After the denomination I was born into went insane in the 1990s (something that happened across a spectrum of “mainstream” denominations to one degree or another), I went adventuring. I became a pilgrim of sorts.
I visited a lot of congregations and a number of churches in search of a new Church home. The main prerequisite for me was a commitment to regularly celebrating the Eucharist. But some evidence of resistance to modern fads and enthusiasms was also a requirement.
Of course by the mid-1990s I knew that this meant I would likely swim either the Tiber or the Bosphorus. At the same time I also felt like I had to honor some kind of process and pay at least lip service to the modern shibboleth of unity in diversity.
My Search In Context
To put this in some context, there was, for a time, an Orthodox Catholic mission congregation near my residence. The mission came into existence at about the same time I became denominationally unmoored. So while I spent some Sunday services in various Presbyterian and other churches, I mostly visited this Orthodox mission.
But I also visited the nearest Roman Catholic parish to my house. During the Easter Vigil of 2006 I swam the Tiber and this parish became my home.
By that time I had completed some formal studies in things like the Koine Greek (in which the New Testament was written), theology, ecclesiology, liturgics and a few other subjects. I had also missed becoming an Episcopal priest by getting crossways with a liberal bishop. This is something my first parish priest counted as a special grace under God’s protective mercy. This is a sentiment with which I now fully agree.
As seekers of new church homes go, I was, to say the least, an informed consumer. I was also aware that my prerequisites made it more likely than not that I would end up Catholic, either Roman or Orthodox. Even so, I diligently applied myself to each visitation to be sure. And these visits included various splinters that had come off the Episcopal Church in previous years.
I was surprised to find some congregational groups with just 80 or 100 year old histories. I could say more about this but perhaps only a very few might be interested. Maybe this is a subject for a future column.
I had also visited a couple of Orthodox monasteries in our region before my search for a church home began, so I was accustomed, to some extent, with Orthodox monastic piety. I had also been exposed to Episcopal monastic life. Some of these communities were robust but some were a little too precious for my comfort.
(Unhappily, one of these Episcopal monastic communities was extremely unhealthy. It ended up embroiled in scandal . . . and worse. But this can happen in any small community separated by long distances from supervision and oversight. The other communities had corrected these problems. But this also heads off into divergent territory.)
Levels Of Devotion
What I learned most concretely from this period in my life was an appreciation of the appropriately different levels of devotion in parish and a monastic communities. Of course, devotion is a spectrum, regardless of the community it is at home in. My home parish offers Eucharistic celebration (i.e., Mass) at least once every (ordinary) day; there are a handful of parishioners who make it to Eucharist almost every day; others who make the majority of days, and some who do well to make it monthly.
I also found that in the Orthodox communities, the practice of kissing an icon somehow made me uncomfortable. When I saw the monks do it in the monastery I felt a small thrill of appreciation of their piety and devotion. When I saw parishioners doing it in an ordinary service I felt out of place and vaguely uncomfortable.
Maybe this discomfort was because it was not what I was used to, maybe because of a fear of someone else’s fervency. Or perhaps it was because of previously unsuspected relics of iconoclasms in my psyche. I do not know. I do know I had no temptation to join in. My decision that the Orthodox community was not a lasting home for me began to take shape.
I want to hasten to say that I can find no objection in myself to others kissing an icon. I just discovered that it was not something I have (so far) had any particular desire to do. It is not because I object to a kiss of veneration – I have kissed crosses on Good Friday and at least one relic in my time. But I was not moved to join in with the kissing of icons, at least at that time. (To paraphrase the British rock band Jethro Tull, life’s a long song, and one never knows what the next verse will hold.)
Monastic And Lay Communities
What brings all this to mind is that my study group has been reading “The Imitation Of Christ” by Thomas à Kempis. Kempis wrote Imitation with a monastic community in mind, and it is often obvious that this is so, given the specifics of the devotional practices à Kempis outlines. One might reasonably expect a monastic community to have a higher standard of devotion and piety than a community of laypeople.
Except . . . is that a reasonable assumption? One might expect a community of Religious to achieve a somewhat higher standard of devotion and piety than a lay community. Given the time and support and other factors available to the Religious that are not necessarily present in a lay community, this is a reasonable expectation. But it is appropriate for us to allow ourselves diminished expectations because of mutable circumstances?
In 1 Corinthians 12:4-7 Paul is very specific about the different gifts we receive. He emphasizes in particular that “To each individual the manifestation of the Spirit is given for some benefit.” That benefit is for the Body of Christ, however, no matter how propitious it may be to the recipient. The spirit gives us those gifts to build up the Body of Christ – that is, the Church.
There is nothing in this that suggests gifts are meant to benefit one type of community more than another.
We Create Our Own Expectations
What I am being led to is the sense that “self-fulfilling prophecies” are the natural consequence of our human tendency to create our own expectations. This is based, in part, on our experiences, of course, but also in our hopes and desires.
Jesus warns of the leaven of the Sadducees and Pharisees, and refers to himself as the Bread of Heaven. Consider for a moment what leaven accomplishes in bread: it puffs it up with gas. Mixing leaven into bread dough does not create more bread. It merely makes the dough lighter and causes it to take up more space.
But in the miracle of the loaves and fishes, Jesus creates more bread! When he gives his body for the life of the world, he creates the miraculous bread that sustains life forever and beyond, “the bread of the life of the world.”
How often are we taken in by the appearance of abundance when it is merely a puffed up facade, created to simulate abundance while disguising scarcity?
We do live in a time of material abundance that is arguably unparalleled in human history – though there is plenty of poverty and inequality left in the world. I am reminded of a group of African Bishops being shown some of the blighted areas of New York City by their ecclesiastical hosts. One of the bishops murmured “Ah, yes. America, where the poor people are fat.”
But are our spiritual lives more abundant than those of our ancestors, or even our parents? Have we mistaken the sense of well being that comes with the comfort of easy living with a real assessment of spiritual health?
Perhaps what we should consider learning from the Religious is not the discipline of continued prayer and the round of daily offices. Rather, it is the rigorous self-examination and clarity of our fallen nature that we should carry foremost in our hearts and minds.
I did find the sight of the faithful of another tradition kissing an icon slightly disturbing. But perhaps the thing I should be allowing to disturb me is the comfort of my own daily life and community.
Prayer
Dear Lord in Heaven, please give me the courage and clarity to see myself in a manner more closely related to how you see me: as your beloved child, so that I do not fall into despair or hopelessness, but also as your work in progress, so that I may wean myself from the leaven of Earth and come in time to feast on the Bread of Heaven that you have set out for me and all your faithful. Thank you Father, for your patience and your never-ending supply of Grace in bringing me closer to the person you would have me to be.
AMEN!
