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?
Very helpful post... good to catch up with your pilgrimage. A couple of thoughts:
ReplyDeleteYou said, "It was the church that the Roman Catholics left." I think the Roman Catholics would view the final split of 1054 (a very long time coming) as an excommunication of the Patriarch of Constantinople on their part. Of course, that action was returned by Patriarch. But it does raise the interesting issue of perspective... for example, at the Reformation -- who left whom?
Of greater interest to me is this statement: "Who were we to be questioning it when its beliefs and practices date all the way back to the first century?"
It seems to me that mere antiquity does not validate a belief or practice... the first and primary question is, what is the Apostolic teaching? Granted, I take a Protestant view of sola scriptura, that the Scriptures themselves are sufficient to determine Apostolic teaching... that the traditions inform, but are not on a level with the Word.