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(Reduced and re-hashed. I may submit this to my church’s website as they have a “testimonials” section)

“I do, however, miss that good spooky church feeling. I felt connected with God in that holy spookiness as I entered the sanctuary. Going to church now almost feels the same as going to the mall. There is no stillness upon entering the worship area. Nothing brings to mind angels’ wings or the millions of people who have prepared to worship before me down through the ages. I don’t feel that chill radiating outward from the center of me. I’m sure there is a way to get some of that spookiness back into the rock and roll. There has to be. My soul wants for it. I know I can’t be alone in that wanting.”

More than a year has passed since I wrote those words. They were the conclusion to an essay titled, “I Wish Church was Spooky (the good kind),” detailing my frustration with the “post-modern” church movement. I began a journey in the space between that moment and this one that I never in my wildest musings imagined taking. I left the Western Church and began marching eastward, backwards in time to the very foundation of the Christian Faith, to the Holy Orthodox Church.

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I had a real ending to this monstrosity. I chucked it along with another whole section which simply seemed to belabor the point! The writing of this piece was probably more for me than anyone else.

I think the best way I can sum this whole journey into Orthodoxy is this. Before I found the Orthodox Church, I felt as if I was on top of the ocean, skimming the surface on a raft or maybe even some sort of motor boat. The wind was in my hair, occasionally a fish might surface, the gulls would fly around and beg for food. It was grand, the sun was warm and the air smelled salty. Eventually, though, I tired of the surface, the sameness of the waves and gulls and the wind in my hair. It was a somewhat superficial experience of the ocean.

The ocean itself called to me…called me to go deeper, to explore all the caverns, reefs, seaweed forests and wild-life contained therein. Certainly at times it will be scary as I enter the dark territory of the unknown, but there are hands to guide me and a surety that I am to enter the water if I ever really want to understand ocean. Floating on top just isn’t enough, I have to take the plunge.

We’ve been catechumens now for nearly two months. As my experience in the life of The Church grows, my understanding of it’s depth lengthens and widens. I have fond memories of those days when I merely skimmed the surface. But I am ever so glad that I was pushed over the edge.

Blessings…

Soon after our introduction with Fr. Gregory, we decided to visit a service. Fr. urged us to visit several parishes, but having fervently prayed for a church which would be close in proximity and having our prayer seemingly answered, we felt we were home. We asked Jim’s parents to watch Ana and David for us so that we could attend our first service without having to worry about the kids. We were greeted and initially assisted by the bell ringer. I remember essentially just standing in awe of the whole service as I had never experienced church in this way before. An excerpt from my journal, sums up the experience:

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Jim and I continued to discuss our church feelings, and set a date to discontinue attendance at our then current church. We were both a little uneasy, yet relieved with the idea of having no church home for a while. I don’t remember thinking much about our decision to discontinue church attendance accept for relief at not having to go and put on the “church face.” During this time of non-church attendance, which only lasted about a month or so, Jim began a short email exchange with the Orthodox deacon we had met on the aforementioned web forum. Jim continued to push this man for answers and eventually the deacon sent Jim an email with the Amazon listing for a book called, Becoming Orthodox: A Journey to the Ancient Christian Faith by Fr. Peter Gillquist.

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Jim and I continued attending church through the summer with the understanding that change had to happen. We discussed quitting church altogether for a while so as to be undistracted in our search. I wanted to give up on formal church and start a home Bible study. At that time, I felt this was the authentic church model; a personal faith easily shared with the community; ministering to our invited neighbors, our children actively participating in the faith and not sequestered in a room with other children playing while their parents worshipped, a true family affair.

The “home church” idea was exciting to me. Jim, however, had fond memories of growing up within the church and wanted the same experience for our children. Home Bible study might do for a time for him, but Jim wanted to be under a church structure. Further, he felt that walking away from some sort of authority would be spiritually dangerous and that we could end up believing our own truths about God and Christ instead of the ones set forth by Christ Himself thereby putting our very salvation in jeopardy. Undaunted, I had read that home church associations existed with ministers at the helm guarding against such things. I turned to the internet to research them, found none within our area and secretly despaired.

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This “Spooky Church” reflection was submitted to an online magazine for publication. A deacon of the Holy Orthodox Church from Buffalo, New York, whom I had “met” on an online web forum sent me an email asking if he could reprint the article for a discussion group he had started. Little did I know what role this man would soon play in steering my life in a direction I’d never considered. I enthusiastically said, “yes.” I visited the forum myself, but found I didn’t understand much of what was discussed. Some of the topics discussed were non-church related and dealt with the politics of the day, and with those I could interact. However, the topics dealing with church, I just couldn’t understand. I had grown up in the United Methodist Church, abandoned it for the Post-Modern movement and was standing on the cusp of giving up on church altogether. Holy Orthodoxy seemed another world to me and one where I didn’t belong.

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I Wish Church Was Spooky (the good kind)

I walk into a hushed environment. Soft organ music glides into my ears with whispers of pages turning bringing to mind the rustle of angels’ wings. The musty smell accumulated by saints of old enters my nostrils causing me to breathe slowly and deeply. The air shimmers with soft light filtering through many colored windows. My eyes center on a cross, the focus of why I am present in this place. A chill begins in my soul and radiates outward as I am, well, a little spooked. Not in a scary way but an almost comforting sort of awe at a presence bigger than mine. There are others here, some older, some younger. We are all quiet, reflective, preparedly waiting for worship to begin.

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