So, to start the week out right, Jenny and I went out for breakfast on Monday morning. She is a teacher as well, as she has her MA in Communication Disorders and does speech therapy with lower-income children in North Dallas. We met at her apt. and then hung out at Corner Bakery for some Lenten cranberry oatmeal and coffee:)
It was here that we had one of the best theological discussion I’ve had in a while. Just as a background note, Jenny is not yet Orthodox. Her entire family including her two sisters, brothers, parents, and extended family all became Orthodox around 5 years ago. She, however, was not yet ready and has been attending St. Seraphim on an off again. She only recently became serious about joining the church and committed herself to being a catechumen a few months ago.
This makes for an odd and interesting mix of conversation between us. Jenny knows a lot more about the ways and practices of Orthodoxy, while still knowing what it is like to be an outsider, not having grown up in the Orthodox Church her whole life. However, I love that we are not able to merely relate, but also that we are able to enlighten and deepen each other’s observations about the practical side to the spiritual life of the church.
Now, this is a powerful and emotional subject for me, because I have always found that theological discussions rely heavily on the type of knowledge read in books. Instead of being shown how to do something, I am told how. Instead of learning by watching an 80 year old archbishop bow down as best as he is able and humbly ask forgiveness of a 3 year old boy, I am told how through some devotional book. Instead of reading the words of saints and martyrs who achieved the way of holiness, I am being asked to trust the words of someone who got their PhD, but whose personal life is somehow exempt from the utmost scrutiny. If I want to learn to play basketball, shouldn’t I learn from Michael Jordan and not from someone who may be a fantastic and inspirational writer but has only studied the game? Shouldn’t we only read books on Christianity by those who are exhibiting actual fruit? Why then should be we believe anything that they might have to say? Granted, this can be a misleading frustration at times, because often those who live the holiest of lives also happen to be those who do not have the capacity or desire to teach others through the written word. Oh, but how I wish that I received words of wisdom born from deep conviction and personal practice and not from intellectual headiness!
Jenny did just such thing on this particular occasion. She is a self-admitted “non-reader”, yet I believe that she knows more about the Orthodox Church than someone who has spend hours reading countless books about it. She doesn’t just want to know about it, she wants to experience it. It’s the same as really wanting to get to know someone over reading their autobiography- she observes, interacts and spends time with the church before saying she really knows it. She might not able to explain the terms, but she knows and is convicted by the meaning behind them. Instead of wanting an education for her own personal benefit, for instance, she is learning more only in order to better serve the kids she works with.
This is, I believe, what made her advice and insight to me on Monday all the more meaningful. It started with me talking about what I’ve encountered since I went to confession last Saturday. As I mentioned on this blog previously, after confessing I experienced one of the lightest, happiest evenings of my life. It reminded me of the times when I suddenly and inexplicably felt complete and total happiness. They weren’t because of circumstances, as though someone had just said something nice or like I had just received a present or was at a cool place like Disneyland. I would just be sitting in the car, and all of a sudden, an incredible feeling of peace and joy would wash over me. For just those few moments, I knew that everything would be okay, no matter way happened.
Whenever I had these moments, I would halfway wonder if they were a fluke, and so I would try to conjure up something that I was particularly dreading at the moment in an effort to see if I could burst my own bubble. It was almost as though I didn’t trust it, and wanted to put it to the test up against some of the worst things I could think of. Nothing could break it however, it would just slowly melt away like cotton candy. There for no reason, and gone the next. Whenever I think of heaven, I know that this is part of the way I’ll feel- completely at peace with my own soul and the world around, as though someone just turned off really loud music.
These moments have grown fewer and farther between the older I’ve grown, and I’ve always felt that this was my fault for some reason. It like my head has become a room that too many people are trying to cram into, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t find room to even breathe, much less feel peace.
Since finding the Orthodox Church, however, I have begun to experience them again. I know that this may sound presumptuous and/or proud, and all I can say is, it isn’t. I didn’t find the church- God led me to it, and so if I sound proud, it can’t possibly be about me. All I know is my own experience, and this is it. I have found these moments again, and I don’t know how to explain it or even describe it once it’s happening- they just are. I’ll be standing in church, and for the first time, weep myself through the entire service. This isn’t something I readily like to admit, one, because I have NEVER been a weeper, never used to cry in movies, hated crying in front of my own friends and sometimes even my family. The other reason I hate to admit it is because, in my mind, I sometimes erroneously equate those who cry with some of the more radically charismatic church goers I used to observe at summer camp and Awana. I’d see them crying and think, “What kind of show are THEY putting on?” or “at least MY faith isn’t only based on a quick fix of euphoria!”
Regardless, I cry often now throughout the service, sometimes because it’s so beautiful my soul is overwhelmed and doesn’t know how else to respond, but also because I feel completely and utterly at peace. When the Orthodox Church claims that Divine Liturgy is participation in heavenly worship, I, for one, believe them. These moments make me long for heaven, make me long for the day when they won’t just be moments, but all of eternity.
What does this have to do with my conversation with Jenny? Well, as I stated, I experienced one of these moments on Saturday after confession, only, it was one of those moments that stretches and becomes an evening and a morning. I felt this way all the way through Divine Liturgy on Sunday and even the potluck that followed.
And then, we got home. And I crashed. Crashed in a big way. Nothing could make me feel better. For some reason, I was in one of the ickiest and worst moods of my life. Not only was I unable to say anything nice, but I was even more incapable of THINKING it!
At the end of the night, I realized what made it so much worse. It wasn’t that all of a sudden I was suddenly in such disrepair or fragmentation. As I melted into a puddle of tears with Jesse, I realized that I had simply returned to my normal everyday functioning state, only to find that it was 100x worse knowing what I had lost and the peace I was missing out on daily. Hell is much worse once you have experienced heaven.
I related all of this to Jenny the following day at Corner Bakery. And she said one of the most helpful pieces of advice I’ve ever been given. It stunned me to the point where I was unable to respond for at least a moment.
“Kelly,” she said. “I think sometimes that it isn’t our fault that we no longer feel peaceful. Just as God knows that we sometimes learn to rely on earthly things instead of Him, we can also fall prey to relying on HEAVENLY things instead of Him. Just because it is from Him doesn’t mean that it can’t become twisted in our own hands.”
I’d never thought of it this way. I always assumed that God would only take away physical blessings, never spiritual ones. It seems logical that God would take away a good job or comfortable finances if they were pulling you away from Him, but I’ve never thought that God might take PEACE away!
Then she continued. “Not only that, but sometimes we don’t just rely too heavily on heavenly gifts, we also mistake them for God. It’s another form of idolatry- inadvertently and unintentionally mistaking one of God’s gifts for him.”
How often is this true? How often have I attended churches where people felt emotion during the worship and said, “I could feel the Spirit moving.” How often do we mistake our personal perceptions for God? How often does the line become blurred between the things God does and who He truly is?
It makes sense for this reason how strongly people cling to the talents and charisma of their worship team and/or pastor. Back when I was a Protestant, these were the two driving factors behind why everyone chose the church that they did. A less common reason was for the fellowship. Now, there is nothing wrong with any of these things being beneficial to one’s spiritual growth. Sometimes I wonder, however, how many of these “good” things become idolatrous when we mistake the truth coming the preacher’s mouth, the emotionally moving worship music and the love felt by family and friends for Jesus himself. Of COURSE people are going to put tons of stock into getting that euphoric feeling from worship if they are unintentionally mistaking it for God.
When I asked Jesse why he liked going to church the other day, he said, “I like it because I like seeing Jesus.” If this is really what we want out of church, then we can’t be afraid to relinquish all control over what we want and should have. Only God knows when we are mistaking the gifts He gives us here on Earth for His actual person. Perhaps we should take away the good sermons, the talented worship team and the comfort of knowing everyone around us and see what we have left! Often, the absence of something helps us to see what we’ve been missing right in front of our faces all along. Perhaps absence doesn’t just make the heart grow fonder, but opens the eyes for the first time.
I will leave you with a quote from Archimandrite Sophrony. I am still digesting it, so I’m not quite sure how to sum it up. In some ways, I think it also just speaks for itself.
“So that we may become acquainted with His gifts, God, after being with us, leaves us for a while. This abandonment by God makes a strange impression. In my youth I was a painter. This natural talent was part of me. I might weary, lacking the strength to work, or the inspiration, but I would always know that the painting was my nature. But when God departs, He leaves a sort of blank space in the core of my being, and I do not know whether He will ever come again. He is other- different from me. He has withdrawn and I am left empty; and I feel my emptiness like a death. His coming had brought something splendid and dear to my heart that exceeded my most audacious imagining. And lo, I find myself once more in my old state which used to seem normal and satisfactory but which now appalls me. I had been introduced into the house of a great King- I was His kindred- but now again I am no more than a homeless beggar.
These alternating states teach us the difference between our natural gifts and those that we receive from on High. Through prayer of repentance I was vouchsafed the first visitation; through prayer, but this time more fervent prayer, I hope to bring Him back. And indeed, He comes. Often as a rule even, He changed the manner of His coming. Thus I am constantly being enriched by knowledge on the plane of the Spirit: now in suffering, now through joy, but I grow. My ability to remain for longer period in the previously unknown sphere increases.”
If God needs to take away the peace he gave me through the sacrament of confession in order to see Him for who He really is and not for His gifts, then so be it. If I need to sacrifice a glimpse of Heaven in order to better achieve it someday, Glory be to God.
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