A Journey of Faith
"Make me to know your ways, O Lord;
teach me your paths. Lead me in your truth, and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation..."
— Psalm 25:4-5
Next to the expectation of reaching desired destinations, perhaps the greatest hope of any honest spiritual endeavor is the progress authentically accomplished by the undertaking of the journey itself. Additionally, such sojourns of faith, often replete with unexpected twists and turns, have a knack for facilitating the evolution of one's expectations along the way.
Those who engage in discussions with me on the subject of such adventures of faith soon become aware of the fact that I was formerly Eastern Orthodox and am now a practicing Episcopalian. As these experiences of faith have formed such a large part of my identity, I make no demur about the perspectives I hold as a former Antiochian Orthodox seminarian and Subdeacon, and a proud Anglo-Catholic. These ecclesiastical oases of spiritual nourishment, among other characteristics and identifying factors, are so deeply engrained in who I am that I would find it less than authentic not to disclose the presence of their influence in my approach to matters of faith and spirituality. Living and growing within the contexts of these expressions of the Christian Faith also necessarily includes my personal experiences of the phenomenon of conversion and the stages of social displacement and contextual migration which accompany it; this being substantial to my story, I endeavor to carry out my baptismal vocation in solidarity with those who undergo occasions of religious, philosophical, and social migrancy and the life changes that they incur. Such individual and contextual transplantations entail no small amount of psychological adjustment, which can at times prove quite challenging. However, the consequent opportunities for personal spiritual development are often well worth the undertaking. Religious conversion comes with its difficulties, but I assure you, these are exceedingly outweighed by the rewards; I pray that my message may always be one of reassurance and hope. Likewise, I would encourage everyone, should they feel so inclined, to not only set out along the mystical path of spiritual and religious exploration privately, but with some source of interpersonal dialogue and collective support as well. Humanity thrives in community.
Each person's spiritual journey expresses its own elements of understanding and events of transformation, and although mine is not the most uncommon of narratives—a relatively fair number of Christians have lived parts of their lives within the traditions of both Anglicanism and Eastern Orthodoxy, and formal ecumenical dialogue exists between the two—the intersectional spiritual characteristics of my religious background often bring unique theological perspectives to the table. I would like to share a bit of the overarching story of my Christian walk (more conclusively summarized in “The Way to Emmaus: A Spiritual Autobiography”) as well as some of the particulars of the two major denominational shifts I’ve experienced in adulthood: my conversion from American Evangelicalism to the One, Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church, and my jurisdictional migration within the Church from the Eastern Orthodox tradition to the Anglican Communion.
Like many, the timeline of my religious life has been an eventful one and has crafted me into who I am today, for which I am ceaselessly thankful. Friends and acquaintances have inquired, “How—or ‘why’—did you go from being Charismatic/Evangelical to Orthodox, and then Anglican?" In the following article, I will attempt to articulate the experiences and convictions that have brought me to where I am today.
Having come from a background of various traditions of Christianity, I have at times found myself somewhat envious of those who have had their faith continually enriched within the same tradition or denomination throughout their lives. On the other hand, I glorify God in humble gratitude for the fact that my relatively unique experience of theological and spiritual formation comes most substantially from two different branches of global, apostolic, catholic Christianity, neither of which were introduced to me in my youth. My goal in sharing my story with you—one of a trek deeper into the Faith which has continued to meet me where I am, with experiences of conversion along the way—is that such testimonials may offer you the opportunity to explore and evaluate your own walk of faith, and discern what its particular flow means in your life, and perhaps even the lives of those around you.
Generally speaking, it would be entirely reasonable to assume that the majority of people have likely never found the need to consider the particularities, nor been presented with the nuanced and detailed comparisons and contrasts between the traditions of the Eastern Orthodox Churches and the Anglican Communion. Understandably, many may be unaware of the various distinctions within Christianity at large, and would remain unfazed by a person's association with one church or another, perhaps even operating under the assumption that Christianity is one singularly uniform religion, which could not be further from the reality. On the other hand, many who have picked up even a surface-level understanding of the aforementioned expressions of the Faith (American Evanglicalism, Eastern Orthodoxy, and Anglicanism) and their respective cultural and historical contexts might not imagine that such a diverse assortment shares very much in common. In many respects, this assumption is undeniably true; however, I have found there to be a magnificent depth of overlap, despite certain prominent differences, between the Anglican Communion and the Eastern Orthodox Church in particular (for the purposes of this article, The Episcopal Church and the Antiochian Orthodox Church; or, symbolically, "Canterbury" and "Constantinople," respectively). I would argue that these two traditions share more in common at the heart of their identity as expressions of catholic Christianity than one might expect.
To summarize my religious biography, my heart’s desire and soul’s thirst have always yearned for that sacramental union with God which I believe is experienced in the celebration of Holy Communion. To quote a beloved spiritual father from my past, my goal was and is always to “Follow the chalice," meaning, of course, to be led by Jesus Christ, who is present in the Eucharistic celebration of the Assembly of the Faithful.
The nature of this article is meant to be more experiential than analytical, as its intended purpose is not to elaborate extensively on the theological, historical, and cultural details of the traditions which have shaped me, but rather to share the testimony of a journey of faith which I pray will resonate with you.
A Damascene Conversion: From Evangelicalism to Eastern Orthodox Christianity
The following is an edited excerpt from an essay originally entitled "The Road to Damascus: My Conversion Experience," which I wrote following the experience of my conversion to Orthodox Christianity from the American sect which I often designate as "Televangelical Charismania." I hope that this abridged snapshot of the initial response of my soul to the experiences which cultivated the seeds of this broader journey may serve to provide a more contemporaneous glimpse into my heart and mind upon entry into the orthodox catholic Faith.
From its historical and theological legacy to its universal sacramental fellowship, the liturgical and apostolic veins of the Church throughout the world are not without their reasonable attractions, many of which began to draw me in from a young age. Although it has differed to various extents in its representation throughout the times and cultures of the last two millennia, the Church has left its traces throughout time from its foundation to the present.
These traces in our Christian narrative have been a source of deepest fascination and interest to me for a number of years and even enticed me to study Theology and Church History at the university level in hopes of initiating my formal preparation for eventual clerical ministry (God willing). My fascination with the nature of the Christian tradition gave me cause to search beyond the often shallow experiences of modernity and started me on a path that would forever change the expressions of my spiritual practice.
In sampling a variety of religious experiences, I coupled my natural inclinations with what I had always sought to be rooted in balanced reason and sound rationale. I set out to equip my journey with at least a basic biblical and historical framework and the integrity of an honest intellect. The duration of my childhood and adolescent formation was mostly spent in contemporary American Evangelicalism, with exposure to worship in settings ranging from autonomous charismatic communities to Roman Catholic churches, each of which seemed to have made sense in its own rite. Following a good deal of study and experience, the conclusion I reached was that my home and vocation would be found in one of the three most prominent traditions of credal, apostolic Christianity in the world: the Roman Catholic Church, the Eastern Orthodox Church, or the Anglican Communion. My assumptions had always been founded in earthly balances and measures as a means by which the human person might practically evaluate and locate their home within the Kingdom of God, though these began to dissolve and evolve when, as I like to say, Orthodoxy happened to me.
In the midst of what I thought was an honest academic assessment, having tested the waters in the context of each of the three largest expressions of the Church, I found myself as lost and confused as ever. The pattern I had followed throughout my adolescent and early adult life had finally begun to break down. I had to be deconstructed and reconstructed, by God’s grace. Previously, I sought solutions to dilemmas by coming to a decision, informing God of that decision, and expecting God to be faithful to bless and prosper its outcome. To honestly and simply assess the state in which I found my search for the Faith, the god of my life could no longer be me—instead, I would have to prostrate my soul before the King of Kings and let God be God. By the time my reason found the end of its rope, I had faced the truth that I must humble myself and let God be my everything as the only good and perfect constant, above and beyond my own notions and aspirations.
The beginning of this new journey happened in what I had previously imagined to be the least likely of places: the Eastern Orthodox Church. Despite my surprise, for the first time I began to learn what it really meant to submit in humility before Our Lord. The overwhelming grace of Jesus Christ and the outpoured presence of the Holy Spirit reached down into my lowliness and resurrected me from the grave of self. My experience was a conversion of the heart which rekindled my life in the fire of the Holy Spirit and caused me to surrender as, by Divine grace and mercy, I have continued to fall more in love with Jesus Christ ever since. However, my friends, don’t imagine that it’s all been a jaunt of sunshine and roses.
The Way of the Cross is simple, but not easy; difficult, but not complicated.
When you find what you think you’re looking for, it may be in the most unlikely of places. The beauty of the incomprehensible surpasses any rationale that the mind may conceive. To stand in awe of mystery is to stretch beyond logical limits. In my search for truth, I became entranced by the mystery that was only revealed to me after I had experienced the toils and confusion of much of the theological teachings that had shaped my past. The truest majesty is revealed in the benevolence of the inscrutable Giver of Life, who always provides shelter to the faithful when sought. Jesus resounds with eternal assurance in saying to all:
“I am the light of the world; he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.”
These very words penetrated my soul as I stood, awestricken by the presence of God, and read them on the icon of Christ the Pantocrator (Almighty) painted on the ceiling of St. Antony Antiochian Orthodox Christian Church in Tulsa, Oklahoma, a place in which my spirit found refuge for quite some time. This was the moment in which I was quite literally overcome with the anointing presence of the Holy Spirit. It’s a mystery I’ll never pretend to understand, and one I can only vaguely describe, but it felt as though warm oil was being poured down from that holy icon of Christ, running over my whole body and seeping into my soul. Understandably, this took my breath away. Suddenly, in mere moments, everything that I had learned intellectually about Christian Orthodoxy was met with an incomprehensible understanding of the heart. There is nothing quite like that sensation, which one might call an epiphany, when something bigger than yourself makes its way from your head to your heart. That night at St. Antony’s, in the midst of the service of The Great Canon of St. Andrew of Crete—which links Old Testament narratives to their ultimate fulfillment in Christ—I had come into contact with Truth. I felt the soul-quaking results of the beginnings of transformation right then and there. I began to tremble in astonishment as, in a matter of moments, my heart felt as though it had bowed before its Creator and submitted to the most blessed assurance that my refuge would be found in the heart of Jesus Christ Himself, in communion with His One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church. My soul felt swaddled in grace. The quest for answers was no longer a struggle in those profound moments; I simply felt the sure knowledge that Jesus had conquered death. The Holy Spirit had illuminated the darkness of my world and filled the void left by the impermanence of my earthly longings. Just as I became so moved by this undeniably vulnerable experience of worship, I actually felt the pull to fall down on the floor before God in reverence, a phenomenon described by the Charismatic movement as being "slain in the Spirit.” I could not believe what was happening. Just as I experienced that urge to fall on my face before Christ’s holy altar, simultaneously, every able body in that beautiful little old church moved to the aisles between the pews to make prostrations, bowing before their Lord. I was stunned; I had no idea that this would be happening, let alone that I would feel so moved to fall prostrate in reverence just as that very action had been prescribed by this ancient liturgy which was still so new to me. Together we bowed, humbly receptive of all that God had granted us: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control. Very seldom have I been so blessed by the mystical experience of God’s presence in such a way.
My journey had begun, quickly followed by my catechumenate (the stage of Christian preparation and education prior to Baptism and/or Confirmation/Chrismation), and I made my way towards communion with the Church in which I had found Christ and Christ had found me. These alterations to my soul are unprecedented in my life. Never before have I been so at peace, nor so comforted in the joys which stream from the abundance of heaven. I am confident that my heart found belonging in that encounter with the Divine, within one of the oldest Christian jurisdictions in existence, in which "we were first called Christians," the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate of Antioch and All the East—one expression of God’s Holy Church throughout the world.
Following these new stepping stones of spirituality along my religious journey through college, I went directly to a Greek Orthodox seminary to further immerse myself in the Orthodox life in the contexts of both the campus and the parish. By my second year of seminary, I was honored to have been ordained to the minor clerical order of Subdeacon and regularly assisted at the altar in the Divine Liturgy. Those seminary years spent in the Boston area remain among the most impactful and transformative seasons of my life. While I will likely never cease to believe that Eastern Orthodox dogmatic theology is virtually perfect in almost every way, particularly when it comes to the essential creedal and mystagogical heart of Christianity—after all, the Apostolic Patriarchates of the Eastern Church have for the longest time maintained their status as the originators and standard bearers of Christian doctrine and theology—I do not hold that any institutional jurisdiction of the Church on earth is without flaw. Like any religious sect or Christian denomination, the Eastern Orthodox fall short on certain matters, often "backing the wrong horse," in my opinion, on matters of traditional societal assumptions and remaining behind other communities of the Faith on a number of issues, namely those of a social and political nature (which have a deeper and more widespread impact than one might imagine), and retains many of the problematic elements which have for the duration of recorded history contributed to the inequities and injustices perpetrated by and inflicted upon the human family.
Despite its essentially perfect track record with regards to the orthodox essentials of the Faith of the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church, exclusivist and often harmful barriers do exist in the East. I would still suggest that all Christian believers look to the rich bounties of the theological tradition passed down through the ages by the Orthodox Church, and all that which is common to the sacramentally and ecclesiologically undivided early Church; at the same time, I recognize all too intimately that there is not enough room in its institutions for every kind of person to be wholly present in the fulness of their authenticity, and would encourage caution with regards to cultural and social issues, specifically on matters of gender and sexuality, when interacting with certain segments of Orthodoxy's adherents.
I'll likely never stop praying Orthodox prayers, venerating icons, or approaching matters of doctrine and theology from the perspectives that were so fruitfully instilled in me by my time spent within the canonical bounds of the Antiochian Orthodox Church, but I knew before I completed my seminary education that there was no future for me or my ministerial vocation in that institution, and began, along with the guidance and prayers of my Pastor and Spiritual Father (one of the finest priests I've ever known), to discern the steps that would be necessary for the survival of my faith and the preservation of my personal authenticity and spiritual safety moving forward.
Now, and for the last few years, my Orthodox Prayer Book sits on my prie-dieu right next to my Book of Common Prayer.
A Harmony of Perspectives: From Constantinople to Canterbury
In the interest of clarity, I would like to highlight a few main points of distinction. It may seem like mere semantics to identify my religious change from Evangelicalism to Orthodox Christianity as a conversion experience, while referring to my move from the Orthodox Church to the Episcopal Church in terms such as "migration" or "shift," but this poses an important statement regarding my experience and theology. To use a geographical analogy, my experiences of Evangelicalism and the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church make me feel as though I have lived in two very different countries with distinctive languages and cultures. In contrast, I would liken Eastern Orthodoxy and Anglicanism to two different states or territories within the same nation (though I know conservative, traditional Orthodox Christians who would disagree). Prior to emigrating away from it, I survived living in American Evangelicalism, but as soon as I was given the chance, I moved across the waters and became a citizen of the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church, in which I have thrived. As it turns out, the Anglican jurisdiction is more fitting for my own residence, but the Orthodox jurisdiction will always be my original port of entry into this ancient, diverse, and expansive country.
Therefore, I do affirm that I converted to the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church when I left American Evangelicalism for Orthodoxy; my relocation from the jurisdiction of Antioch to that of Canterbury has instead been a continuation and rearrangement of my orientation, more like the activity of setting things right that have been misplaced. Moving from Evangelicalism to Orthodox Christianity was a conversion; transitioning into the Episcopal Church was a fitting and suitable contextualization.
Throughout my youth, living as a "non-denominational" Christian without belonging to any specifically characterized lineage of the traditions of the Church never settled well with my soul; I felt as though I were "a man without a country," a sort of theological orphan in many ways, never really being guided by any set course other than the God-given desire to seek out threads of the Faith wherever I could find them (though I was, glory to God for all things, a United Methodist for a short while). This sensation of perpetual religious awkwardness came to a head when I started my undergraduate studies in Theology at a charismatic, inter-denominational university, and I became determined to find a denominational home in which to worship and serve. This process was one of a great deal of prayer, as well as trial-and-error, but as I mentioned previously, I had at least narrowed it down after some time. In retrospect, it strikes me as rather ironic that, just prior to my conversion to Orthodoxy, I had actually started inquiring into the Episcopal Church with every intent of joining the Anglican tradition or, "the Episcopal branch of the Jesus Movement," in the ever-charming words of the Most Rev'd Michael Curry (our beloved Presiding Bishop). It would seem, however, that God had other plans, which one might characterize as a detour, but I would prefer to think of as a nearly decade-long period of catechetical formation and sacramental initiation into the One, Holy Catholic, and Apostolic Church by way of the Church of Antioch prior to my formal Reception into the Episcopal Church, where I have once again found the warm embrace of home.
When I was ultimately brought into the fold of the Episcopal Church, it felt as though everything had come full circle, after an admittedly circuitous—though markedly fruitful—route "eastward." One of the many things I love about the Episcopal Church is that its "big tent" approach to the Faith means that no one has to leave the luminous gems of their former traditions behind in order to worship within its context.
I will be forever grateful to the Orthodox Church for the formation it provided me. Ironically, it was my immersion in the Orthodox life that strengthened, nurtured, and prepared me enough to ultimately depart from its official ecclesiastical boundaries. It was not until I became Orthodox that I finally began to come to terms with the authentic self that God has made me to be; it was Orthodoxy which opened my heart and mind to the potential for the personal evolution necessary to my own spiritual growth, and it was that growth which empowered me to lean on God more fully, while standing on my own two feet enough to outgrow the confines to which I had previously assumed my life would be consigned. The Episcopal Church has now taken up that torch in my life and continues to help illuminate my path onward.
"There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one Faith, one Baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all."
— Ephesians 4:4-6
Given the aforementioned circumstances of my change in ecclesiastical jurisdiction, I am quick to express my abiding admiration and gratitude for the indelible seal imprinted upon my soul by the Grace of Our Lord Jesus Christ via the pastoral, doctrinal, and apostolic ministry maintained by the Antiochian Orthodox Church; I refer, of course, not only to the spiritual and theological formation Orthodoxy afforded me in my walk with Christ, but equally to the graces imparted by the administration of the Sacred Mysteries of Chrismation (Sacrament of Confirmation), the Eucharist, and Holy Unction, as well as the blessing of ordination to the minor order of the Subdiaconate. The same abundance of such loving gratitude holds the Episcopal Church very dear to my heart as a place of refuge and spiritual refreshment. It is the pastoral grace of this loving and liberating ministry of the Body of Christ which allows me to live out my authenticity in the context of the worshipping community. As I stated in my previously posted spiritual autobiography, The Way To Emmaus (which provides a broader and more general overview of my religious life from childhood to the present day):
"I was equipped with a bounty of opportunities for spiritual growth and discernment. The development I experienced during my time at the seminary led to a heightened sensitivity for causes of social justice and an escalated emphasis on the liberation afforded to all people by the gospel of the resurrected Christ. Under the guidance of an astute spiritual father, I had come to discern by the conclusion of the season I spent in Boston that pursuing the work of Christian ministry within the confines of Eastern Orthodoxy would not be the most suitable context in which to utilize the emphases of my theological and pastoral convictions. My conscience could no longer bear to uphold the institutional structures of immutable customs which prohibit the affirmation and inclusion of all people, regardless of gender, sexual identity, ethnic background, or social perspective. Having been captivated by the balance and diversity of the Anglican tradition for a number of years, I became increasingly aware that the community with which I was most compatible was that of the Episcopal Church, a branch of the Body of Christ principally devoted to preaching the Good News of our 'loving, liberating, and life-giving God'...where I have been met with the warm embrace of open hearts and minds and the inspiring fellowship of a faithful Christian community."
The crux of the matter of my departure from the institutions of Eastern Orthodoxy can be most succinctly attributed to issues of gender and sexuality, along with the socio-economic and political concerns addressed by Liberation Theology and progressive thought, to which I have become exponentially attached over the course of my theological and ideological maturation. Not only did I come to wake up to the fact that my conscience could no longer justify any defense of issues such as an exclusively male clergy or strict gender binaries, but I was finally becoming endowed with the strength required to come out into the fullness of my God-given identity as a gay man, a reality which is fully and officially accepted and affirmed by the Episcopal Church, as a testament to the Anglican commitment to "strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being." Although the end of such a transformational season of my life was one which I had to learn how to grieve over time, and has not been without its expected struggles, coming out of the closet as a Gay Christian genuinely saved my life in no small way and has only served to further enhance and empower my orthodox catholic Faith. It is the continuation of this same Faith which is strongly maintained in my life as a practicing Anglo-Catholic Episcopalian.
The previous Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church (U.S.A.), the Most Rev'd Katharine Jefferts Schori, was once asked what she would say if asked why someone should become an Episcopalian, and I found her response to be one of the most beautifully concise and simply authentic I've heard:
"The Episcopal Church is a tradition that thinks that your gifts are important, that thinks that you have a ministry by virtue of being baptized, and that the job of this group of people called the Church is to support each other in living that out in the world. We are a diverse body of people, we don't all think the same thing; sometimes it's challenging, but it's also exciting... We're a strongly traditional church in the sense that we retain a way of worshipping that comes from the very earliest days of the Church and even from its Jewish roots, but at the same time, that gets expressed in an incredible variety of ways. You will find in this Body people to love, and people who will love you, and people who will challenge you, and they may be the same ones. This Body will challenge you to grow, to develop in your relationship with God, to develop in your ability to love your neighbor and love God in the process; and if you don't believe me, ask Him."
Contained in this eloquent description of the characteristics of the Episcopal Church are but a few of the many reasons I love this beautiful tradition and am proud to call myself an Episcopalian. With its "broad church," via media ("middle way") approach to matters of liturgical expression, personal and popular piety, and a number of theological perspectives which lie beyond the apostolic Creeds and the Baptismal Covenant, the Anglican tradition embodied in the Episcopal Church, "both catholic and reformed," is one which makes room for the mystical reality of paradox and cultivates the ability to hold ideas and beliefs in tension. This diverse and inclusive wing of the Body of Christ in the world maintains its apostolic and sacramental catholicity while fearlessly venturing into the mysteries of truth, beauty, and goodness found in both the cosmic and personal realms of reality and faithful imagination. Perhaps most importantly, the doors of the Episcopal Church are open to all people, and its cavernous chambers of spiritual and theological expression are always vast enough to make room for everyone.
