dying in order to live. weee!

I’m not sure why I made that last entry a "Favourites Only" entry.

It is so fitting, though, to come back here at this point in my wanderings, and find that *that* was the last thing I was writing about.  Wow.

Too many stories to tell, but the main one is this:

Last Sunday, I became a catechumen of the Orthodox Church (i.e., I’m in the "novice" stage of being an Orthodox Christian, and after a time of teaching and "training" I’ll become Orthodox proper).  It’s hard to explain how things grew to that point.  It was definitely growth.  Mine is not the whirlwind life-upheaving leap story.  It took six years coming, and it all started with the Friar buying a book in Victoria (I think) that he ordinarily wouldn’t have looked at, but for some reason thought might be interesting.  When he was done with it, he lent it to me, since I am similarly interested in church history, and although the book was more of a critique of Orthodoxy, what stuck with me was all the stuff I found appealing.  It was a funny coincidence when my brother (P1) subsequently met, courted and married an Orthodox girl (Asterope), and that’s how I ended up actually attending an Orthodox church for a while.  But sporadically.  In the meantime, my intellect reeled and rebelled.

Someone at my church who occasionally bullied me about my non-Orthodox status asked me once what was holding me back.  I told him, "I’m dealing with the questions one at a time."  Later on, when he heard that I had asked my priest if I could become a catechumen, he said, "So, did your questions get answered?"  I smiled with dawning realization and said, "Actually, no!"

What changed?  I became okay with mystery.  There’s something humbling about that.

My first "catechumen talk" with my priest happened at Starbucks the other day.  Fr. M. gave me what basically amounted to three warnings.  (This is all paraphrased of coruse.)

First of all, he said, "Mr. God is a tricky fellow, and he will condescend to meet us wherever we’re at, … but then He won’t let us stay there.  That is, don’t be too disappointed if the thing that is drawing you to Orthodoxy turns out not to be the most important thing about it.  For instance.  Someone might be attracted to the rich, aesthetically-pleasing liturgy, and once they’re comfortably embedded in it, Mr. God will do something like … throw a tone-deaf priest into the mix.  Then they would have to learn that it was never the mere beauty of the liturgy that was the important thing … "

This all struck me as Spirituality 101.  Been there, done that, passed the exam.  Nodded my head somewhat impatiently.

Secondly, he said, "If you’re expecting Orthodoxy to make everything simple because it involves things like rules, you’re in for some disappointment.  It’s not all black and white.  Sure, we have things like fasting days and rules about what to do when and whatnot.  But you will inevitably notice that sometimes, rules get broken, as situations call for it.  And Orthodox people don’t have to agree all the time.  There isn’t one infallible person who gets the last word; only God is infallible and only He knows what we mean with these tricky languages we use.  Look at St. John Chrysostom and St. Cyril [I believe] of Alexandria [I hope I’m remembering that right ..].  Two holy men who bitterly disagreed over how to describe the dual nature of Christ.  They misunderstood each other.  Some of us would say they were both right.  See?  Not black and white."

Again, I nodded somewhat impatiently.  This was one of the things I liked about Orthodoxy already.

Finally, he said, "Someone who is ready to be a catechumen is someone who is willing to humble themselves and learn."

That’s where I went, Uh-oh.  That’s the hard bit for me.  I’ve been basically living aloof in my own spiritual superiority (if I’m honest) for a long, long time.

——-

So in my last entry, I was anticipating the Friar coming to a party and meeting my friends.  What actually happened was – the party got cancelled, but the Friar came over anyway, because that was our only chance to hang out while he was in town.  But then Unnamed Orthodox Guy called and asked if we’d like to go to Vespers.  So we went.

The Friar had been, up until that night, dead set against my becoming Orthodox.  On the ride to church, I joked, "But you know, this is all your fault, since it was that book you lent me that got me thinking about it in the first place … "

And … well, I’ll just type up what I wrote in my paper journal when it happened.  I can’t put it any better than I did then.

—–

This will sound completely backwards, but the Friar’s presence hallowed that church for me.  It was the completion of a circle.  And the end and beginning of different times in my life.  It was the Friar who first got me to read "Why Angels Fall."  And our friendship, tortured as it has been, has been perhaps the most spiritually real one of my life.  Bread with him is more than bread.  And there We were in the church, worshipping solemnly side by side and quite separately; suddenly together laughing (eyes shining into eyes with sheer joy) when Fr. M. stopped in the middle of something to ask the blank-faced choir if they knew the chant and could help him out; oh all the God feeling was still there, as if He had planned this all from the moment He created Time.  If only I could move past the pain and into the glory of that.
So Vespers was fantastic.  Fr. M. told us afterwards about a film he saw (Mister Vigen?!) in which an old man gives his castle (for real) to Orthodox nuns to start a nunnery there.  It has been his dream for 30 years but nothing goes as he had planned it, and he suffers through this.  At the end, a nun says that it was this suffering and death of his dream that saved his soul.  This made me remember Abraham and Isaac.  I looked over at the Friar, listening to Fr. M. with that clear, intent gaze of his, and I thought, Even the good, best dreams in us have to be put to death.  And oh, it was such a good dream.
A bittersweet night.  The Friar slept on the floor of my room.  We both (without consulting each other) took out our Books of Common Prayer and did our devotions.  There was sleepy talk.  We spoke of Montana [the dog] and how we missed her.  And then, the lying awake and listening with utter love to each of his breaths.
The morning was strange.  I made coffee and scrambled eggs while he showered.  We spoke haltingly.  When he had to leave, I (still in pajamas) saw him off at the door.  I could feel us sharing the ache.  And I knew: In whatever way, he truly cares for me.  And that should be more than enough.
Unnamed Orthodox Guy picked me up for church.  And during the service, I cried.
Today, work started again.  Goodbye, dream.  Time to humbly, patiently work.

Mercifully enough, I was *thoroughly* busy right through January and February; it was all good, challenging work that demanded my best efforts, and I loved it.

So many other stories.

They’ll have to wait.