As I look at the projections about how much time we have to reverse catastrophic climate change (the number circulating around is roughly 12 years), I find I am often moved to despair. The ongoing slogan is “let this radicalize you rather than lead to despair”. While that’s an admirable sentiment and probably helpful for a lot of people, I’ve been wondering about how people can participate in/be motivated to activism when they, like me, are overwhelmed and in a state of despair/helplessness at the magnitude of the task before us to try and save the planet.
Paradoxically, I find what’s giving me comfort is the idea that maybe I can’t save the planet. Maybe we can’t save the planet, though we sure as hell ought to try. I often find a way for me to deal with despair and anxiety is to go through the worst case scenario in my head, and come up with some kind of contingency plan for that. I figure that way, I’m prepared for all possibilities, and if things go better than the worst case, so much the better for me/everyone. As I confront the possibility that we as humans may not be able to save the planet/ourselves, I am moved to consider what mindset will help me to take action.
And more and more I am moved by the early martyrs of the Church. Contrary to popular opinion, most of them (with the possible exception of St. Ignatius of Antioch) did not want to die. They held on to life for as long as possible, and served in the Church as leaders, teachers, priests/shepherds, theologians, etc. But when they came under pressure from the Roman authorities, they did some soul searching and determined that they would rather stand up for their beliefs and way of life, and be remembered as people who did what was right, rather than capitulate to Rome and possibly save their physical lives (βιος), but lose the vitality and wholeness that gave them true life (ζοη).
With the world possibly literally ending (at least for human flourishing), now seems as good a time as any for me and perhaps others to switch from a metaphor of conquest by the success of our efforts to victory by the character and faithfulness of our efforts. I’ve heard various people I know rightly complain that “the brunt of the damage is being done by a handful of companies, and since they won’t change, how much good can I do?”. While this is true, it reveals a bigger problem with activism for some of us: our energy to engage is sometimes tied to whether we can reasonably expect success. I want to consider other ways to move people to righteous action, particularly in this sphere where the prognosis is grim.
I recall often that the Greek word “Martyr” (Μαρτυρια) means “witness”, someone who proclaims the Truth of Christ by their actions, words and character. Sometimes martyrs die, and sometimes they survive, but what matters most is that they do everything they can to be on the right side of history and (for those of religious faith) spirituality. I find much more hope and resolve to engage with climate change activism if I think of myself as an eco-martyr, someone who is called to witness to the harm that has been done to God’s creation that They called “good”, and to do whatever I can to heal it. I may die in the attempt, but in the end I feel that even if we as a species fail to save the planet/humanity, I would rather know myself as a martyr, someone who witnessed to the Truth of his God and his world, until my last breath.
Sunday, May 19, 2019
Eco-Martyrdom Pt II -- Activism and the Resurrection
Quote from Fr. John Meyendorff: The Ethics of Resurrection:
“Is it not true that our mortality serves to justify our concern for ourselves, instead of our neighbors? My neighbor can be cold and hungry next door, but I feel quite justified in preserving my own standard of living and the security of my own future, because I consider my money as having been earned by me (or given to me) with no other purpose than to prolong my own life and to make it as comfortable as I can.
Moreover, even the laws of this mortal world of ours are made in such a way that their main purpose is to preserve my rights and my property. They justify violence as a form of self-defense. And the history of human society is one of conflicts and wars in which individuals and nations struggle and kill others in the name of temporal benefits which will be destroyed by death anyway. But this is still considered as “justice.”
Such is, indeed, the inevitable logic of a world, which St. Paul describes as “the reign of death.”
On Easter Day (Pascha) however, we celebrate the end of this reign. Christ came to destroy it. "Death is swallowed up in victory, O death, where is your sting?” “Christ is Risen, and no one remains in a tomb” Therefore, as the Church sings, “let us embrace,” “let us forgive.”
This victory which our Church celebrates so brilliantly, so loudly, so triumphantly, is not simply a guarantee of “after life.” Rather, it changes the entire set of our ethical priorities, even now. There is no need for self-preservation anymore because “our life is hidden with Christ in God.” To love one’s neighbors and to give them the "last penny” is better insurance than to “store treasures upon earth.” “To lose one’s soul” is “to save it."”
I’ve been turning over this little meditation by Fr. John in my mind for the last few weeks, as I consider some follow-up thoughts to my previous piece on Eco-Martyrdom*. After reblogging another post proclaiming the need for environmental activism to counteract the devastating effects of climate change (specifically in the form of direct action and forcing governments to make changes), I felt once again that despair. I still believe in the idea that I want to witness to the truth of care for God’s creation no matter the cost, but I couldn’t help thinking that, as things get worse, it’s going to be harder and harder to summon up the will and comfort with discomfort necessary to do so. Many of us, myself included, are tempted to be overwhelmed and just try to look out for ourselves because throwing our weight behind collective action and sacrificial acts for others is often exhausting and can be dangerous.
It was at this moment that I remembered this meditation, and I thought perhaps it could be of help. What if this ecological crisis is really what will test our faith in the Resurrection and its ethical implications? Christianity has been corrupted at times by many forces outside and inside the Church. Many of us have been taught to believe a lie that “resurrection” just means that our soul keeps living in a disembodied Heaven when we die. We are encouraged not to worry about what will happen to this world, because we will be preserved with Christ far away from this sinful Earth. We will be “raptured”, or simply die and “go to Heaven.” In extreme cases, this leads to some fundamentalist groups cheering on the destruction of our planet, God’s creation, in hopes that it will artificially hasten the Second Coming of Christ to take us away. This is a fundamental misunderstanding of eschatology, and of the doctrine of the Resurrection itself. The teaching of the early Church is and remains that we are being resurrected in our *physical* bodies, here on this earth. The funeral service in the Orthodox Church talks about the *severing* of the link between body and soul, as something that was not meant to be. Death is an interruption in our integral unity, and one that will eventually be undone. Yes, the Parousia, the Second Coming will bring about a restoration on this Earth and the fulfillment of all things. But it is still a real, physical homeland, not a disembodied, separate ethereum, that we are being called to prepare for the Kingdom of God upon. In the words of Metropolitan John Zizioulas, we are called to be priests of creation, offering up all of the world in reverence to God, not destroying and tainting it for our own sinful use.
But even if we discount Rapture theology and the neo-Gnosticism that separates creation from spirituality, flesh from soul, the difference between a “pie in the sky” quietism and a grounded faith centered in the Resurrection is rather like the difference between negative nihilism and positive nihilism. The negative nihilist** says, “There is no inherent meaning. Therefore, I will pursue self-interest and destructive impulse because nothing matters.” The positive nihilist says, “There is no inherent meaning. Therefore, I will do my best to make a good life and help others to do the same, because nothing matters except that which we make matter.”
Likewise, the religious escapist says, “I’m going to be resurrected in the Kingdom, therefore, why should I care if the world burns around me,” while the Christian “nihilist” (or perhaps the Christian “existentialist***”) says, “I’m going to be resurrected in the Kingdom, therefore, I have no need to pursue self-interest. I am safe, and will use my time in this age to do whatever I can to keep other people safe.” If we lose our physical life, we know as Christians we will receive it again. Therefore, perhaps this can be a foundation for our ecological kenosis, for laying down our comfort, security, and perhaps even our lives to help others care for our ailing ecosystem.****
**There’s probably a more descriptive philosophical term, but bear with me
***See the work of Zizioulas, Nikolai Berdyaev and perhaps also Kierkegaard
****Note: Dying for one’s faith is very different from killing for one’s faith, the latter of which I as a Christian cannot condone. It’s also important to note the element of true martyrdom in this last point. The point is not to desire death, but to not let the fear of death be a deterrent to doing what’s right.
“Is it not true that our mortality serves to justify our concern for ourselves, instead of our neighbors? My neighbor can be cold and hungry next door, but I feel quite justified in preserving my own standard of living and the security of my own future, because I consider my money as having been earned by me (or given to me) with no other purpose than to prolong my own life and to make it as comfortable as I can.
Moreover, even the laws of this mortal world of ours are made in such a way that their main purpose is to preserve my rights and my property. They justify violence as a form of self-defense. And the history of human society is one of conflicts and wars in which individuals and nations struggle and kill others in the name of temporal benefits which will be destroyed by death anyway. But this is still considered as “justice.”
Such is, indeed, the inevitable logic of a world, which St. Paul describes as “the reign of death.”
On Easter Day (Pascha) however, we celebrate the end of this reign. Christ came to destroy it. "Death is swallowed up in victory, O death, where is your sting?” “Christ is Risen, and no one remains in a tomb” Therefore, as the Church sings, “let us embrace,” “let us forgive.”
This victory which our Church celebrates so brilliantly, so loudly, so triumphantly, is not simply a guarantee of “after life.” Rather, it changes the entire set of our ethical priorities, even now. There is no need for self-preservation anymore because “our life is hidden with Christ in God.” To love one’s neighbors and to give them the "last penny” is better insurance than to “store treasures upon earth.” “To lose one’s soul” is “to save it."”
I’ve been turning over this little meditation by Fr. John in my mind for the last few weeks, as I consider some follow-up thoughts to my previous piece on Eco-Martyrdom*. After reblogging another post proclaiming the need for environmental activism to counteract the devastating effects of climate change (specifically in the form of direct action and forcing governments to make changes), I felt once again that despair. I still believe in the idea that I want to witness to the truth of care for God’s creation no matter the cost, but I couldn’t help thinking that, as things get worse, it’s going to be harder and harder to summon up the will and comfort with discomfort necessary to do so. Many of us, myself included, are tempted to be overwhelmed and just try to look out for ourselves because throwing our weight behind collective action and sacrificial acts for others is often exhausting and can be dangerous.
It was at this moment that I remembered this meditation, and I thought perhaps it could be of help. What if this ecological crisis is really what will test our faith in the Resurrection and its ethical implications? Christianity has been corrupted at times by many forces outside and inside the Church. Many of us have been taught to believe a lie that “resurrection” just means that our soul keeps living in a disembodied Heaven when we die. We are encouraged not to worry about what will happen to this world, because we will be preserved with Christ far away from this sinful Earth. We will be “raptured”, or simply die and “go to Heaven.” In extreme cases, this leads to some fundamentalist groups cheering on the destruction of our planet, God’s creation, in hopes that it will artificially hasten the Second Coming of Christ to take us away. This is a fundamental misunderstanding of eschatology, and of the doctrine of the Resurrection itself. The teaching of the early Church is and remains that we are being resurrected in our *physical* bodies, here on this earth. The funeral service in the Orthodox Church talks about the *severing* of the link between body and soul, as something that was not meant to be. Death is an interruption in our integral unity, and one that will eventually be undone. Yes, the Parousia, the Second Coming will bring about a restoration on this Earth and the fulfillment of all things. But it is still a real, physical homeland, not a disembodied, separate ethereum, that we are being called to prepare for the Kingdom of God upon. In the words of Metropolitan John Zizioulas, we are called to be priests of creation, offering up all of the world in reverence to God, not destroying and tainting it for our own sinful use.
But even if we discount Rapture theology and the neo-Gnosticism that separates creation from spirituality, flesh from soul, the difference between a “pie in the sky” quietism and a grounded faith centered in the Resurrection is rather like the difference between negative nihilism and positive nihilism. The negative nihilist** says, “There is no inherent meaning. Therefore, I will pursue self-interest and destructive impulse because nothing matters.” The positive nihilist says, “There is no inherent meaning. Therefore, I will do my best to make a good life and help others to do the same, because nothing matters except that which we make matter.”
Likewise, the religious escapist says, “I’m going to be resurrected in the Kingdom, therefore, why should I care if the world burns around me,” while the Christian “nihilist” (or perhaps the Christian “existentialist***”) says, “I’m going to be resurrected in the Kingdom, therefore, I have no need to pursue self-interest. I am safe, and will use my time in this age to do whatever I can to keep other people safe.” If we lose our physical life, we know as Christians we will receive it again. Therefore, perhaps this can be a foundation for our ecological kenosis, for laying down our comfort, security, and perhaps even our lives to help others care for our ailing ecosystem.****
**There’s probably a more descriptive philosophical term, but bear with me
***See the work of Zizioulas, Nikolai Berdyaev and perhaps also Kierkegaard
****Note: Dying for one’s faith is very different from killing for one’s faith, the latter of which I as a Christian cannot condone. It’s also important to note the element of true martyrdom in this last point. The point is not to desire death, but to not let the fear of death be a deterrent to doing what’s right.
Update: Cross-Posting
Hi all,
As a note, I will be cross-posting some content from my Tumblr blog(s) for the future. I'm fairly active on there, but I know not everyone is on Tumblr and I realized that since I write a lot of theological things on that platform it makes sense to start putting them here as well.
As a note, I will be cross-posting some content from my Tumblr blog(s) for the future. I'm fairly active on there, but I know not everyone is on Tumblr and I realized that since I write a lot of theological things on that platform it makes sense to start putting them here as well.
Wednesday, June 20, 2018
Our Bodies, Our Souls, Ourselves Pt II
Note: This is part II of a devotional homily I wrote for a queer Christian retreat.
“Whatever other reasons we have for coming to such a place, if we come also to give each other our love and to give God our love, then together with Gabriel and Michael, and the fat parson, and Sebastian pierced with arrows, and the old lady whose teeth don’t fit, and Teresa in her ecstasy, we are the communion of saints.” - Frederick Buechner
“But God has composed the body, giving greater honor to the part that lacked it, that there may be no division in the body, but that the members may have the same care for one another. If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together. Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it.” -1st Corinthians 12:21-27
As loving members of the Body of Christ, how then are we to live? And what do we as LGBTQ+ Christians have to uniquely offer to our brothers and sisters, both in the church and outside of the church? In thinking about these questions, I am reminded of the words and witness of the saints. The term “saint” has often been obscured by debates between denominations, but at its core, the saints are simply the body of Christ throughout the ages and today. The church often focuses on particular holy people from the past who did great things for God, but we are also a part of the great story of God’s redeeming work in the world. We are all the communion of saints as we seek to bring about God’s Kingdom on earth.
In working to become our best selves, we can be inspired by one another. Each of us has different gifts to bring to the table. Each gift is essential. In another passage, Buechner suggests that “the grace of God means something like, ‘Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are, because the party wouldn’t have been complete without you.’” I deeply believe that this grace holds true at every level of our being. God has created us with our unique identities (sexuality, gender, race, background, etc). And God has also created each of us as an irreplaceable soul. When we can bring our best selves to the work of helping one another, we are joined in spirit and in action by those who have come before us. So many followers of Christ who, like us, chose to live their faith boldly into action. We have a lot in common with those saints, perhaps more than we realize. Like the Apostles, we have each been called by name to follow Jesus and “to proclaim good news to the poor”. Like the early Christians, many of us have weathered persecution and emerged stronger than ever. Like the holy hermits, we continually pray in love for one another. Like the theologians and doctors of the church, we are unveiling the endless Mysteries of God’s truth and grace in ways that the church has never seen before. As emerging saints and members of the Body of Christ, we will stand together, guided by the love of God and supported by one another. And it is my hope and trust that we will not rest until all of humanity is brought to God’s loving table, where everyone will be given an equal part in the Kingdom, where we can all rejoice in the God-given beauty of our souls and selves.
Our Bodies, Our Souls, Ourselves Part I
Note: The following is the first part of a devotional homily/series I wrote for a queer Christian retreat
An Invocation to the Holy Spirit
(St. Symeon the New Theologian)
Come, true light.
Come, life eternal.
Come, hidden mystery.
Come, treasure without name.
Come, reality beyond all words.
Come, person beyond all understanding.
Come, rejoicing without end.
Come, light that knows no evening.
Come, unfailing expectation of the saved.
Come, raising of the fallen.
Come, resurrection of the dead.
Come, all-powerful, for unceasingly you create,
refashion and change all things by your will alone.
Come, for your name fills our hearts with longing,
and is ever on our lips.
Come, for you are yourself the desire that is within me.
Come, my breath and my life.
Come, the consolation of my humble soul.
Come, my joy, my glory, my endless delight.
“By this everyone will know you are my disciples, if you love one another”
-John 13:35
“The strangeness of the phrase ‘To make love’ strikes me now and reminds me of that aphorism of St. John of the Cross, ‘Where there is no love, put love and you will find love.’”
-Dorothy Day, “The Long Loneliness”
Let’s talk about incarnation. In the grand sense, the term is most often used to talk about Jesus coming to earth. God became flesh, took on a body, and dwelled (the Greek term σκηνοω means roughly “to pitch a tent”) among us. But I think there is value also in reflecting on how we are also embodied people who are incarnate of God. The Church has sometimes undermined the value of the human body in service of honoring “spiritual” things over “worldly” things. In the midst of this rhetoric, it can be easy to forget that God created our bodies, and God has called them “very good”. Even through our human failings and sin, we remain as image-bearers of the God of the universe. Christ’s birth into a human body made our bodies radiant. By living through each stage of human life and death, Jesus renewed the cycle of human living and infused it with God’s divinity. By rising from the dead, He destroyed the power of death and sin in our lives.
This truly good news has a lot of implications, but I want to focus on a few in particular. How might this more holistic view of the body help us live together in relationships? Dorothy Day, a Catholic activist, writes, “We have all known the long loneliness, and we have learned that the only solution is love”. John Zizioulas, a contemporary Orthodox theologian, talks about love as the core of our being: “True being comes only from the free person, from the person who loves freely - that is, who freely affirms [their] being, [their] identity, by means of an event of communion with other persons.” Love comes in many forms, from platonic to romantic/sexual and all the shades in between. The witness of creation and Jesus coming to earth suggest to me that not only are we deeply loved by our Creator, but that we are created for love. As body and soul combined, we are blessed to support each other through love expressed in many ways. Physical affection, emotional intimacy, spiritual sharing. One of my favorite things about our community is that we are on the whole not afraid to be physically affectionate with one another. I think we have a lot of love to give to a world that is so often scarred by loneliness. Honoring each other’s God-given bodies and personhood, we can begin to reach out across the space between our souls and embrace one another with God’s love.
Metanoia, Privilege and the Activist Faithful
So I've had some thoughts rattling around my head about how I as a person of faith can better integrate my spiritual side and my activist side, and I thought I would try and arrange them in order on the page in case they're helpful to anyone else.
With that in mind, let's talk about privilege. First and foremost, I acknowledge that as a cisgender white male, I am probably the least qualified to point out where I benefit from societal privilege and racism. But because I believe it is especially important for those of us "on top" (so to speak) to acknowledge our complicity, I'm going to try anyway.
Privilege, as many know, is something most white people have to some degree (some obviously more than others). I have privilege by being white in a country where people of color continue to be subject to injustices and prejudice. I have privilege by being male in a culture that gives better opportunities and the benefit of the doubt to men. I have privilege as a cisgender person in a society that hyper-regulates necessary resources for trans people and only consistently upholds the identities of cis people. Common wisdom says that privilege is a reality we as people who benefit from systems of oppression need to acknowledge and work to dismantle where we can. At the same time, we need to recognize that until we reach a perfect society, we will always in some ways be privileged and profit from other people's pain, whether we want to or not.
To a certain extent, everyone has to simply grapple with their privilege and make the conscious decision to accept it, push aside any feelings of guilt and figure out what to do next. But it occurs to me that for those of us who identify with a faith tradition, there may be resources to help us come to terms with the process.
In the Orthodox Christian tradition, there's a strong emphasis on the concept of metanoia ("meh-TAH-nee-ah"). This word is frequently translated as "repentance", but it has a deeper meaning that that word doesn't quite encapsulate. At its core, metanoia is a change of the nous, the mind/heart perceptive part of the self that deals with self-image and understanding of human and divine identities. We are encouraged to change our hearts and minds, not just by apologizing for sin, but also by making steps towards a greater change in our lives.
It occurs to me that this may be a useful way of looking at privilege and the process of dismantling privilege. Metanoia is a never-ending process, a process which leads us into theosis ("The-OH-sis"), or divinization. By transforming our hearts, we become more and more like God until we are charged with God's Energy and light, becoming both our truest selves and in a small way, gods ourselves. Like metanoia, theosis is a never-ending process. Perfection is not static, but dynamic. As such, there is no "end point" where we will be perfect and unable to change, but rather a pattern of growth and movement towards greater goodness.
To that end, when we as privileged activists are at times discouraged by how we play into unjust systems, I think it may be helpful for us to think of growth as an ongoing process. We can never completely "get rid of" our privilege, just as we can never become perfect people with no room for change. But as we engage in our own transformation and lift each other up, we can begin to break down our biases and shortcomings, our flaws and the things that keep us from participating in the process of justice.
With that in mind, let's talk about privilege. First and foremost, I acknowledge that as a cisgender white male, I am probably the least qualified to point out where I benefit from societal privilege and racism. But because I believe it is especially important for those of us "on top" (so to speak) to acknowledge our complicity, I'm going to try anyway.
Privilege, as many know, is something most white people have to some degree (some obviously more than others). I have privilege by being white in a country where people of color continue to be subject to injustices and prejudice. I have privilege by being male in a culture that gives better opportunities and the benefit of the doubt to men. I have privilege as a cisgender person in a society that hyper-regulates necessary resources for trans people and only consistently upholds the identities of cis people. Common wisdom says that privilege is a reality we as people who benefit from systems of oppression need to acknowledge and work to dismantle where we can. At the same time, we need to recognize that until we reach a perfect society, we will always in some ways be privileged and profit from other people's pain, whether we want to or not.
To a certain extent, everyone has to simply grapple with their privilege and make the conscious decision to accept it, push aside any feelings of guilt and figure out what to do next. But it occurs to me that for those of us who identify with a faith tradition, there may be resources to help us come to terms with the process.
In the Orthodox Christian tradition, there's a strong emphasis on the concept of metanoia ("meh-TAH-nee-ah"). This word is frequently translated as "repentance", but it has a deeper meaning that that word doesn't quite encapsulate. At its core, metanoia is a change of the nous, the mind/heart perceptive part of the self that deals with self-image and understanding of human and divine identities. We are encouraged to change our hearts and minds, not just by apologizing for sin, but also by making steps towards a greater change in our lives.
It occurs to me that this may be a useful way of looking at privilege and the process of dismantling privilege. Metanoia is a never-ending process, a process which leads us into theosis ("The-OH-sis"), or divinization. By transforming our hearts, we become more and more like God until we are charged with God's Energy and light, becoming both our truest selves and in a small way, gods ourselves. Like metanoia, theosis is a never-ending process. Perfection is not static, but dynamic. As such, there is no "end point" where we will be perfect and unable to change, but rather a pattern of growth and movement towards greater goodness.
To that end, when we as privileged activists are at times discouraged by how we play into unjust systems, I think it may be helpful for us to think of growth as an ongoing process. We can never completely "get rid of" our privilege, just as we can never become perfect people with no room for change. But as we engage in our own transformation and lift each other up, we can begin to break down our biases and shortcomings, our flaws and the things that keep us from participating in the process of justice.
Wednesday, August 3, 2016
The Wildness of God--Tradition, Spontaneity and the Holy Spirit
I expect that this post will be a little less directly theological and a little more personal. But I also hope to address some thoughts and concerns that have been on my mind lately with regards to faith and practice.
As I continue day by day in my walk with God (both the lifelong pursuit of God’s presence and this shorter walk of my journey to a new religious community), I find that I often continue to fall into the same trap of control and traditionalism. To clarify, I should explain what I mean by traditionalism. I’m not referring solely or even primarily to tradition itself (sometimes called holy tradition, or Tradition with a capital “T”). I recognize the value of retaining insight and the spiritual inheritance of those who came before. The saying that we stand on the shoulders of giants is perhaps a bit cliche, but in the case of living the religious life, it’s an apt saying. Indeed, the word “religion” has multiple etymologies having to do with reverence for the truth, truth that has been passed down to us from generation to generation. One of these meanings is the idea of binding or creating a tie between the individual and that which is holy (which includes the holy community and its practice as well as the source of all holiness, God Themself). Another etymology comes from a root word that has to do with paying attention, observance, to notice. By participating in shared attention directed towards the Truth, we are more deeply drawn into a sacred awareness that all Creation shares in the divine life and sanctity.
When I refer to traditionalism, I refer to a mentality and mindset that takes tradition (which is supposed to be a signpost towards God) and elevates it to the status of God. I think we all may be guilty of this at times, and it’s a phenomenon that can occur in varying degrees, with some being less egregious than others. However, regardless of intensity, traditionalism is a habit present in all communities of faith. When I had more or less discarded the Evangelical tradition of my early youth, I thought that I was leaving traditionalism behind. I loved the story and thread of God’s presence that ran through Scripture, but I rejected the idea that God did not speak outside of its pages. I was touched in foundational, indescribable ways by the mystery of Jesus on the cross, but I rejected the theology that spoke of a wrathful God who could only be appeased by the blood of His own Son. I admired the Evangelical commitment to worshipping God in humility and simplicity, but I rejected the idea that artistic beauty and sensory elegance were not also valid pathways to God.
And yet, when I began to walk towards the Orthodox tradition, I found that traditionalism continued to haunt me. I took up the Divine Office and liturgical daily prayer with all the zeal of a monastic novice, only to find that I had forgotten how to truly talk with God and listen. I studied the meaning and majesty of the Divine Liturgy, only to find that in trying to understand and observe every facet of its meaning, the Liturgy began to look more and more like a carefully constructed platform to keep God at arm’s length, rather than an intentional space and state where mind and senses glorify the Lord. I tried to conform and tame my speculations about who God was to the strictest letter of Orthodox teaching and law, only to find that I failed to do justice to the wondrous depths of God’s love and holiness, and to the image of Christ in myself and others. These are all good things, good traditions. But I was too concerned with the outward forms of them and not with their inner content, which points to God.
I have slowly begun to realize that all of these mistaken efforts towards deep religion have been at least partly about control. I sought to be able to put God in a box, so that if only I said and did and believed the right things in the right combinations and rituals, I would be in charge of my life and God would be my source of personal stability and security. Safe. Unchallenged. Uncomplicated. I had forgotten the One who has held me together even as They have shaken the very foundations of who I am. I had forgotten the Mystery, the wonder, the essential wildness of God.
During my years of wandering in and out of the Christian faith, I was often frustrated by what felt like God’s absence in my life. And yet, while I have no desire to live through that same wilderness again, I think I was in touch with something I have since lost: that God is everywhere, and that the life in faith is an adventure, not an exercise in control.
That’s not to say I reject the importance of being in community with others, in the context of a tradition. The citation eludes me at the moment, but I’m reminded of a conversation between a layperson and one of the Church Fathers. The layperson asks the Father, “If God is everywhere, why do we need to attend church?” and the Father responds with, “Water can be found everywhere, but if you want a drink of water, you go to a well.” It’s one thing to try and stay open to the motion of the Holy Spirit in all places, it’s another to reject fellowship and community (even if the relationship between the believer and the divine is ultimately a unique and personal one). Going to church, drawing from the beliefs, prayers and practices of a tradition, these are all good things. But without the openness of the individual to the voice of God speaking through our lives and the lives of others, they are ultimately fruitless.
I am slowly learning to appreciate the wildness of God. To be reminded over and over again that my joys and pains, my time alone and my time in community, my prayer and my silence are all manifestations of God’s movement in the world. To draw from the well of tradition, but to remember that God Himself is the water. To be open to new directions in worship, in service, in my relationships with others. To be open to correction from wise mentors and spiritual friends. All in all, just to be open. Because God is the Lover, and we are the eternal recipients of His love. We are the dancers, but God is the Lord of the Dance.
I sense I’ve rambled on a bit, so I think this is a good stopping place. I’ll close with the words of another seeker, St. Symeon the New Theologian, in his invocation to the Holy Spirit:
Come, true light.
Come, life eternal.
Come, hidden mystery.
Come, treasure without name.
Come, reality beyond all words.
Come, person beyond all understanding.
Come, rejoicing without end.
Come, light that knows no evening.
Come, unfailing expectation of the saved.
Come, raising of the fallen.
Come, resurrection of the dead.
Come, all-powerful, for unceasingly you create, refashion and change all things by your will alone.
Come, invisible whom none may touch and handle.
Come, for you continue always unmoved, yet at every instant you are wholly in movement; you draw near to us who lie in hell, yet you remain higher than the heavens.
Come, for your name fills our hearts with longing and is ever on our lips; yet who you are and what your nature is, we cannot say or know.
Come, Alone to the alone.
Come, for you are yourself the desire that is within me.
Come, my breath and my life.
Come, the consolation of my humble soul.
Come, my joy, my glory, my endless delight.
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