What I've been Trying to Say

There's a Protestant pastor in Idaho. He's on his way to becoming Orthodox, and he's been blogging. His name is Shawn.

He wrote a post that captures so many of my own thoughts and experiences in ways that I simply have not been able to adequately express. Do yourself a favor and go read it.

Um

I think I'm teetering. It feels like the depression is trying to come back. That sucks. At least now I potentially have tools to fight it off. I guess we'll see how well they work.

In related news, I'll see Counselor on Thursday for the first time in three weeks.

Father Patrick said on Sunday that when one becomes Orthodox, all hell breaks loose. No kidding. He told me that it is common for the newly illumined to go through a period of testing after their baptism. He reminded me that even Jesus went into the wilderness after his baptism. The last month of my life has made my friend "Moses" declare me the poster child for post-illumination. I'm not the only poster child in my parish, though, so I know it's not just me.

Knowing where things are coming from is helpful, but I am so ready for this forty days (literal or not) to be over.

What a Novel Idea!

About halfway through liturgy today I realized a few things.

1. It's Mother's Day.
2. There was not going to be a Mother's Day sermon. (The homily was on the reading from Acts.)
   
3. I'll never have to sit through another well-intentioned but just plain wrong Mother's Day sermon ever again. (No more plastic "jewels!")
   

And when I found myself thinking this, I told myself, Well, duh. Yes, had I considered it, I would not have been surprised. However, Mother's Day sermons aren't exactly high on my list of topics for contemplation!

New(ish) Friends

A quick note.

This last weekend, I found out that several of the people at church who arrived early this year and are exploring Orthodox Christianity are also blogging their experiences and thoughts. Their background was Vineyard. They left the standard format evangelical world to give the emerging church a try. Now they're spending a year considering Orthodoxy. (That's what they say, but I think they'll decide to stay with us!)

If you are even a little bit curious, by all means, go see what Jason, Debbie, and Mark are saying. Barbara is blogging as well, and if she knows she's got readers, perhaps she'll post more often! ;)

My First Pascha

Having gotten through the vesperal liturgy on Saturday morning, which began before nine and ended just shy of noon, I had lunch with E, then went to my parents' house to do homework, at which point I promptly fell asleep.

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10:30 pm. It's crowded but quiet in the dimly lit church. We're at the end of a grueling week, which followed a long forty days. Whatever prayers, hymns and readings are being done seem hushed.

Suddenly, the room is plunged in darkness. I can't see the person standing next to me, much less anything or anyone else. It does not last long, though, for Father Patrick comes out from the sanctuary into the nave with a candle. That one candle provides enough light that we can see what's happening. Jackson and Barry light their candles off of Father's, and the light spreads from person to person, eventually illuminating the whole room. The choir, the altar boys, Father Patrick, Deacon John, and the rest of us (mostly) walk outside, down the stairs, and around to the back of the parking lot. The choir is leading us in a song, as usual, alternating English, Greek, and Arabic.

Priest, deacon, subdeacon and altar boys are back upstairs on the back balcony. The rest of us are standing below them in the parking lot. The little girls require much supervision on account of long hair, candles, and no concept of where their bodies (and candles and hair) are in relation to each other. Someone reads the gospel. Father Patrick bangs on the door and quotes the psalm... Handel's Messiah is running through my brain. Lift up your heads O ye gates, and be lifted up, ye everlasting doors, and the King of Glory shall come in. A voice from inside shouts Who is this King of Glory? They go through this three times. Everything is in threes. Finally, the door opens.

Christ is risen!
Truly He is risen!

Χριστός Ανέστη! (Christos Anesti!)
Αληθώς Ανέστη! (Aleithos Anesti!) -- Greek

!المسيح قام (al-Masīḥ qām!)
!حقا قام (Ḥaqqan qām!) -- Arabic

Хрїстóсъ воскрéсе! / Христос Воскресе! (Khristos Voskrese!)
Воистину Воскресе! (Voistinu Voskrese!) -- Church Slavonic/Russian

And the song changes from something dirge-like to the joyous Christ is risen from the dead trampling down death by death and to those in the tombs bestowing life!

We all file back upstairs and into the nave to find the room transformed. Where all was dark now is light. White flowers and other decorations abound. The bier is gone (or stuck back in the corner). And the crowd that had been quiet and solemn is now full of life.

The "orchestrated chaos" continues until the wee hours of the morning, for there is liturgy, because it is now Sunday. By all rights, we should all be sleeping, but who cares if it's 2 AM? Christ is risen!

And not only that...

The fast is over! After liturgy, there was food. Eggs, meat, cheese, wine. And time to spend with all these wonderful people who have become my family in the last seven months.

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I got home a little after 3 Sunday morning. We reconvened at 2 pm for another service, another procession, and then an afternoon together at the park.

I've finally found home.

A Week Later

For those of you with Facebook, baptism pics are here. Those of you without Facebook may be able to view them as well, or you can get access if you want it by emailing me.

My music history professor in college once said, "During the Christmas season, you can't swing a dead cat and not hit a Messiah performance." That's pretty much how constant church services were during Holy Week. There were morning and evening services until Thursday. (Then it got even busier!) Thursday evening was the first one I managed to get to. I'm so glad I did.

Because of the packed schedule, or because of tradition, or both, everything got shifted several hours earlier. We were all terminally time warped, because Thursday night was acting like some time Friday.

The atmosphere was hushed and solemn. The readings cycled through the Gospels, telling the story of the last hours leading up to the crucifixion. Each part of the story was read as told by each of the Gospels (though I couldn't tell if they were using all four, and I know Mark is much shorter on details than the others). With each reading, the tension grew. It began to seem as though we were there. There was the High Priest. Judas threw back the silver and hanged himself. Pilate's wife had a dream. Matthew. Mark. Luke. John. Each contributed their voice; each added to the mosaic of the experience. The crowds shouted, "Crucify him!" over and over and over again, because as soon as that section was read in one gospel, there were more prayers, then the next gospel told its part of the story.

Finally, Father Patrick emerged through one of the doors in the iconostasis. He was literally stumbling beneath the unwieldy weight of the cross which usually stands in the front corner of the nave, but which he was carrying, the crossbeam supported on his shoulder. The height of the door combined with his height plus that of the cross made it impossible for him to go through the door without great effort. His back and knees were bent at frightful angles. The effect of that alone was intense.

Hymns were being sung quietly, though I don't have a clear memory of what happened when. Once the cross was in the nave and laid out on the floor, though, from somewhere appeared the figure of Jesus, which Father proceeded to place on the cross.

The deacon handed him a nail. The nail was put in place. The mallet drove the nail into the wood. Three times they did this, each strike of the mallet more jarring than the one before.

I wish I could capture in words the profound difference between this and any other attempt I've seen of telling the story. It's been a few years since I've watched The Passion of the Christ on Good Friday, but even that leaves a screen between the viewer and the action. There's still an escape in the remote control. Not one incarnation of Stations of the Cross has been so painfully real. I've often commented at Easter that I felt as though I was missing something, that some depth of meaning was eluding me. I finally found it there, quite literally, at the foot of the cross, for that was where I was kneeling.

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Great and Holy Friday began with my phone playing "Der Erlkönig." It was my mom, wondering when they should arrive at the baptism and what to wear. That they were coming was good news, indeed.

The three services for Friday are all run together in my memory. At some point, it may have even been Thursday night, Jesus was taken down from the cross and placed with great ceremony on the bier that had taken front and center. The icon, of woven cloth rather than painted wood, of Christ's burial was placed there as well. There was yet another procession, this one with the woven burial icon, which we all walked under as we re-entered the nave.

The Friday night vigil began after vespers, which was the afternoon service. People took turns reading the Psalter. In theory, the whole thing was read. They stopped for Saturday matins (which was held Friday evening), then carried on again through the night. A couple brave adults and most of the older kids spent Friday night this way.

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I arrived at church at 8:15 Saturday morning. Father Patrick had gone over the basic idea with me, so I knew what I needed to do. At that point, what I needed to do was wait, and not go into the nave. Eventually I was steered to stand with Pam just inside the doors. My godmother and I stood there, facing Father Patrick and the deacon.

They started with prayers to get rid of any demons. I had been told this was coming and thought it sounded a bit freaky, but it really wasn't. Then Pam and I faced west- everything else is east- to renounce the devil. There was a part where we were supposed to spit on Satan. That was a little weird. Then we recited the creed, and finally I could go inside.

The service was a vesperal liturgy, meaning it was liturgy, starting with vespers, and therefore really long. Thus the time warp was still in place, for we were doing Saturday night at not quite 9 am.

There were fifteen readings prophesying the resurrection. I am not sure I heard any of them, because the elements of the service that directly involved me were happening at the same time. While Father Patrick and Deacon John went through the prayers and such to prepare the water for baptism, the altar boys struggled to stay awake, for they had participated in the vigil.

There was a great deal of incense, which means much jingling of bells as well. Father Patrick poured oil on the water in the form of a cross. Three crosses, in fact. Then he put oil on my forehead, eyelids, ears, hands, and feet. I suddenly realized I was really going to need a shower later. By that point, I was all a-jitter. It may have been nerves or excitement, or perhaps a bit of both.

Finally the big moment arrived, and I was ushered over to the water. I stepped in to find that the water was warm. I dropped to my knees, then Father Patrick, with his hand on the back of my head, pretty much pushed me under. Face first. I came up gasping for air only to go back under again, and then a third time. I am a bit neurotic about being under water, so there was just a hint of panic in there, but eventually I felt sufficiently oxygenated, and I calmed down.

Shortly after I changed into dry clothes, the six of us were chrismated. More oil! Again, this time with a stylus, the sign of the cross was placed on my forehead, eyelids, each side of my nose, earlobes, the front and back of the base of my neck, back and palm of each hand, and top of each foot. With each cross Father Patrick said something about being sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit. I don't remember the exact words, though I heard them plenty. With each declaration from Father, the rest of the congregation repeated, "Seal!" The other five went through the same process, each of us with our sponsors/godparents standing close at hand. That corner of the room was a wee bit crowded, but it was convenient. When the last of us was sealed, he pulled all twelve into a huddle to tell us that we were now Orthodox Christians, full members of the community that we've each come to call home. (And there was much rejoicing!)

The liturgy was drawing to a close. Deacon John intoned, "With fear of God and faith and love draw near." At long last, the moment I'd been waiting for for months-- Holy Communion, and I could finally participate! In fact, the protocol is that I go first, not just Saturday, but every liturgy for forty days.

Two more things happened during the service. Father Patrick took a sponge full of water and, having thrown copious amounts of water at his six new Orthodox Christians, proceeded to sponge off all those oily crosses. Then, near the end, I was tonsured. This involved scissors, four small clumps of hair, and a candle. Father Patrick cut a bit of hair from front, back, and each side of my head, then burned it. It smelled, and I have no idea what it means.

To be continued...

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Now playing: Casting Crowns - Who Am I (Live)
via FoxyTunes

Христос Воскресе!

Christ is Risen!

Спаси Сохрани

That's the inscription on the back of the cross that is now and henceforth shall be hanging around my neck. My Godmother inadvertently chose a Slavonic cross for me. O most blessed and glorious "accident!" The first word carries the meaning of "save" or something closely related. (Salvation, Savior, etc) I have no clue what the second word is, and sadly, my trusty Slavonic... dictionary... is preparing to sing in his church 3300+ miles away. I have not got anything close to a grasp on Slavonic grammar, but I would imagine the identical endings point to a noun/adjective pairing. I imagine I'll have a translation relatively soon.

*ahem*

I got baptized this morning! There is video and photographic documentation thereof, but no time at present to sift through it. Some time soon, I'll tell you about it. For now, I'll just say that I'm now listed as "Christian- Antiochian Orthodox" on Facebook, and seven of the people I invited were on hand for the occasion. (Thank you again for coming!)

Back to the homework. The big Pascha service starts at 10:30 tonight. I imagine I'll spend much of tomorrow sleeping, for this one is much like the Nativity marathon, from which I returned home around 3 in the morning.

The Sun'll Come Out

Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I'm getting baptized tomorrow!

I had specifically invited a few people. Big Brother can't come, but it sounds like the others are. This surprises me, somewhat.

I got a card in the mail yesterday. From Ohio. At least I am fairly sure it was from Ohio. The return address only said "tg," but since she lives in Ohio, I'm going with that.

Off work today. Got church three times today. It's Great and Holy Friday, after all. Round two of church is soon. Meanwhile, laundry is going. Homework will happen (I hope) between rounds two and three. Ah, plate spinning.

Church in half an hour. This weekend, that is top priority.

Palm Sunday Snapshots and Musings

If you happened to be driving just east of downtown today in my town, you would have probably noticed a procession of teenage boys and old men wearing yellow dresses and carrying assorted religious-looking paraphernalia, including candles, a cross-on-a-stick, a censer, and something that would have been difficult to identify to the onlooker, but which was, in fact, a book. Behind the six men in yellow dresses, you would have seen a trail of about sixty people of assorted shape, size, and color, all carrying a branch or frond of some sort.

All of this was because today is Palm Sunday. Dr. Recruiter was at the back of the procession with his son. I'm not sure which was more fun to watch. Calvin (as in & Hobbes) was jumping around and playing, since his dad had told him that would be acceptable during the procession. Dr. Recruiter had a distinctly amused expression while he looked for all the world like he was trying to herd cats. Meanwhile, one of the kids with whom I share a birthday decided I needed a palm hat.

Liturgy today was my last as a catechumen. I will be baptized on Saturday! I'm so excited! I'm not sure what I'm most excited about, really. I mean, I dreamed of meat a couple nights ago, and next Sunday we will be returning to a carnivorous state. Then there's Holy Week itself, which I'm told is really something. I've even managed to trim back my schedule a tad at the end of the week, so I'll be able to attend the most important parts.

I'm getting baptized on Saturday! I'll be able to change my Facebook profile! Silly, I know, but I'm so ready to not be "reorganizing." When I became a catechumen, I'm told I became Orthodox, but it was on a somewhat limited basis. There are things in which catechumens cannot participate. Beginning Saturday, that changes. When the Deacon says, "With fear of God and faith and love, draw near," I'll finally be able to go receive Holy Communion. I've been waiting for this for a long time. Knowing that Saturday is coming made today exciting.

It was also a bit odd. At least one person at church said something about getting me baptized, getting The Boy here, and getting us married. Someone else was joking about that situation and commented that I'm "languishing" here, waiting for him. I had to laugh at that one. A third person asked Father how many kids I should have! Father looked at him and responded, "But she's not married!" Whew! Thank you, Father Patrick, for that response!

I need a nap. And I need to study. But first I am desperate for fresh air. And maybe some fruit.

In Which I Post Seemingly Random and Unconnected Comments While Stealing Esteban's Post Title Protocol

...which is itself remarkably similar to that of A.A. Milne's chapter headings in the Winnie the Pooh series.

Speaking of adorable and precocious characters, I received a link to this a few minutes ago from Dr. Recruiter. His kids themselves are adorable and precocious. His son, in fact, could be Calvin. (The cartoon. Not so much the theologian just yet.)

John Calvin and Thomas Hobbes

Speaking of Dr. Recruiter... having memorized the 16 intelligence agencies for last week's quiz, I now have to memorize for this week the 19 Directors of Central Intelligence and the years they served. I hope he doesn't count spelling. Some of those names are a bit nuts.

Another point on this track is my baptism. Dr. Recruiter, his family, another guy, and I will all be formally received into the Orthodox Church in a little less than two weeks! We have one more Sunday liturgy in which we must be spectators and not participants in Holy Communion. This is exciting! Saturday, April 26 at 9 AM, California time. (Hint hint, Paddy, E, Nathan, and Gtargirl)

This also means that there are only two more weeks of the fast! Today, my mom made soy-beef enchiladas with fake cheese for me. They weren't half bad.

Last, but not least, poor Vladimir the Laptop is relapsing. Again. His recurring condition of power connector failure is now on round three, and this time with no warranty to cover repairs. When the connector finally gives out completely, it's pretty much over for him. But wait! There is a solution that will breathe new life into a sad little laptop with heart failure! I have been shopping around for the last week, and I have found a docking station that will make a lovely pacemaker for Vladimir. Here's to several more years of partnership between him and me! (At least long enough for me to save money for a new laptop.)

Moving Right Along

I have to say I feel a bit accomplished today. Things are happening, and they're mostly happening well!

A couple weeks ago, the confession thing was starting to weigh on me. I knew I was skating on the edge of avoidance, and I really did not want to go there. I had a chat with Father Patrick about it, and he suggested I take care of it that week.

That week, however, was last week, and last week spiraled out of control before it even started. I didn't accomplish much of anything last week, except some leg work for grad school. Last week was the best motivation ever for such things.

By this Monday I knew that if I let it go any longer, it would become avoidance. I know how hard that is to break out of, and I had no intention of getting stuck there! So, in rather faltering manner, Spider finally went to confession. I had no idea what I was doing. First time, you know? There was a good dose of first time jitters, but it wasn't too bad. I was told afterward, however, that I looked like I'd just been to the dentist. Not a bad comparison, really.

Too bad I couldn't get my teeth cleaned in the process. I'm way overdue.

I still only have transcripts from College of the Cornfields. The three SoCal schools are dragging their feet on this, but one should not expect promptness or efficiency from anything run by this state. This does not mean, however, that I am delayed in beginning grad school.

I went to my first class last night! International Relations: Political Intelligence is the class, and the professor is the one who has been helping me through the process. I'm no dummy. Other than that Chinese class, I haven't been a student for six years. I was never great at being a student, so it seemed a good plan to go with a prof I know for my first foray back into the wild world of academia.

And wild it will be! Dr. Recruiter is an exceptionally quirky geek, which I already knew. This seems to translate fabulously well into the classroom. I shall not be bored. However, I might be buried. The workload is a bit daunting. Doable, but definitely intimidating! Dr. Recruiter told us last night that there's a synonym for "Quarter System," and that synonym is "Abomination." This is a ten week class, and by the end, I will have had to write a 25-40 page paper on a topic to be determined by next Tuesday.

Yikes.

But when I look at it, I see a worthy challenge. I see a battle I can potentially win, but it's a win I will have to fight for. This, of course, will only make the eventual victory sweeter.

Halfway, Nearly There, and Way Out of Reach

When Lent is over, I'm getting a pizza steak.

Classes start Tuesday. I still have an essay to write and there are transcripts yet to arrive. I'm a bit nervous about this. This could, however, be partly because of the general feeling of down-ness I'm currently experiencing.

Everything's coming together so well. Why am I down? Probably because Thursday and Friday were up days, and what goes up... Yeah.

The confession thing still hasn't happened, and it needs to. It will this week. I'm far too good at going through motions and far too not good at the things that really matter. For this reason, the food related aspects of Lent have been no problem, but the follow-through on the other things has been lacking. I have a long way to go.

There's also that little detail of 3300+ miles. It's still 3300+ miles. It will continue to be 3300+ miles for the foreseeable future.

Lent Begins

First things first. A number of people have asked me about the fast, what it's all about, what is the rule, etc. The fabulous and amazing Esteban has graciously posted a collection of useful information on the subject. He has also provided some good resources for lectionary and other spiritual reading, as well as a brief explanation of how March 10 - April 27 can possibly amount to forty days, all rather helpful for this newbie.

In addition to all this helpful material, Esteban also gives an introduction to the wonder that is Forgiveness Vespers.

Great Lent is officially inaugurated with the celebration of Forgiveness Vespers on the evening of Sunday, at the end of which all present ask forgiveness from one another as Paschal hymns are sung. The day that follows, and by extension the entire Fast, is "clean" not only because we have rid our homes of meat and other animal products that are not eaten during the Fast, but also (and indeed chiefly) because we have set out on the journey to Lord's Pascha having sought forgiveness of those closest to us, who are therefore also those we offend the most (and with the least remorse!).

This was an amazing experience. It's not just that "all present ask forgiveness from one another;" it's how this is done.

It began with the priest. A line formed in front of him, beginning with the deacon. The priest made a prostration while asking forgiveness of the deacon, then the deacon did the same in response. The deacon then stood next to the priest as the sub-deacon (I kid you not, there is someone with that title) stepped forward. When the priest and sub-deacon had mutually asked and given forgiveness, the sub-deacon proceeded to the deacon, and the process was repeated. Therefore, everyone in the church, from age 7 to 70ish ended up standing in a double line around the perimeter of the room making prostrations, asking, and granting forgiveness.

When I first joined the line, I thought the whole thing looked a little bizarre, and I guess it probably did. But imagine being a participant. This is an exercise that leaves little room for pride. It was seriously intense. There were tears and hugs and such at various moments around the room. As you might imagine, part of the intensity was physical. (My leg muscles are still feeling it.)

Bizarre? Maybe. Intense? Oh yeah. Worth it? Absolutely. There is so much happening, I'm sure I haven't thought of all the layers of meaning that this tradition covers. What I do know is that this is yet another reason I am so very glad to be part of the Orthodox Church.

A (Somewhat Delayed) Follow-Up

By the end of the work day Thursday I was having a little bit of a breakdown. But breakdowns come and breakdowns go. They go faster when there's someone to walk through them with you, and I had that. (Best friends and counselors are excellent, and I'm lucky enough to have both, and they rock!)

When I checked my email Friday morning, there were a couple messages regarding yesterday's post. Both had some interesting thoughts, so I thought I'd address those.

As soon as I read that you feel like you might be drowning, I thought...hmmm...maybe that is the point. (From tnqr's comment)

You know, I really tried to work that in when I was writing the post, but I couldn't quite. It may be the point, and it is most certainly a good thing. Part of this is the realization that I can see myself changing. This adventure is turning out to be very good for me, indeed!

Who is your patron saint? (From the email)

My saint is a martyr, and she has a really cool name. She's googlable. :)

Also, what is the cultural background of your congregation? Russian, Greek, Eastern... (From the email)

It's Antiochian, so technically, we're Arabic. Except that this particular parish used to be Foursquare. Don't ask me how a Foursquare church becomes Orthodox, because I have no idea. I do know that a significant number of the people there now have been there from the Foursquare days. So while we're technically Arabic, the services are primarily in English.

I say primarily because there is the occasional appearance of some other languages. When things are in threes, they tend to happen in English, Greek and Arabic. Father Patrick has also been known to use Spanish. I've heard Romanian and Slavonic once or twice as well. I've been told there is a service during Lent where we do the readings in every language we can manage. (I know! I keep ending up at oddball churches. I love it!)

Meanwhile, there are a handful of us being received into the Church on Holy Saturday. I am just one of what has turned into a parade of new people. One family arrived about a year before I did. Two others have walked in since I got there, and the second of them is becoming a catechumen tonight at Forgiveness Vespers. Then, about a month ago, another family showed up. They plan to take a year to think about this, since there are four kids, and they're all old enough to participate in the decision. It's been fun to watch. Everyone has been so good about welcoming us all. I know part of this is because it's easy to see who's new in a small church. However, I've never seen a group of people so completely not cliquish. Plenty of these people have been together forever, and it would be easy for them to shut us out, but they really haven't. In fact, they've all quite definitely adopted us.

Today we sent off one of our cantors. She's moving out of state for reasons unknown to me. This leaves us with one actual cantor. There are a couple people who have stepped up in a pinch from time to time, but with Vanessa leaving, that leaves Lisa with the whole job. That is too big a job for one person to do alone. Especially during Lent! There are going to be services all over the place for the next eight weeks. Well, I won't be ready in the next eight weeks, but I told Lisa today that if she would teach me, I'd be willing to learn.

GACK! Ok, I can sing, but I am terrified of singing in front of people! What is wrong with me? Guess this is something else to work on with Counselor. Practice will help, too.

The adventure continues!

40 Days (And Then Some)

I find myself standing with my feet firmly planted in two separate worlds. While most of my friends and family are preparing in one way or another for Easter later this month, the Orthodox Church doesn't even start Lent until March 10. My mom will expect me to come over for Easter. That will be an odd experience, even if I take into account that it is my family. Easter for them will be a month and change before Easter for me. For once, I am fairly grateful that holidays in my family are in reality not much more than their fully secularized forms. This should not produce in me a time warp whiplash.

I have to be honest here. The last few weeks have been fairly intense. I'm now meeting with Father Patrick once a week so that I can learn some more of the things I need to learn. I told him that if he assumes I know nothing, he wouldn't be far off, so we're starting from the beginning. Some of these ideas are fascinating. It's so good to know there are actual explanations for religious type issues I've had over the years.

I've often said that I just don't get these church seasons. I think I'm starting to understand, now. This is not on a level I can explain, but things are certainly becoming more meaningful to me. It hit me on Monday. People give things up for Lent, right? That never made sense to me. It always seemed rather arbitrary and therefore not particularly meaningful. In my mind, it was much like New Year's resolutions. Well, let me tell you. The Orthodox Church doesn't mess around! Lent is seriously hardcore. And for whatever reason, it is not looking as daunting to me as I expected it to. What I find really interesting, though, is that something is finally making sense. I wish I could line up the right words in the right order to really explain this. (I'll keep trying!)

Lent starts on Monday. This is going to be an intense time, I can already tell. Not only because of the Orthodox approach to Lent. This is going to be intense because of what's ahead for me specifically. I've been told to prepare for confession. And I found out on Monday that I will be baptized next month.

Whoa. Time out! Confession? Yeah. Can't say I'm thrilled about that. Partly because, well, eek. Partly because I grew up Protestant. I have a lot of years of training saying this is exactly not how it should be done. Still, some part of me is fairly sure this is in fact a good plan. It's just having a good bit of difficulty convincing the rest of me! This is completely new territory. At least he gave me some questions to work with, so it's not like I have to figure this thing out on my own.

Baptism. I have been looking forward to this for months. It's a little unnerving, though. Somehow I had the impression that I'd be a catechumen for a while. I didn't really know what the timeline would be, but I wasn't expecting to be baptized at Pascha! That's, like, really soon. It's exciting.

It's also a wee bit frightening. I mean, this is huge! This is WAY bigger than the baptism when I was twelve. For one thing, just like anything else that means anything, that was viewed as being merely symbolic. In the Orthodox Church, baptism (and just about everything else "symbolic") is viewed as a mystery, something we cannot fully understand, because while we experience it with the senses, there is something else going on that is simply beyond what the five senses can apprehend, because it is happening in the spiritual, rather than the natural, realm.

Anyway, baptism. It's happening, folks. Suddenly the enormity of what I've gotten myself into is right there in front of me. Be careful what you wish for, indeed. I've always wished for something deeper. I've known for the last six months that this is what I've been looking for so long, but now that I'm here, I feel like I might drown in it. This makes me laugh, in a way, because the picture I immediately got as I typed that was of Anne Shirley scooping the mouse out of the plum pudding sauce and declaring that it was a romantic way to die, for a mouse.

So, for the three of you who plan to show up, it'll be Saturday, April 26. I'll post more information as it becomes available.

Nothing to Wine About

I went to a crowded party last night. Voluntarily. I stayed all the way through until the end. I had fun. I never felt out of place. I never felt like the room was closing in. I never felt like I had to get out.

This is the first time in my life that I've been able to use all those statements together. I've been known to bail on any and every social gathering. Even if I know everyone, I've always been likely to leave as early as possible or hide in a quiet corner when leaving isn't an option. Last night, though, I made no attempt to escape, because I never felt like I needed to. I am amazed, and the Voice of Counselor in my head is pretty impressed, too. *grin*

The event was a wine tasting/auction fund raiser for church. (This former Baptist is thinking We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto!) As with the wedding reception of a few months ago, I knew almost everyone there, at least a little. Completely unlike the wedding reception, unlike even my own grandfather's funeral, I was not painfully out of place. I didn't have to run away. I didn't have to find one safe person to stick to like fly paper the whole time.

I know I'm not the center of the universe, and it really isn't about me, even though it's sounding like it right now. I'm just saying. This is a really big deal.

Now to tell you about the event itself, because it was fun, and it was successful, and maybe some of my friends could swipe the idea for their own churches. We, as I've mentioned before, are looking to relocate, so this was specifically designated for the building fund.

One of the church families hosted the event at their house. A few others provided food for the event. Some of it was fairly basic- cheese, crackers, sliced beef log, fruit, etc. Some of it was brought in by one of our fantabulous cooks. (We have several of them!) There were a few gift baskets that were assembled and donated by others, and these were the raffle prizes. The church's overhead for this event was approaching zero.

Each person paid five dollars to attend. Raffle tickets were sold both in advance and during the party. Judging by how many people were there and how many raffle tickets were sold, I would guess those two alone brought in a couple hundred or more.

We were asked to bring with us two identical bottles of wine. Both bottles were wrapped in paper bags and numbered. One was opened for tasting, and the other was saved for the auction. We were each given a piece of paper and a pen with which we could keep track of which wines we liked. We had no idea beyond red or white what any of the wines were until they had been auctioned and unwrapped. We did not even know which wine was our contribution.

There was a good long time of general milling around, talking, eating, wine tasting, note taking, and a bit of listening to Edith Piaf(!) as background music (at which time I parked myself in front of the speaker). After a couple hours of this, the auction began. Twenty-five wines had been set out for tasting. Twenty-five wines were auctioned, and I don't think a single bottle went for less than $35. Someone had also donated a bottle of tequila, which sold for $100. A few people came in late, and their wines never made it to the tasting, so those bottles were auctioned as matched sets.

There were several bidding wars, some of them hilarious. Wine #20 was a sweet white. It was really good, and there were at least three people that I knew of who were preparing to battle for that wine. It promised to be a fun moment, and the three did not disappoint! In fact, that bottle saw mother and daughter bidding against each other. Of course, when the mother won, hilarity ensued. We all wanted to know what it was, so she unwrapped it, and it was the wine she had brought! With all the labels hidden, it makes sense that this might happen, and happen it did. Several times.

At one point, someone asked me to help them manufacture a bidding war to drive up the price on a certain bottle. He told me what he wanted to pay, and I just had to keep outbidding him until we got to the magic number. That was quite funny, since I had been content to sit on the floor and watch until that point. Suddenly I was bidding serious cash on a bottle of red wine that almost no one else was interested in.

Even without bidding wars, the auction was rather entertaining. The auctioneer's wife would bid, and he in turn would beg people to outbid her. Except when it came to the tequila. He was quite happy to keep her as the highest bidder for that! At other moments, two members of the same family were bidding against each other. The aha moment that followed was one of several tonight that should have been sent to America's Funniest Home Videos. A few times, Father or Khouriya (the Arabic title for the priest's wife) would bid on a bottle while the other got the entire room laughing with their comments.

The last bottle to be auctioned was one of the many that I never quite got to, since I only tasted about six. That bottle launched the bidding war of the night. All the other wines had bid increases of five dollars. The auctioneer was calling five dollar increases, but the bids were in tens. Sometimes more. That bottle ended up selling for the most at $200. How completely cool. The thirty bucks I spent to bring two bottles of syrah turned into $200! (For those who are wondering how well we did, the auction brought in $1740 for a total of twenty-nine bottles of wine and one of tequila.)

After it was all over and most people had cleared out, I ended up in conversation with my two Slavonic study buddies. (Is it bad to use such terms to describe one's priest?) I guess the previous three hours hadn't been quite fun enough. ;)

Weekend Contemplation

Two years ago, I was about to tumble head-first into the darkest, most frightening year of my life. Before that year was out, people were comparing me to Job. I might have nearly earned this by virtue of my circumstances, but I'm not certain I could claim the right to be compared to one so steadfast. I, after all, was asked to sign a contract promising not to harm myself.

One year ago, I was nearing the tunnel's end. While last year had its hard moments, it was ultimately a year of redemption. Without exception, that which was lost in 2006 was restored, even improved upon, in 2007. The occasional panic attack serves as a reminder of where I've been and how far I've come.

I barely recognize the person I see when I think back to the beginning of 2006. That broken shell of a human being disappeared somewhere in the darkness, and while the ensuing two years changed me tremendously, I still have a long way to go. The good news is 2006 did a fairly complete job of demolition, so everything new can lay its own foundation rather than having to rework old structures. I was contemplating this on Saturday when I recognized one piece of the old me that hasn't managed to change much.

I grew up in the Christian bubble. My elementary school was Church of Christ and junior high was Assemblies of God. My high school was loosely affiliated with Brethren in Christ. My dad was an elder and worship leader and my mom was the Sunday school superintendent at the Baptist church we went to until I was ten. I was about as close to being a pastor's kid as a person could be without actually being one. I was completely surrounded and completely inundated. On top of all that, for as far back as I can remember, I was always the kid who wanted to belong to God, first and foremost. To this day, my clashes with my mom generally boil down to a difference in value systems. I think her expectations are too grounded in American culture, and she wishes mine were more so. With all this in mind, you might think I'd have things pretty well figured out by now. You might not even be surprised to see me glowing like Moses did after he'd spent time with God.

Yeah, right.

What all that training did for me was stuff my head full of knowledge. Some of it was good. Most of it fell to dust and blew away in the various storms that came my way in the last six years or so. The one thing I've always wanted is the one thing I've never been able to achieve- to take that head knowledge and translate it into something deeper, more substantial, more real. I think I am probably doing some of that in counseling, and that's a decent start. But it's not enough, and I won't learn there all the things I know I need to learn.

Now I'm a catechumen in the Orthodox Church, and what am I learning thus far? Mostly head knowledge. Now, to a point, this is fine. I mean, plenty of what I used to know is gone, so something really needs to take its place. I'm pleased to say, though it may scandalize my protestant friends, the new head knowledge (though dreadfully incomplete in its current state) makes a heck of a lot more sense than the other stuff did. These ideas don't seem to have holes in them, nor do they cave in on themselves under scrutiny. I'm glad. I'm not sure I could survive another worldview collapse! Still, I know there's much more to this, and I am anxious to learn.

Waiting

It's such a relief to know that Mordor is in the past, that I no longer have to hide in the dark corners of Gorgoroth. The struggle to the Cracks of Doom is over. I will never forget that time, but the memory has faded into shadow. The horror has passed, and I have seen the splendor of Ithilien in springtime.

Rivendell is a lovely place. It's safe. It's pleasant. But it is not home. No matter where this hobbit roams, the road will always lead back to the Shire.

After the journey I've been on, though, I know that home will look very different from the image I hold in my memory. In fact, I already know I'll never see that place again. I am too much changed. No one can face such darkness and treachery and be unchanged.

Still, the waiting, while necessary at times, is a bit tedious. My Facebook profile announces my religious views as "Currently reorganizing my worldview." I was thinking about that yesterday, and I realized I've been reorganizing for three years or so. At least now I have a direction, which I could never seem to find before. Still, I'm not much one for waiting.

I am waiting for The Boy to tie up loose ends so he can move. I am waiting for the day when I can legitimately call myself an Orthodox Christian. (That's my loose end.) I know both of these will create as many challenges as they resolve, but I've already faced death and demons. Life can give me no worse. Not that I imagine myself to be immune. Rather, I finally know who I am, and I know that whatever I may face, I will not face it alone.

Becoming a Catechumen

Me, Father Patrick, and my "sponsor," aka Godmother.



On the far right edge of this one, you can catch a glimpse of my two small group friends from the other church.

Many thanks to Nora the Exuberant for taking and emailing the pictures!

Regarding Baptism (and Re-baptism)

leylatov said...

why do you have to be baptized again?

Sam Gamgee said...

I'll eventually be baptized again for one important reason. I can't find any actual proof that the first one happened. 1990 was a long time ago, but I suspect the paper disappeared as recently as the hasty move out of the condo.

Paddy O. said...

Would you have to be baptized again if you did have proof? I'm curious.

I used to have a paper that said I was baptized on whatever day in November, 1990, by pastor L.W. of a church that closed two years later. If I could locate that paper, or if I could locate the video that might still exist somewhere among the 27,183,654 videos my parents have stashed throughout their property, then no, I would not have to be baptized again, technically speaking.

The creed says "I acknowledge one baptism..." and they take that seriously. If I could somehow verify that I was indeed baptized in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, then the question would go to the bishop. More than likely, when the time came, I would then be chrismated instead. (It might also have helped matters that, as a Baptist, it was definitely by immersion.)

It's a strange thing. I have never liked the idea of re-baptism. (I have been willing to make one exception, but my situation doesn't fit the necessary scenario.) I have never liked the idea that a person could not fully participate in certain church-type communities without being baptized into that community. (This probably comes from growing up surrounded by hard-line Church of Christ people.) So what's the deal? Why am I doing this if I'm so definitely opposed to such things?

The answer is actually quite simple. Anyone who is an Orthodox Christian, having been so sealed by baptism or chrismation, can participate in Holy Communion. The Orthodox Church is the only church I've seen that manages to be exclusive (preserving the holiness of Communion, rather than cheapening it by giving it away wholesale) without being exclusionary. Infants are baptized, thereby explicitly allowing even very young children to participate. Those of us who have not been baptized or chrismated cannot, not because the Church wants to keep people out, but because it has such a high view of Holy Communion that it must be this way. And even then, at least in my experience, being on the outside in this way has not been a means of being left out in an oppressive or arrogant manner. In fact, rather than being an obnoxious barricade, this process has actually created a sense of anticipation.

Orthodox Adventures: The Next Generation

I became a catechumen last night.

My two small group friends came to vespers with me to witness the (very brief) (non) event. I had prepared them for a regular vespers service, so of course, it wasn't a regular vespers. It was a Tomorrow is a Major Feast service. It was halfway through the twelve readings before I figured out what was going on, so that was fun. It was basically the end of vespers before Father Patrick motioned to me and my newly assigned Godmother that it was time.

Last week, Father Patrick told me I needed a sponsor, or Godmother, and I needed to decide who and let him know before Saturday. I think I must have looked like a deer in the headlights. I sputtered and stammered a bit. Or I could choose for you? Whew! Yes! I was much relieved at that and insisted that he should do so. Of course, I proceeded to be jittery and a bit anxious about it for a few days, until I emailed him on Friday. As soon as I read his response, though, I knew he had made exactly the right choice.

A while back, I was talking with E about the eventuality of this step. E is a funny one. She mangles words.

Cat-a-human? Does this mean you won't be allergic to cats? But what about when you get baptized? Cats don't like water. Will you become a dog-a-human?

Of course, she was joking. She knows she mangles words, and she has this tendency to run with it when she does. I was laughing so hard I fell off the couch. I also laughed pretty hard last night when she attempted to talk about Father Patrick and called him Patrick Stewart. (What, my priest is a shakespearean trained starship captain?)

It's been a while since I've been much of anything. I left the Baptist church in October. It's like I've been in limbo since then. I'm not Orthodox yet, but I'm not really anything else anymore, either. And I really don't know when I stopped being Baptist. It was before October.

I don't know how to express this. I was never homeless in the process. I had already received a warm welcome at the new church before I said goodbye to the old. But at a certain level, I'm going to be an outsider until the day I'm baptized. I have no idea when exactly that will happen. The sooner the better, but I'm not interested in rushing it. This is worth doing right, so if it takes time, so be it.

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas, everyone!

I got home at 3 this morning. Church lasted until almost 2, and then there was food. There's always food. And my brother was there, so everyone wanted to meet him. It was fun. He was there to see what kind of crazy stuff I'm getting myself into. We did not disappoint, but it wasn't too weird. I am giving him Father Patrick's email address, though, for he has the same questions I had after my first visit.

Dad's flying back to Chicago this afternoon, so Mom announced that breakfast would be at 8. Consequently, I got about three hours of sleep. *yawn* There shall be napping later, I think.

Mom's World Vision donation this year was a couple alpacas for some poor families. Now sc0tlas and I each have a little llama. My immediate thought was Mark's blog mascot, but goodness, no. I don't need a Julio the Wonder Llama. My name ideas thus far? Dali, Salvador, Levi, Potato, or Duck. Stacey is suggesting an LOTR name. My brother just announced that he's naming his Como Se Llama.



I have a new chant cd, too. This one, thank goodness, is not monks singing Celine Dion's greatest hits. It's just as quirky, though. *grin*

And this one is in honor of everyone from rlp land. The actual shirt is... teal.

I would also like to mention that my brother got an intro to Orthodox Christianity book for our parents. :)

A New Song, So to Speak

Two weeks ago, I stood in vespers fighting off a small panic attack. Before going to church, I had been sitting in Chick-fil-A taking advantage of the free wireless and visiting a friend who works there. For two days I had been fighting with an email, trying to make it say what I wanted it to say. Sitting there munching on waffle fries, I finally prevailed. It was a letter to people from the church I left explaining why I'm gone and what I'm doing, as well as thanking them for being who they are. I sent the email. Thirty minutes later I was at St. Peter's, shaking, teary, decidedly short of breath, and convinced that I would be disowned.

I haven't been disowned yet... that I know of, so I suppose I may have been wrong about that. I hope I was wrong about that. What I have heard in response has mostly been varying degrees of support. Some good-for-yous and some you-know-where-to-find-mes. One person thought I was crazy and gave it six months. One person decided we should meet over coffee and talk about it.

I was sitting in coffee hour on Sunday when Father Patrick waved me over for a chat. So when are we going to make you a catechumen? Um, I don't know. When? A couple conversations later, we're set for Christmas or just after.

It was so good to talk with Wade on Monday. For one thing, Wade's just a cool guy. He's been on staff for several years, in charge of both greeting and the coffee cart. I've worked with him in one capacity or other for most of the time he's been there. He and his wife are packing up their kids and moving to Hong Kong in two weeks. I'll miss them.

Monday wasn't just a time to say goodbye. Just the fact that he was interested in having the conversation quieted some of my issues with leaving. I'm not sure exactly how to say it. I guess it was freeing, in a sense. I really don't need to worry, because I know how to contact the people who are most important to me, and they know how to find me.

Things are going well.

Something Old, Something New

Old: Orthodox Christianity

New: Me attending an Orthodox church

I've been going to vespers on Saturday nights for several weeks, and I've been to liturgy on Sunday mornings twice now. I've also been attending a class on Tuesdays, for which I'm reading this book. (It's a good read, so far.)

I was a little down this last Saturday. Last week was just hard, and I was feeling it. I knew I wouldn't be going back to the Baptist church the next day, or possibly any Sunday for that matter, and that was painful. So was my out-of-joint hip. It was a bit of a struggle to not start crying. Looking ahead to Sunday, tears seemed almost inevitable.

There was supposed to be a meeting of the young adults group after vespers. I was going to go. I figured I could at least give it a chance. So I hung out for a bit after vespers in order to find out where to go. Except that when the priest's wife sat next to me, she told me that it was canceled.

I can't say I was terribly disappointed. I was even less so when she immediately followed that announcement with an invitation to join her and Father Patrick for dinner. Hey, that works for me. With the smaller crowd and people who aren't total strangers, it sounded much more my speed.

Well, we got to talking. He asked about college and what my degree was. Guess what. Forget it, you won't guess. They're both linguists. Now, I pretty much already knew he was. I mean, he is constantly making comments that only a linguist would make.

It was quite an enjoyable evening. There was reading of German poetry. There was quoting of Winston Churchill and Mark Twain. By the time I left, I wasn't down anymore. I wasn't thinking about any of the hard stuff. It only got better, too. The day ended with an unexpected phone call from The Boy. It made me smile.

Processing

I was processing last night as I drove home from small group. I was thinking about when I asked Counselor, "What's left?" I mean, really. But then I thought about what a long time coming the Orthodox thing has been. I have no idea where this is going to take me, but somehow I know it's what I've been looking for for a very long time. And there's so much else. I'm sane (relatively), I actually like myself (what is that???), I'm finally not completely stuck in absolutely every area of my life, and there's The Boy. And I realized something. I realized that I have everything I ever really wanted. I still think it sucks that I had to lose everything I had before. Especially the church. But that change is already turning out better than I anticipated on so many levels, even though oh my gosh it hurts. Then I surprised myself with another thought. All of this, if it gets me to where I need to be, then it's all worth it. If depression and panic attacks and all the losses last year and even having to leave the church is what it takes to make me who I'm supposed to be, then ok. It sucks, but I can't think of anything more important than... well, she said I'm obeying God, and I guess that's probably true. And that is priority one. Plus, it beats getting whacked with a celestial 2x4. ;)

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Now playing: Jason Robert Brown - Stars and the Moon
via FoxyTunes

Goodbye's Such a Hard Thing to Say

I went to the Baptist church this weekend. The last time I was there was three weeks ago, and it was a difficult day for me. I went to first service, and about a half hour in, I was hit by an overwhelming sense that I was at the wrong church, but it was by then too late to leave and go to liturgy. A few of my friends stopped me that Sunday because I was clearly not ok. The next week I ended up at liturgy instead. Last week, of course, I went to no church at all.

Today I figured I'd try again, hoping that I could possibly alternate or otherwise not complete the switch until New Year's.

Not so much.

We weren't through the first song today when it hit me again. I managed to hold it together while Big Brother Pastor spoke, but as soon as he was finished... Wouldn't you know it, I ended up sitting on the floor in the back. Nothing new there. But I was crying. With actual tears. I had to get kleenex! This is not normal for me. And it wouldn't stop, either. Oh, it would for a few minutes, but then I had to tell my friend. I told four people, and each time, I started crying again. The last was the hardest- Big Brother.

So today was my last Sunday at the church that's been home since I was fourteen. Part of me wishes this part wasn't so hard. Just typing it is bringing the tears back again. But another part of me is glad for the pain. It means that I actually do value the people I won't see so often. It means maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to hold up my end of those relationships.

I'll be out of sight, though, and we all know what that means. I can name a few people who won't forget me. At least three of the four I told are on that list. But I should just expect to drop off some people's radar. That's just the way it works. But after fourteen and a half years, that'll be hard, no matter how it comes.

And The Answer Is...

I don't remember making the decision. I had my alarm set so I could be ready for first service at the Baptist church or Liturgy at the Orthodox, and I completely ignored the alarm. I was having great difficulty waking up.

By the time I was up, it was decidedly too late to get to the 9 am service, but not so late as to be late for 9:15, and far too early for 11. Thus it was decided, perhaps by default.

Several people were a bit surprised to see me at Liturgy.

Is it Saturday? No... I wasn't expecting to see you on Sunday for a couple months!

Yeah, I wasn't expecting to be here for a couple months.

Or,

How did you end up here this morning?

I have no idea.

So, yeah. And it wasn't the somewhat jarring experience it was two