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Published by
The Christian Century,
December 28, 2004
Smells and bells
by Amy Johnson Frykholm
The Christian Century, December 28, 2004 |
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In central Colorado, far from the traditional
centers of Orthodoxy in Constantinople, Moscow and
Mount Athos, is a small monastery where five monks
live together on the sagebrush foothills of the
Buffalo Range. Their abbot, Archbishop Gregory, is
a renowned iconographer and something of a
renegade. The denomination to which he belongs,
the Russian Orthodox Autonomous Church (ROAC), is
not in communion with most other Orthodox, who it
claims have strayed from the true faith via the
evils of “ecumenism.” Archbishop Gregory has
joined and left several different groups on the
fringes of Orthodoxy, and the Colorado monastery
itself has changed hands more than once.
Brother John is a young monk who joined the
monastery during his years at Trinity University
in San Antonio. A former Presbyterian, Brother
John recounted to me his early dismay at the
liberalism he saw in the Presbyterian Church. He
felt that the church was in “open denial of Christ
and the apostles” and not adhering to biblical
principles, and had been corrupted through
accommodation to the world. At the end of his
first year of college, he was seeking to be
baptized into the Orthodox Church. Not only had he
found the Bible-adhering church he sought, but he
was also convinced that it was the one holy church
founded by Christ and the apostles.
Most Orthodox churches do not rebaptize converts
from other Christian denominations since the
Orthodox teach that baptism is a one-time-only
sacrament. Those who have been baptized in the
name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit need only
to be chrismated—anointed—to be received fully
into the church. But Brother John felt that his
baptism as a Presbyterian was not truly a baptism.
His local priest in the Orthodox Church of America
(OCA) refused to baptize him, and he grew
frustrated. Much in the OCA seemed impure and
wayward to him, and he began to look into groups
farther from the Orthodox mainstream. His search
for greater purity ended in an encounter with then
Archimandrite Gregory in the Russian Orthodox
Autonomous Church. The leaders of the ROAC
consider the Russian Orthodox Church to be
apostate and have broken communion with all those
whom they consider “ecumenical.”
Brother John gave me a tour of the monastery
grounds, including the recently built
Byzantine-style church, which looked at home on
the rocky hills. The walls of the church were
covered with the strikingly clear and sparse
iconography of Archbishop Gregory. Later, as
Brother John walked me to my car, he said quietly,
“American Christians need to understand that they
are not where they need to be. God wants them in
the Orthodox Church. All of the other churches and
religions are not being fully faithful to Christ.”
Although he was adamantly countercultural in his
approach, something of Brother John’s version of
Orthodoxy struck me as distinctly American. In a
search for the utmost purity, he had to link up
with the smallest possible unit of religious
organization he could find. Like many Americans of
other denominations and generations, he had to
become an outsider in order to assure himself that
his faith was genuine.
John
is similar to other converts to Orthodoxy in that
he diagnoses two distinct problems in contemporary
American Christianity. One is the turn toward
theological and social liberalism; the other is an
entertainment-oriented, self-indulgent style of
worship. These two issues sometimes draw different
kinds of converts, but they are often equated with
one root problem: individualism. Doctrine,
practice, sacrament and worship are all suited to
the needs and desires of the self.
Converts are sometimes eager to point out that
Orthodoxy, because of its emphasis on continuity,
cannot be “liberal.” One woman, a former Baptist
who had an evangelical glint in her eye, rushed to
tell me that the Orthodox did not and would not
ordain women and homosexuals and had always stood
against abortion. For her, these seemed to be
markers of authentic Christianity, and she
appreciated being able to feel confident that her
church would not have to struggle with these
issues. Mathewes-Green, a strong spokesperson for
Orthodoxy, has said that Orthodoxy is incompatible
with feminism, and she has declared herself
“twice-liberated,” the second time from a feminism
she has decided is a lie.
The word “orthodoxy” is sometimes translated from
the Greek to mean “right belief.” When converts
emphasize belief they sometimes come up with
hardline political views. But orthodoxy can also
be translated as “right praise” or “right
worship,” and here a different emphasis comes into
view: opposition to entertainment-driven
worship—what one convert calls “McChurch.”
Converts speak of growing tired of a refashioned
Christianity that seems at the mercy of each
passing fad. Entering Orthodoxy, converts repeat,
is not reinventing the church to suit oneself, but
reinventing the self to join the church. “I think
of myself as grafting to the tree of the church,”
convert Mark Montague says. “I see that this is a
process that will take my whole lifetime, and not
my lifetime alone, but maybe several generations.”
When Mark and his wife, Laura, married in an
Orthodox Church in 1998, some non-Orthodox friends
felt uncomfortable that the ceremony contained a
reading from Ephesians 5, in which submission and
obedience were urged upon Laura. But Laura argued,
“Why should I ask the church to change its words
for me? Who am I to assume that I know more than
the accumulated wisdom of the church?”
Though many Americans would no doubt find it alien
or even unsettling, the anti-individualistic
experience provided by Orthodoxy can be profoundly
world-expanding and eye-opening. Converting to
Orthodoxy means coming into spiritual contact with
350 million Orthodox believers worldwide, from
countries as diverse as Syria and Ethiopia.
Orthodoxy in the United States was once made up of
closed-off cultural enclaves, but this is
changing. Due to both immigration patterns and
conversions, parishes outside big cities are
becoming increasingly diverse. Many converts join
churches where they learn to speak and pray in
other languages. When the doors to other cultures
open, so do the doors to different ways of
thinking of and practicing the faith.
Father John is the parish priest of St. Herman of
Alaska (OCA) in Littleton, Colorado. After a youth
filled with drug use and drinking in Texas, Father
John said, “I cried out to Christ to give me
another life.” He smiled as he added, “And he
did.”
After attending the Institute for Creation
Research in San Diego and Dallas Theological
Seminary, he served as youth minister at a large
Baptist church in San Diego and taught science at
the affiliated Christian high school. Over several
years he became interested in Orthodoxy, drawn to
its liturgy and rich history. He pursued this
interest as a hobby only, until one day he was
confronted by the principal of his school. The
principal presented him with a list of what he
thought were Orthodox tenets. “Do you worship
icons? Do you believe that Mary never died?”
Father John tried to explain his beliefs, but he
was told to collect his things and never return.
He was banned from the high school and the church
as an “idolater.”
Two months after losing his livelihood, he and his
family were chrismated into the Orthodox Church of
America. “I don’t want this to sound arrogant,” he
said. “I feel like we plumbed the depths of
evangelicalism. We went as deep into it as we
could go. We found the limits of it, and those
limits became walls. Orthodoxy, on the other hand,
is endless. It is like a vast ocean. How deep into
it do you want to go? How holy do you want to be?”
One
answer to Father John’s rhetorical questions can
perhaps be found at the Brotherhood of St. George
monastery in downtown Denver. Nothing I had seen
in Orthodoxy in the U.S. prepared me for a meeting
with Father Christodoulos, the sole monk of this
outpost of the Greek Orthodox Church. Three days a
week at 7 a.m., a few people gather at the
monastery for the divine liturgy. Answering the
monastery phone only the day before, Father
Christodoulos had invited me to attend the liturgy
and then to join the group for breakfast, where I
would be free to ask him questions.
After the liturgy, the cantor, a woman in her 50s
named Anna, prepared a breakfast of fruit, almonds
and toast. I asked two young men—the only others
who attended the liturgy that morning—who they
were and why they came. Both were recent converts
to Orthodoxy, one from Catholicism and the other
from evangelicalism. Mike, a computer programmer,
was preparing for his chrismation the following
Monday. Jason, a college student at a local
evangelical college, said that the appeal of
Orthodoxy could be easily summarized: it embodied
“the truth.” Anna said little. She and I carried
breakfast to a table outside where Father
Christodoulos was already sitting in the sunshine.
Father Christodoulos greeted us with a warm smile,
but he too was quiet while the two young men
talked about the upcoming chrismation, Mike’s work
and their parishes in different parts of the city.
Finally, Mike turned to the monk. “Father, did you
get a chance to listen to those CDs I lent you?”
Father Christodoulos remained quiet for several
seconds. At last he said, “My mind is still on the
liturgy. I haven’t fully come back yet.” Then he
paused again and in his voice was gentle
instruction. “The liturgy is heaven on earth.
Paradise on earth. Maybe we shouldn’t move beyond
it so quickly to mundane things. Maybe we should
take time to savor it.”
An American by birth, Father Christodoulos spent
many years in a monastery on the island of Rhodes
in Greece. Three years ago, he was asked by his
bishop to start a monastery in Denver. The monk’s
manner exuded gentleness and humility. During our
conversation, his face often lit up with delight.
When I told him that I was a member of St. George
Episcopal Church in Leadville, his eyes sparkled.
“St. George! Oh, I am sure that is a wonderful
place, filled with grace. St. George has so much
grace. He was tortured for seven days, you know,
and did not renounce Christ. Truly he is filled
with the mercy of God.” He refused to answer my
question about his own conversion to Orthodoxy.
“We are all converts,” he said. “Each of us.”
Father Christodoulos’s manner was profoundly
welcoming, and the hospitality that he offered me
was central to the work of his life. “A monk’s
life is two things: prayer and hospitality. In the
first we try to fulfill the commandment to love
God, and in the second we try to fulfill the
commandment to love our neighbor as ourselves.”
Clearly I was not alone in feeling the draw of the
monastery. As we talked, several people came in
and joined our circle. Father Christodoulos
radiated a welcome to all of them.
“What is the purpose of an Orthodox monastery in
Denver?” I asked. “What does Orthodox monastic
life bring to American culture?”
The monk’s answer contained none of the critique
of American culture, religion or life that had
been so prevalent in conversations with other
converts to Orthodoxy. “I don’t like to think of
myself as bringing anything to American culture. I
simply have been asked by my bishop to come here
and live as a witness to Christ. I would live this
life if I were in Greece. I live it here. People
come. The Holy Spirit moves them, and that is
enough. We have tried to build an oasis of prayer
here.”
Moved by the simplicity and openness of the monk’s
faith, I decided to run the “smells and bells”
theory of conversion by him, and he smiled.
“Indeed, in our worship we offer something for
each person. If someone comes and is moved by the
beauty of the church, the beauty expressed in
icons, that is good. If someone comes and is moved
by the ancient rhythms of the music, that is also
good. If the rich smell of the church, the holy
smell of incense that sets the church apart,
touches someone, that too is good. I suppose I
would say respectfully that it is indeed the
smells and bells. These are the qualities of our
worship, and it is in our worship that you may
discover everything that is central to Orthodoxy.”
When Anna and I went back to the kitchen to do the
breakfast clean-up and put on another pot of
coffee for the arriving guests, she confirmed what
Father Christodoulos had said. She had been
attending Cherry Hills Community Church in Denver,
an evangelical Presbyterian congregation of more
than 5,000, when she and her husband became
acquainted with Orthodoxy. After her first
experience with its liturgy, she was astounded. “I
don’t know what this is,” she told her husband.
“But I know I have to come back.” Sometime
afterward, she converted to Orthodoxy. Her life,
she said, is softening as she learns to bend it to
the rhythms of the liturgy.
My
experience at the Brotherhood of St. George was
enticing. But though I was appreciative of
Orthodoxy’s rich acknowledgment of mystery, I also
wondered why its social life needed to be so
rigidly ordered. Why, for example, did Anna and I
wait on the men at the monastery? Why are feminist
voices often so roundly rejected by the Orthodox
Church? If the Holy Spirit is a living presence in
Orthodoxy, then why were social questions of
enormous complexity—abortion, feminism and
homosexuality, to name a few of the most
controversial—treated with such dismissive
certainty by many of the converts I met? While I
value historical roots and the search for answers
within the church’s rich past, I wonder why, in
contemporary Orthodoxy in the United States, those
answers are so easy to come by. Orthodox converts
told me that they find comfort in the stability of
the church, that positions on issues such as
homosexuality and abortion have already been
decided and will not change any time soon. But are
answers preferred to compassion or the living work
of the Spirit? By settling readily on answers to
social questions, do converts embrace Orthodoxy as
another form of fundamentalism?
Orthodox converts in the U.S. seek many things:
stability, mystery, majesty, integrity, historical
roots and authenticity. They become Orthodox both
because of the hard rock they call truth and
because of a taste that lingers after experiencing
the liturgy. Some seek to transform American
Christianity; others seek to escape it. And still
others find in Orthodoxy an incarnate yet timeless
witness to the gospel. What impact Orthodox
Christianity may yet have on the U.S. is
uncertain, but for many converts this is not the
crucial question. The crucial question is what
impact Orthodoxy may have on them.
Amy
Johnson Frykholm is the author of
Rapture Culture:
Left Behind in Evangelical America.
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