Thoughts on Easter While I Wait for Pascha
Converting to Orthodoxy brought back parts of me I never knew existed.
It’s Easter. Well, kind of. For many people, it’s Easter. For me and many Orthodox faithful around the world, it’s Palm Sunday and the holiest week of our liturgical year is yet to come. Regardless of which religion you subscribe to, (even ye Bugmen among us—I’m sure the sale on Easter candy tomorrow will be a great cause of consumerist celebration) it is a very holy time of the year. I’m honored to be a very small part of it.
I’ve spoken about the idea of “deconstruction” at length on my old blog, and it’s a ritual I’m still conflicted about. Part of me believes that deconstruction is a way for exvangelical-types to shill podcasts and workbooks featuring their own ideas—allowing liberalism and self-obsession to fill the void that was once filled by this notion slightly-resembling religion. On the other hand, though my “deconstruction” phase led almost entirely to my demise, it didn’t. Through God’s grace, it led me to the ancient faith. Perhaps the most dangerous thing that deconstruction did for me, however, was to convince me to throw the proverbial baby out with the bathwater and to abandon all of the faith of my childhood, adolescence, and even early adulthood—the good with the bad.
This past week has been quite an experience. I’ll detail it more in future posts but this was the week that I was officially received into the Orthodox church. In the midst of the breathtakingly beautiful services, I found my spiritual self at odds with my rational self. It was exhausting, it was overwhelming, I found myself laying on the floor and crying one day, driving to church on my lunch break to talk about it with my Priest, who reassured me that it was normal, expected, and a good thing. I still can’t pinpoint exactly what caused this internal commotion, but I do know that a part of me felt a little bit guilty for abandoning the faith of my parents. I felt that, by converting, pieces of me—the good and the bad—that were unquestionably influenced by my spirit-filled upbringing would become invalid, and that made me sad. It made me realize that though there were valid reasons for leaving, it was still a generally whole experience.
I shifted from thinking about the bad to considering the good, and being filled with thankfulness and peace. Rather than feeling like I was losing a piece of me when I’d speak to my parents and heard them making Easter plans, I knew I was gaining a whole new spiritual family and a new cause for celebration. After all, are we not celebrating the same miraculous, wonderful, life-giving event?
Speaking in tongues, “the gift of prophecy,” and being slain in the spirit can go. Megachurches and televised sermons can go. Grape juice in plastic cups and packaged wafers for communion can go. Hillsong’s Brian Houston and Carl Lentz can go. (Hillsong UNITED can stay.) Revivals can go. Smoke machines during worship can go. Hellfire and brimstone can go. What’s left? A message of grace, mercy, and love. The wonder of the cross remains. That’s a wonderful foundation on which to build a life.
So today, on the west’s holiest day, I say: I am so thankful. I will listen to The Wonder of the Cross on my way to Divine Liturgy. I feel like not only am I gaining a whole new (and improved) version of myself, I’m meeting a version of myself I thought was gone forever. It’s like celebrating with an old friend. It’s healing and I thank all of you for following me along this journey. Now, forgive me for being brief, but I must get ready for church.