On Journey and Destination
The 2003 Russia team decided that rather than break the thirteen hour flight from LA to Moscow into two pieces with a layover, we wanted to try the direct flight. We mentally girded ourselves for a thirteen hour non-stop flight across eleven time zones and all the fun physical and psychological adventures that would entail. One never reaches a destination unmarked by the journey.
Two weeks before departure, we found out that the lovely, trustworthy, and incredibly reliable airline had neglected to actually book our tickets. Two weeks before departure, we were unsure whether there would be a departure, but through a bit of fancy footwork, we managed to secure alternate arrangements. One never reaches a destination unmarked by the journey.
We did not have our non-stop flight. In fact, the flight home was a two day tour of five airports in four countries. We left Moscow for Frankfurt, spent the night there, continued to Heathrow, then Dulles, then LA. The layovers in London and Washington were three hours each. By the time we boarded the plane to leave England, not one of us had a filter remaining between brain and mouth. By the time we took off from DC, we were emotionally fried. One never reaches a destination unmarked by the journey.
My journey to Orthodoxy was no different. Bumps in the road left dents and scratches. Various forks in the road, in retrospect, pointed me in this direction. Series of dramas forced me to evaluate things. Three specific friends directly influenced my thinking toward the Orthodox Church. I did not come to Orthodoxy as a blank slate. One never reaches a destination unmarked by the journey.
Except it turns out there were more than just the three. This morning, we had a visitor in matins. It was Big Brother Pastor, from the church I used to go to. It had been way too long since he and I had had a chance to hang out, so he came to visit. We- everyone present- were talking after the service, and some of the thoughts coming from my brother were somewhat surprising to me. Had he not made his comments as one in the Protestant milieu, he could easily have been mistaken for Orthodox. I have known this man in a pastoral context for over sixteen years. It was surprising to hear him expressing so many things that I had discovered as I first encountered Orthodoxy. But was it really that surprising? Not so much.
I have talked before about disconnects between belief and teaching. I'd like to come at that again, though from a different angle. I suspect that some of the training I received growing up was many of the right thoughts packaged in the wrong words. This is not necessarily the fault of any of my teachers; the cause of this mispackaging lies deep in history.
Neither is it merely a question of semantics. Words have power, and the words we use to speak of God things shape our beliefs regarding those God things. Yes, we use words to give expression to what we believe, but the reverse is equally, if not more, true. So truth, expressed in the wrong words, can be missed or misunderstood or confused in the hearing.
I suspect that there are people outside of Orthodoxy who have a very Orthodox understanding of things, but they are unable to rightly give that understanding expression. It would be like trying to speak Latin with a Spanish vocabulary. The languages are related, indeed one came out of the other, but languages change over time. Words that look the same may sound wildly different or carry very different meanings. Juan down the street is going to have trouble expressing what he reads in Virgil unless he first learns to understand Virgil's language and context.
So there I was, hearing an Orthodox understanding on certain things being spoken by my friend, the Protestant pastor. But, as I said, I knew him as my pastor for a very long time. I am fairly sure I had never heard him give voice to many of those thoughts, but I am absolutely certain that they have long been present in the subtext of who he his. And in fourteen and a half years, I could not help but pick up on these ways of thinking.
It may be that, with him as my pastor, it was nearly inevitable that I would become Orthodox. After all, one never reaches a destination unmarked by the journey.
Two weeks before departure, we found out that the lovely, trustworthy, and incredibly reliable airline had neglected to actually book our tickets. Two weeks before departure, we were unsure whether there would be a departure, but through a bit of fancy footwork, we managed to secure alternate arrangements. One never reaches a destination unmarked by the journey.
We did not have our non-stop flight. In fact, the flight home was a two day tour of five airports in four countries. We left Moscow for Frankfurt, spent the night there, continued to Heathrow, then Dulles, then LA. The layovers in London and Washington were three hours each. By the time we boarded the plane to leave England, not one of us had a filter remaining between brain and mouth. By the time we took off from DC, we were emotionally fried. One never reaches a destination unmarked by the journey.
My journey to Orthodoxy was no different. Bumps in the road left dents and scratches. Various forks in the road, in retrospect, pointed me in this direction. Series of dramas forced me to evaluate things. Three specific friends directly influenced my thinking toward the Orthodox Church. I did not come to Orthodoxy as a blank slate. One never reaches a destination unmarked by the journey.
Except it turns out there were more than just the three. This morning, we had a visitor in matins. It was Big Brother Pastor, from the church I used to go to. It had been way too long since he and I had had a chance to hang out, so he came to visit. We- everyone present- were talking after the service, and some of the thoughts coming from my brother were somewhat surprising to me. Had he not made his comments as one in the Protestant milieu, he could easily have been mistaken for Orthodox. I have known this man in a pastoral context for over sixteen years. It was surprising to hear him expressing so many things that I had discovered as I first encountered Orthodoxy. But was it really that surprising? Not so much.
I have talked before about disconnects between belief and teaching. I'd like to come at that again, though from a different angle. I suspect that some of the training I received growing up was many of the right thoughts packaged in the wrong words. This is not necessarily the fault of any of my teachers; the cause of this mispackaging lies deep in history.
Neither is it merely a question of semantics. Words have power, and the words we use to speak of God things shape our beliefs regarding those God things. Yes, we use words to give expression to what we believe, but the reverse is equally, if not more, true. So truth, expressed in the wrong words, can be missed or misunderstood or confused in the hearing.
I suspect that there are people outside of Orthodoxy who have a very Orthodox understanding of things, but they are unable to rightly give that understanding expression. It would be like trying to speak Latin with a Spanish vocabulary. The languages are related, indeed one came out of the other, but languages change over time. Words that look the same may sound wildly different or carry very different meanings. Juan down the street is going to have trouble expressing what he reads in Virgil unless he first learns to understand Virgil's language and context.
So there I was, hearing an Orthodox understanding on certain things being spoken by my friend, the Protestant pastor. But, as I said, I knew him as my pastor for a very long time. I am fairly sure I had never heard him give voice to many of those thoughts, but I am absolutely certain that they have long been present in the subtext of who he his. And in fourteen and a half years, I could not help but pick up on these ways of thinking.
It may be that, with him as my pastor, it was nearly inevitable that I would become Orthodox. After all, one never reaches a destination unmarked by the journey.
posted by Sam Gamgee at
10:58 AM
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