Of Churches and Life Changes

Benedicamus Domino!

Well, for Orthodox Christians everywhere, the season of Lent has begun. For me, it began rather differently than it has these past few years. For starters, I missed performing the rite of forgiveness that our church performs on the Sunday immediately preceding the beginning of Lent. It's a beautiful rite where you ask each other's forgiveness for any wrongs you may have committed in the year past. You don't list the wrongs, but you do ask for forgiveness. I recall when I first heard about this rite, it didn't make a lot of sense to me. Why should I ask forgiveness of someone I hardly ever see and whom I've likely never wronged? Still, when one goes through the rite with its accompanying prostrations (kneeling with one's forehead touching the ground" and mutual asking and granting forgiveness, it makes you know beyond a doubt that this kind of humility, this kind of consciousness of wronging other people and needing their forgiveness, is a necessary part of the Christian life. There's a saying from one of the saints, John Chrysostom I think, which says: "During lent, we do not tear meat with our teeth, so neither should we tear each other with anger." (I'm paraphrasing.) The point is that to fast and to pray and to do everything we need to do in Lent is meaningless if we allow our passions or our egos to get the better of us. Of course, as things go, Lent does tend to bring those things into sharper focus. Since we're consciously fighting or trying to fight against them, they seem to intensify. However, this is where the guarding of the heart and of the senses comes in: a very deliberate attempt to check angry or covetous or prideful thoughts at the door as it were, and not to allow them to infect us and to inflame our egos. So, as we abstain from certain foods and perhaps even certain pleasures, (though this should be done carefully and with balance,) we also try to abstain from needless anger and violence toward each other. We channel all that energy into prayer, almsgiving, reflection, meditation on the Scriptures, and other spiritual things. This is a time of intensified spiritual activity which should flow over into all aspects of life, and asking the forgiveness of those whom you have wronged or may have wronged unconsciously during the past year is a nice way to start this six-week journey.

So, to continue then, this past Sunday was Forgiveness Sunday and I, for the first time, was not in attendance at my regular church. Instead, I attended a Christian Reformed church with my beloved. It was actually an interesting experience, the more because you could tell that this church was actually trying to cast off some of its Reformed traditions and to become something more non-denominational-protestant in its feel. They sang worship songs rather than hymns from a hymn-book. Though there was a nod to that tradition. They did sing "Great is Thy Faithfulness." They had a band and really good singers, and people sort of danced and clapped and such and really got into the music. There was definite joy in what they were doing, so why was it that I didn't feel it? Why was it that I was actually a little saddened by it?

Well, a part of the reason had to do with my conception of a fine old Protestant church experience. There ought to be an organ in my conception of this, and slightly uncomfortable pews, and a wood or marble floor, and well, those grand old hymns! I mean, that's my conception of what it was like to go to a Protestant church when I was younger. Then there was another curious thing. The pastor who preached a very good sermon actually basically came up against a bit of the Gospels which seemed to outright deny what he as a Reformed Christian had always been taught and he admitted this. He actually admitted that the old way of believing that faith alone justified us before God might not be the whole story. This was both refreshing and somehow unnerving to me. I mean, it was great that he could admit of his doubts, but it was also rather odd that a pastor steeped in the traditions of his faith should have those doubts. Of course, it's likely that he's had those doubts for some time. This, as I understand it, is definitely not one of the more traditionally-minded Reformed churches. However, when all was done, I was left with a strange kind of emptiness.

I mean, the people were friendly, the music was enjoyable, the sermon was interesting and thought-provoking, so what was missing? What was always missing for me in these kinds of church experiences? Well, all I can put it down to is this: I didn't feel different when I entered this church. I didn't feel as though this place was a place of prayer in quite the same way as a more traditional-feeling church (the pews and the organ and the choir and such) would make me feel. And yet, that's not even it! This church had comfortable chairs and carpet on the floors and such and had the feel to me of just some big hall or community room or something, but that can't be all there was to the not-feeling-different. We used to have our church in a renovated office suite above a dentist's office. It was small, cramped, had one bench (not a pew) to sit on, but still, I always felt different the moment I entered it. Part of that feeling of difference might have been the smell of the incense or something, but I don't know. I still say that something was missing for me in Sunday's church experience that I've never found so fully present as in an Orthodox church.

And you know, that isn't even dependent on language. I've been to churches where no English was spoken during the service and it still felt--well--different. I think the reason, apart from the more intangible reasons which may exist, is this. We clearly define sacred space and sacred time. I mean, all life should be treated as consecrated to God, but when you enter an Orthodox church or a church where some sense of tradition abounds, there is a feeling of--well--concentrated sacredness I guess. We're all trying to accomplish the exact same thing. We're seeking peace and everything in an Orthodox church is supposed to promote peace of heart and nourishment of the soul. Still, is the sort of joy that is inherent in those worship songs wrong? Is it false or impious or something? I can't really say an unqualified "yes" to these questions. To those who sing those songs and who pray in that less subdued manner, it is pious. It is expressing their love for God the best way they know how and the best way they can. Still, it rubbed me the wrong way. Something about how they prayed seemed so--well--overdone. To them it may not have been an act, but to me, it just sounded so--well--it sounded like they were trying to seem devoted to God. But do I have a right to judge this? No. All I can do is say how it affected me. The truth is that I felt all at sea with no clearly-defined liturgy. I felt as though this was just some big God-party and that true worship wasn't really going on. I mean, the words were there, but the bottom line seemed to be thankfulness for having been saved rather than a frank acknowledgement that we are always in need of God's mercy and abounding love. That either makes me a snob or really expresses something real that I was missing in this particular church. "And the church said: Amen" was done a lot, and that seems so out of keeping with what I remember as typical Canadian Protestant usage that it just jarred me. It was a tiny thing, but it jarred me. Still, it's good to be jarred out of one's complacency. It's good to see what's going on in the rest of the Christian world. Is it particularly nourishing for me? No. Will I continue to attend this church at times? Sure. I owe it to my beloved to do that. Still, it was as though I drank spiritual sugar-water on Sunday rather than the nicely-aged whine I usually get.

Again, I'm not mocking the beliefs of the people who attend this church. I can't do that since I don't know their hearts, but for me, liturgy is intimately connected with receiving Communion, and all of liturgy is a preparation of the gifts to then be shared. The ritual and the structure is accomplishing something, is going toward something, and by extention shows us what we should be going toward as well in our whole lives. Church is the one place where we can truly lay aside all earthly cares for a time and meditate on God's mercy and love. It may look stayed and subdued when compared to the kind of worship I saw on Sunday, but I tell you that joy abounds! Gratefulness oozes! The liturgy is a kind of catharsis and always changes the person who experiences it.

Having said all this, I will attend that church again. I have to do so. It's important for partners who have differing faiths to experience each other's ways of worship and of life. It only makes sense, especially now that I know beyond a doubt that this is for real, this is long-term. And this is another reason these past few days have been strange for me. I came to this decision rather suddenly but in a way which I know was blessed of God. We talked and spent time sort of drinking each other in and such, and well, everything we said and did was mutually-respectful, mutually-honouring of each other and our journeys, and well, it was just beautiful. I haven't felt this way about someone--this committed way--since Dan, my fiance who passed away over ten years ago now. A part of me thought I'd never feel this way again, but God stepped in and proved me wrong. There's a definite "smell" of God surrounding our getting together and our subsequent learning about and with each other. Will everything be perfect? No. Will life be roses and sunshine? No, but I know that I want this man for my partner, for my yoke-fellow, to use Paul's rather unflattering term. :) I think together we will be able to work out our salvation in fear and trembling, and have a lot of joy doing it as well.

Even though we've only been together for about three months, I know there's no other man for me. He's willing to dip his toes into Orthodoxy, which I know will be rather alien and odd to him. It is to all of us converts in some way or another. I just hope that as he experiences it, he understands that for me to leave it behind would be like cutting off my own head or something. It permeates one's whole way of thinking and living, or it should do. It's not a simple adherence to a set of creeds, though it may seem so at first. It did in fact seem so to me at first, but what I've learned is that it goes beyond that. The creeds mark out the path for us and let us know if we might be straying away, but the path itself forces us to grow, forces us to challenge our egos for supremacy over our hearts and minds. It quite simply forces our slumbering souls to arise and awaken, to watch and be heedful lest the Bridegroom come and we are unprepared. Is it easy? No. Do I sometimes wish I were anything but an Orthodox Christian? Yes, but that's my ego talking. That's my weakness crying out for what it wants most: it's own way. Hospitals are not always pleasant places, and our church is looked upon as a spiritual hospital. We go there for healing, and all the sacraments and rituals are designed to accomplish that healing in us. Of course we praise God and must be thankful to Him, but we must always be being saved, I guess. It's a process. Christ's death and resurrection were the beginning of that process and have done the lion's share of the work of accomplishing that process, but without our own individual wills at our own individual times in history, salvation isn't just given. A gift can't be given unless it is accepted, and we must accept that gift again and again, though so often we tend to hide it or cover it up or forget that it's there.

I think this is true of a lot of things in life as well. Taking love for granted is not a good idea. I mean, while God's love is unconditional, we can put ourselves (I feel) in a place where He can't reach us. If we really tell Him to go away and sincerely mean it, out of His own true love, He will do that. He will leave us to ourselves, but only because He gave us free will and yet also said that the choices of that free will must have consequences. Seeing all life as a gift is something I still aspire to. I know it's possible. I know people who can consciously do that and these are holy people. My ego is still in the way of that process for me. However, it is hoped that Lent will be a good time for me to learn yet more of the lessons of humility, mercy and love which Christ would have us learn. Glory to God for all things!

Deo Gratias!