Anatomy of a Wave

It's all so confused, up here in my brain. I don't know who to trust, you see, and I'm so very trusting. So I trusted you. And, then you go and say what you say for your own reasons, unknown to me in every way. And you asked what was wrong, and I told you. And you were much afraid. And I didn't understand why you wanted to leave.

But, I understand perfectly you see. Because, it's all so confused up here. Here in my brain. With all the thoughts and emotions, mixing like sand and water clearly labeled in the panels Bottomless Belly Button. I'll take the time to understand the ciphers in the liturgy, but comic books no matter how long are not theology. Usually.

And, I trusted you with the money. And you trusted that I would come back. But, I'm not. And you understand. And you want me to explain. I'll Skype with you and drop hints about my shift in religion, but you will not catch them. You are only in high school after all.

Then, you have trusted me with very little. And yet I have found a way to betray that very little trust. I was crazy, lonely, confused. And I kept you up far past your bedtime too many nights in a row. And I can't explain to you why I go where I go, and you obviously will not be following. But, I still hope that you will anyway because your eyes are like diamonds, how they cut so cold. And the beauty about you makes me wonder if angels, theraflu or otherwise, have halos like yours.

And I was right about objectivism. Objectively speaking. And, I will only walk through that door if I'm sure that I won't be walking back. But I can never be sure of anything, least of all myself. And I trust that I trust too much. And I know that you trust no one, especially since they put you in jail for halibut, for halibut's sake.

So I'll meet you for coffee and I'll tell you to take a nap and you'll invite me to get a drink. You talk, and I talk, and the pieces come back together. And the sand falls through the sieve. No, it's an hourglass. And the wave retreats back into the ocean. And I trust that it will come back out again. But in the meantime, will you hold my hand for a minute? Listen to me breathe? I would like to be cut by your diamonds and engulfed by your halo. But, I understand if you need to walk away. These waves are vaguely terrifying, after all.

Car Shopping / Church Hopping -or- 1,500 Words on ?

Recently I've been doing a lot of writing and talking about why I'm interested in Orthodoxy. I was also lucky enough to make a new friend who doesn't know me very well, but is interested in talking about theological things nonetheless (at least I think she is, I may be subjecting her to regular torment, I have no idea). I wrote a very long e-mail to a different entity that she gave a read over and some feedback. This is what she said:

The only thing I would point out in both reading your argument and in hearing your perspective before, is that it seems almost like when it comes to religion you are shopping for a car. You have a list of requirements (valid ones) that you deem important to a religion and have looked thoroughly into all of the Christian denominations in order to find what meets all you requirements. I guess this is not inherently bad but it differs from someone trying to find "what is".
"These things are important to me therefore I will find the car that meets these requirements" is different than "which cars are actually at the dealership and available for me to buy". Really this is a weak metaphor to get the point across that I'm trying to make but I think it largely has to do with studying scripture. I do see your point though in accepting the need for tradition and history, due to the fact that relying on just yourself to figure out the mysteries of God would be unwise. Community with fellow believers is essential to any kind of religious growth.

I see what she is saying, and I am worried, because it's kind of true. I mean... to a certain extent we all believe what we want to believe. We have our own reasons for it, but at the end of the day even the beliefs that we hate but believe nonetheless are usually held because without them one of our fundamental convictions falls apart. That's confusing. Allow me to give an example. For instance, I may believe in eternal damnation for those who have never heard the scriptures. I may hate this belief, it may make me uncomfortable, but if I am staunch Calvinist, then I must hold to this uncomfortable belief or else risk the legitimacy of my entire belief system. See what I mean?

No thing that can be called belief, especially in regards to the unknowable divine, is predicated on any kind of irrefutable evidence or logic. They are based on faith. I'm not trying to demean faith, beliefs, or anything like that. I am a little post-modern after all (doing my damndest to turn pre-modern), and I am a bit of a mystic.

I do believe in the image and likeness of God inherent in every human being. I believe also that water seeks it's own level. Which is to say that the image of God in us seeks after God. And, just as one beetle recognizes another, the image of God within us recognizes God in the world. I believe this because I must (to wit, if I didn't my entire worldview would fall apart completely).

This attraction of reflected divinity towards ultimate divinity is the one "objective" (I can't believe I just used that word, I'm so sorry Dr. Neuhouser) thing that I believe the faithful can claim. Of course, since it's an experienced thing, unmeasured and irreducible, technically it's subjective.

I guess what I'm doing here is trying to boil down my beliefs to the most fundamental parts. I believe, at the center of it all, that God exists, that we are made in God's image, and that we are therefore drawn towards God. I also believe that Jesus Christ truly is the Son of God. That he possessed two natures. I believe in the Holy Trinity. I believe in the authority of the Holy Scriptures. That they are "profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness."

I guess that the big change in me over the past six or seven months is that I no longer believe that they are sufficient for doctrine, reproof, correction and instruction in righteousness. I have seen, rather personally, some of the dangers of jumping off the foundation of tradition and figuring it out yourself. I'll try not to get too melodramatic here, but faith divorced from tradition can altogether too easily lead to something like this.

I believe that religion and salvation are both things that are created through the synergy (a word that Greek theologians used long before it became a business buzzword) of God and humanity. Christ says "Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and open the door I will come in." Humans are part of the creative processes of God. Faith without works is dead, after all. There is some human responsibility in this whole religion thing, and it cannot be denied. Being a very ecumenical sunofagun, I'm kind of of the opinion that pretty much everybody has at least something right, and that they probably have something right that I have wrong.

This conviction that I'm about to put online forever may be my undoing one day, but I am young and reckless. I do not believe that I will ever be able to tell another Christian that they are wrong with complete certainty. I will always, always, always have doubts and qualifiers. I will probably never be able to tell another human being that they are wrong with complete certainty.

This conviction is, by nature, anti-religious. Religion is all about having the absolute answer. I don't think I'll ever find that.

And yet, here I am trying to pick a religion. Oy vey.

It's really complicated. This little beetle here who tries, and often fails, to seek after God has recognized many other little beetles from as many denominations as exist. I have seen antennae sprouting out of Baptists and Pentecostals educated heads. I have seen delicate wings softly tucked into Catholics and Orthodox traditional priestly robes. I risk heresy when I say that I have seen the distinctly beetle-like scurrying of those who call themselves Atheists, Buddhists, and Muslims. I cannot not see the Imago Dei. I cannot deny when I see God, if only in a reflection.

So then the question becomes, what is best? When there is so much good to choose from, the question must become, which is the best? Which of these available choices contain the most synergy between God and humanity? Which of these points to the most truth? Which of these turns out Christians who do the most good in their daily lives? Which of these will encourage the most love for my God and for my neighbor?

For me, the strongest factor in this whole decision of traditional validity is one of trust. Who do I trust the most as my teachers? It is the question underlying all of the questions in the previous paragraph. My experience has been that most beetles have something to teach me, even if I disagree with them almost entirely. So, why do I feel like I can trust these old, crusty, bearded beetles? Why not go for the young, excited, manly beetles?

What draws you to Orthodoxy, Tyson?

It's a very simple question.

I don't know.

I haven't got words for it. I don't know if words could really do it justice.

It's not a sensation, although I feel it. It's not an idea, although I think about it. It's... (really frustrating for a man who takes pride in his wordsmithery to be unable to describe something) divine.

I can only call it divine. It's truth and beauty and love and hope and longing and comfort and peace and a constant incentive towards higher things. It's undeniable and irresistible. It's larger than the ocean and brighter than the sun. It's louder than a hurricane and more beautiful than a symphony. It's more than words can describe and any approximation is about as close as a child's drawing of the stars in comparison to the night sky.

Somebody said, "Eventually all of our theology must become poetry." I am no poet, and I am no Theologian.  I am a confused, frustrated, and often lonely little beetle who is trying so very hard, to do my utmost for his highest. I don't want to pick a religion like I'd pick a car. Then again, how many cars have you ever had a mystical experience with?

I am drawn to Orthodoxy because I see an undeniable truth in it. I could not abandon it now, even if I tried.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God have mercy on me, a sinner.

I just want to do the right thing.

Thank You, Bladity Blah

(Note: Names have been changed to protect the innocent.)

I should be asleep right now, but I'm not. Because I'm STOKED.

I just got off the phone with someone I haven't seen or even really thought about for 5 years. I'm so old. I shouldn't be able to say things like that. And it was the best thing that happened to me all week!

Okay, backstory. Two days ago, I was sitting in my parents' car with my parents and sister. My sister said, "Hey, do you remember Blahdity Blah?" And I was like, "Yeah, she was in Trevin's class." And thus ensued a ten minute conversation about whether Blahdity Blah was in my class or his, and which of her sisters Jordan went to outdoor school with. Once the temporal continuity had been established to everyone's satisfaction, I asked Jordan, "What about her."

"Oh," Jordan said. "She's Orthodox."

I died for a second from the shock. Blahdity Blah and I were members of "The God Squad," the school's team of straight-laced Bible-Thumpers who organized evangelistic youth events for fun. I was the edgy rogue of the group, which means that I was in theatre class and listened to Skillet. She was, at least according to my stellar memory, one of the more straight-laced members.

We were the ones who would keep the faith. Were were evangelicals. We were the cream of the youth retreat crop. We were going to grow up to become head pastors, youth pastors, women's pastors, missionaries, and parents who didn't let their kids play with Pokemon. None of us were headed for anything more exotic than non-denominational pentecostalism, especially Blahdity Blah.

Funny how your perception of someone who you haven't even thought about for half a decade can be so concrete. Funnier how when that perception is shattered, you're still incredibly rattled by it.

Tonight, after getting off work. I sent Blahdity Blah a facebook message that basically said, "Orthodoxy. Help." Only I used more words than that. I got a response tonight a little before 11pm. Included was a phone number.

I thought for half a second about waiting until tomorrow to call her. It was very late after all. But, something inside me said, "Bugger that bollocks!" And I simultaneously dialed her number and swore to stop watching so much Spaced.

We talked for an hour, ladies and gentlemen. One. Full. Hour. She converted just under a year ago. She was baptized on Pascha. She's living with a bunch of other Orthodox girls from her church in Portland. She's fully Orthodox, an eternal catechumen.

The conversation was glorious. Although I have friends and family who are very understanding in regards to the spiritual catch 22 I find myself in, and although I a friend or two who are currently themselves coming across very similar catch 22s, this whole thing can be... well... isolating. Sometimes the isolation is self-imposed, but it's isolation nonetheless.

Over the course of this conversation I no longer felt so alone. I can only remember feeling this way once before, it was on a mission trip to mexico. I had stayed up late and was sitting around the fire, talking with a girl. Somehow, it came out that she was charismatic. I had been going to a very non-charismatic church for the past 6 years, and had somehow come under the impression that there were no charismatics, heck, that there were no christian mystics, in the entire Willamette Valley. I remember feeling like not only was I not crazy, but someone else, someone very much like me believed and understood the weird spiritual life I was living.

One major difference between that conversation and this one tonight: I remember how in that conversation, all those years ago in a gravel pit in Tijuana, my conversational partner was unaffected by the whole thing. She didn't feel alone, and so my sudden sense of camaraderie, although appreciated, wasn't quite shared. Tonight, something was shared. I could hear the excitement in her voice, as I'm sure she could hear it in mine.

Tonight, I am not alone.

And I shall celebrate with some crappy up-tempo music from high school.