest Orthodox Church.  It was a Ukrainian Church, and we went to the Saturday vespers service that first week back in town.    Coming out, someone mentioned that the Apostles's Fast was almost over.  I said, "oh, you fast in this church?"  That is a laughable comment now, knowing what I know, and as I write this in the middle of Great and Holy Lent.  We came back the next day for what we later came to find out is called the Divine Liturgy.  We walked out the door  with more questions than anwers, but in striking up a conversation with someone we found out that there was a Greek Church in the area as well.

A couple of weeks later we found ourselves at the Greek Church, sitting across the table from a Greek priest with a dark beard and a darker cassock, with a large silver cross dangling from his neck.  He was quite sober minded as he listened to us tell him that we wanted to become  Orthodox.  His response was: "I'll be starting a catechumen class in a couple of months"  (a couple of months:  that's too long we thought), and "in the meantime read these books that I give you to read, and get to as many services as you can.  There is much for you to learn and to experience."

We had determined that we would do exactly what Fr.  Michael told us to do.  We also knew that much of what we would experience would be foreign, and would run contrary to what we had experienced or been taught to that point in our lives.  But, the important fact for us was this: the Orthodox Church predates all the other Christian churches.  It was the church that the Roman Catholics left.  It was the church that the Protestants had never been a part of.  Who were we to be questioning it when its beliefs and  practices date all the way back to the first century? 










Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Fishbowl Part Two: My Fellow Fish

In my previous post I was in no way being critical of my "fellow fish".  I believe that all that has come before in my life has prepared me for where I am today, especially my personal relationships.    As far back as I can remember I have always had a yearning for God.  Short of God making an appearance  before me  (as He has done for others)  and what I could learn from nature (as the Apostle Paul points out in Romans)  I would have  remained with my yearning and little else,  without the help of those people around me.  My mother is the obvious start.    As a young boy,  I remember seeing a picture of the Great Flood.  A hand is pushing upward through the waves, from the top of a mountain, with the rain coming down and the lightening flashing.  In the distance one could see the Ark, bobbing along on top of the waters.  I was horrified by this picture, but my mother  was quick to turn to the Gospel of John and relate how God loves us, and how Jesus had  gone to prepare a place for us.   This was the type of reassurance and nurturing that I got at home.  

 At the Baptist Church it was the same:  matriarchs like Louise Lewis  provided  spiritual nurturing.   My pastor, John Farrar,  spoke with dignity from the pulpit, and modeled a respect for God and the scriptures.  My youth pastor, Dennis Knight,  was a humble man  who  always pointed toward Christ.   We read the Bible, prayed, and were encouraged to memorize scripture.

As part of the Son House  I experienced the joys of Christian fellowship, was encouraged to open my Bible, and share its contents with the world around me.  Here was where I saw the  need for the Holy Spirit in our lives.   When  I think of Sandy Young in those days  the Apostle Paul comes to mind: his zeal, intelligence,  perseverance, conviction, and faith are an inspiration to me.  Mason Hutcheson is like an Old Testament patriarch: he exudes righteousness. 

 At Dallas Theological Seminary some names come to mind.  Walter Bodine  was a loving man, who used to frequently say, "all truth is God's truth".  Edwin Deibler was an older gentleman near the end of his days as  professor of church history.  He loved the early church fathers, and he had a light in his eyes that could only have come from God.  Beyond his words in class, he   provided me with valuable personal counsel.

I could go on and on about the people who have had an influence in my spiritual life.  I will always be indebted to these people, and countless others.   These people gave me all that they knew.    May God bless all these dear people, and have mercy on their souls.

But, what I have since  learned is that I was not completely equipped to live the Christian life.  I had much knowledge and experience.  And, there is no question that I could have done a better job at applying what I did know.  I am a sinner, and I prove that each day.

I was encouraged to go into spiritual battle, but I didn't have all the weapons.  St. Basil speaks of Adam in the garden: "...he preferred what appeared delightful to the fleshly eyes to the spiritual beauty and considered the filling of the stomach more valuable than the spiritual enjoyments.  And immediately he was outside paradise and outside that blessed way of life, becoming evil not from necessity  but from thoughtlessness."  

In the protestant world we are left to our own devices  to fight the good fight.  And, what we are constantly battling within ourselves is  thoughtlessness toward our God.   It is up to us to get to church, read our Bible,  decide to fellowship,  decide to give..... etc.  But, it is up to us.  And, generally speaking, there is no master plan for us to follow, nor is their anyone looking over our shoulder to make sure that we are  following through.   And, any mix of bad theology that we ascribe to only leads us to bad decisions, especially if we are well intentioned.

Orthodox believers have the tools to remain thoughtful about  God every second of the day.  There is a cycle of church life that corresponds to the year,  the season,  the week, the day.   These cycles keep us thoughtful and vigilant if we exercise due diligence.  Praying the Jesus prayer, with or without a prayer rope,  keeps Christ elevated in our hearts, and keeps us  mindful of our need for mercy.   Using the sign of the cross, which is documented as standard Christian practice back to the first century,  is an outward sign of an inward  disposition.  It is a reminder of our own spiritual need, as well as a witness to those around us.    Personal prayer, either extemporaneously or with the aid of the prayers of  some of the great saints, as well as personal Bible study, and readings from the lives of the saints, or the great sermons from the early church fathers,  all help to direct us toward our God.

St. John Chrysostom was the first to make note that the church is a hospital for sinners, not a hotel for saints.  He also said this:  "Be aware of  God's compassion, that it heals with oil and wine.  Do not lose hope of salvation.  Remember what is written--the one who falls shall rise again, and the one who turns away shall turn again, the wounded is healed, ,the one caught by wild beasts escapes, the one who confesses is not rejected.  For the Lord does not want the sinner to die, but to return and live.  There is still time for endurance, time for patience, time for healing, time for change."

Therapy for the person, body and soul,  is built into the life of the church .  Confession done in the Orthodox  manner (as opposed to the Latin version),  and  participation in the Divine Liturgy and the other services of the Church all aid in the day to day healing of the body and soul.   Everyone in the church has a spiritual father  (whether you are of the laity, the priesthood, or a bishop).  This person also provides spiritual therapy.  

But, let me stop.  I have outrun my story.  Next, Lord willing,  I will detail the path  that I traveled to get to the Orthodox Church. 

Through the prayer  of our holy fathers,  may God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit bless this, and all who read it.



 


 

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

What fishbowl are you in?

I was born and raised in a small town Protestant  fish bowl.   It was the only bowl that I knew.  When I got into high school I discovered another part of that fish bowl where the people seemed  (in my adolescent perspective) to be more serious about their spiritual life, and they were a little edgy and slightly countercultural  (which was a good thing in the mid-1970's) .  I swam around in this bowl until I found a comfortable part where one could feed on Dispensationalism.  Later, I found the Calvinistic area. It was the only bowl that I knew, and I had no idea that there was another suitable bowl that one  could swim around in and be happy.  
One day my bowl fell off the table,  exploded,  and sent me flopping across the floor looking for another bowl.   I know that unless this had happened I would have never looked for another bowl.   I was all but out of breath when I finally made it into the Orthodox bowl.  I have been much more happy---no, that's the wrong word.  I have been filled, satisfied, and been given all that I could possibly need for life---this life, and any life to come.  
When I explain to people that this bowl is much better, in fact that  it is the original bowl that all others have come from, they  sometimes take offense.  My daughter  is happy with the first fish bowl, and she exclaimed, "But, Dad, this is the fish bowl you put me in."  And here is the point:  We can't help the fish bowl that we start in, but we certainly can do something about the one that we finish in.

Monday, March 16, 2009

The Divine Liturgy

The Divine Liturgy is at the heart of the Orthodox liturgical life.  It is the service where the faithful receive the Body and Blood of Christ.  There is no debate about whether it is, or whether it is not real.  No one really debates how it is, or how it comes to be.  It is considered a mystery, and people just leave it at that.  
It was developed by St. James, the first bishop of Jerusalem, and then it was tweaked in the fourth century, first by Basil the Great, and then by John Chrysostom.  It is amazing to realize that when you attend and participate in the Divine Liturgy  you are participating in a service that goes back to the first century.  You are actually worshipping the way that the early church did.  
And, it also means that wherever you are in the world, whatever the language,  if you are attending a Divine Liturgy you always know what is going on.   We were once in Florence at a Russian Orthodox Church where the service was being done in Italian, Russian, and Greek.  Yet, we knew exactly what was going on.  It's an amazing experience.
The other important thing about this service is that you  don't just  show up and partake of the Body and Blood of Christ.  You are expected to fast from at least midnight the night before.  This means that you don't eat or drink anything (including water), and you are expected to  spend time in preparatory prayer starting the night before.   
And, by partaking in faith, you are receiving something that is life giving and life sustaining.   It is not just a memorial.  It is not just a symbol.  

Some things are worth the wait

I am thankful to Fr. Michael for many things:  converting me to Apple computers,  helping me with getting my I Phone set up, turning me on to the Flavia coffee maker, etc.  But, one thing I am very thankful for is how he handled Kristi and me when we walked into his office a couple of years ago and said quite bluntly, "we want to become Orthodox".
He listened very attentively to our story, and then told us that becoming Orthodox is not something that you do overnight.  There is a learning curve.  There are ways of thinking that you have to come around to.  There are practices that you need to get comfortable with.  There are ways of doing things, and then there are ways of not doing things.
We were very anxious, and we purposed to do whatever he said.  When we asked him how long it would take, his response was, "when I  decide.  We will start a catechumen class in a couple of months".  We thought, "a couple of months, that's forever".  And, a couple of months later we did start our class.  It was wonderful.  We couldn't wait for the next class each week.  Then we had to miss a class here and a class there.  Christmas came with its delays.  Meanwhile, each service we had to painfully stand and watch the faithful come up and receive the Eucharist.  Of course, we were excluded.  It was painful.   Then,  the Saturday before Easter (Pascha) we were  brought into the church.
Fr. Michael  was right.  You don't become Orthodox overnight  The early church sometimes made people wait from one to three years before they could be baptized.   They were not allowed to stay for the whole service in the meantime.  In fact, to this day there is a time in the service where the priest says, "The doors, guard the doors" and this was the time that the nonbaptized, catechumens included, were forced to leave.   We are thankful for his caution with us.  He wanted to do things right.  And, he did.

And a happy St. Patrick's Day to you!

Some of you are asking, what's he doing writing about a Catholic saint?  Well, the great split between East and West took place in 1054.  St. Patrick was born around  AD 387 and died around  AD 461, so I suppose that technically makes him an Orthodox saint.

At the age of 16 he was captured and taken from his home in Wales and then sold off as a slave in Ireland.   He tended sheep and spent much time in prayer and meditation.   Somehow he managed to escape after six years and return home.  However, in a vision God told him that he must return to Ireland to preach the gospel.  Remarkably, he did this very thing.  Imagine that, running right back to the frying pan that he had just escaped from!  He spent his life among the very people who had enslaved him,  loving them, and giving them what was most precious to him.

So, instead of thinking about  Irish pride, or the  "wearing of the green", or whatever else we of Irish descent do today, think about the faith of a real man who responded to a real call of God.






Please excuse the paucity of material

This is my new site.  Having been off the grid for some time I am now beginning to make contact with a lot of old friends who I have not been around in a long time.  Most of these friends would describe themselves as evangelical Christians.  Most of  them are not terribly familiar with the Orthodox Church, and if they are,  they are probably thinking that I have finally gone off the deep end.  

So tune in, and feel free to let me know what you think.

May God bless.