A Missing Generation in Orthodox America - Concluding Thoughts

 

That last post didn't complete my story.  I didn't suddenly become holy or righteous or perfect or so happy or whatever people assume happens next.  What did happen was healing.  And I can't really explain how it happened or give you a timetable, but with my return to the Church and intentional and conscious participation in the Church's mysteries, I am healing, I am being saved.  That is salvation.    

As an aside, I haven't received any psychological counseling (which there is nothing wrong with by the way).  I don't take medications, I don't do drugs nor do I drink regularly (except for an occasional glass or two of wine).  I'm not exceedingly wealthy without financial cares.  I say this so that you can understand that there isn't any other explanation for this transformation of the damaged young woman that I once was.  The insane crippling anxiety diminished considerably after my first honest confession. It was and remains a mystery. And while it is unexplainable, I know nothing to be truer. As God as my witness, I'm not lying about this.  He was there, He knows.  And the most astonishing part about this was that I did not expect it to happen.  I didn't walk into that Church knowing that this would be the result.  But it was.  I could breathe. It was God's Grace and it was physically and emotionally perceptible to me. Intangible but tangible at the same time.  It was a gift that I didn't expect much less deserve and it taught me volumes about the love of God.  And as I continue to live within the bosom of the Church, the healing continues. It's not over by any stretch.  

And so my dear readers, if you are estranged from the Church, be a stranger no more. If you are considering entering Orthodoxy from another tradition, you too can be a partaker of this Inexhaustible Cup.  Taste and see that the Lord is good. I was the prodigal daughter and He didn't turn me away.  Instead He waited for me to come home and ran to embrace me.  I swear to you, I'm not making this up and He waits for you too.  Jesus Christ is the Truth and the Truth will set you free.  He did for me.  

   

 

A Missing Generation in Orthodox Christian America - The Return

 

I am a quiet person by nature.  I don't like to speak up in large groups and, for a variety of reasons, I am apprehensive to ask for assistance.  I know some it has to do with the fear of being rejected, and some of it has to do with the fear of being mocked for even asking the question and, truth be told, some of it has to do with flat out pride, as in "I don't need anyone's help".  As I've aged I have made some progress in this area, Glory to God. So for me to reach out to a priest I don't know other than through a person that I happened to randomly meet was a HUGE deal. 

I'll have you know dear reader that I did not immediately call Fr. Gabriel.  The encounter at the lab was in late October of 2002 and I didn't reach out to him until January of 2003.  My anxiety and fear of what he would say to me held me back.  I was terrified of priests.  Growing up, the two priests that I had the most interaction with had been very strict and at least in my recollection as a child, were not forgiving or understanding people.  Whether in reality this was true, I can't tell you for sure, however those were my perceptions.  I hold no ill will towards either of them at all, and as an adult I can understand why they were the way they were.  I pray for both of them daily and I think we oftentimes forget that the clergy are human beings.  They aren't perfect, and especially when you add the additional responsibility of being married with children, I can't even begin to imagine the burdens that they must carry. 

So, it took me about 3 months to muster up the courage to call Fr. Gabriel and set up an appointment to talk with him, but I did it. 

Fr. Gabriel was a small man with a kind presence. He was an unmarried priest-monk without any airs of superiority who simply sat and listened. Not wanting to freak the guy out, I was extremely hesitant to tell him much about my past other that the basics of where I was from, my marital status etc., nothing too personal at all.  I explained that although I had been raised Orthodox, other than what I've learned from reading a few books, I didn't understand much. Fr. Gabriel simply sat and listened and nodded while I spoke.  Finally, when I was done, he began to speak.  He told me how good it was that I came to see him and that the things that I told him were very common to many people my age. He gave me a prayer book to borrow until I bought my own and he told me to come back and we could talk some more. No judging, no condescension, no lecture. 

You'd think after this first meeting that I would have immediately started going to services, but I didn't.  It wasn't until I had spoken to Fr. Gabriel once or twice more that I finally mustered up the courage to go. I really did not want to talk to other people at the church.  I wanted to be left alone to figure some things out and I didn't want to have to explain to other people why I hadn't been going to church for all of those years.  My first conscious and deliberate return date to the Church was February 23, 2003.  Unbeknownst to me at the time, that was also the Sunday of the Prodigal Son. And, about one month later, I found out that I was pregnant with my second child, right around the time of the Feast of the Annunciation.  

There is still more to say about this which will be done in one final post later this week.

  

A Missing Generation in Orthodox Christian America - Not coincidence, but providence

As I've aged there are a few things that I know to be absolutely true (aside from Orthodoxy, of course).  One of these things pertains to coincidences.  My conclusion is that they don't exist in their popular understanding. I mean, they happen of course, but it's not some random event with no connection to other things.  I can look back on things that were seemingly random but upon deeper consideration, were not at all arbitrary experiences but instead, providence. 

Unfortunately during this time in which I was fumbling my way around to the Church, I suffered two miscarriages, and as a result, blood work had to be done to see if there was something amiss.  So I go to the lab, have a seat and finally, after just a short while, my name is called and I walk back to the little station and nervously wait for the phlebotomist. After a few minutes she arrives and probably by looking at my anxious face, she starts making pleasant small talk.  As she's reaching for my arm to put that stretchy plastic band around it, I immediately notice the three-bar cross hanging around her neck.  For whatever reason I blurt out "Are you Orthodox?" to which she happily affirmed that she was and told me the name of her parish.  I then, again quite boldly, asked her "How's the priest?" This wonderful lady then began to gush about the kindness, sweetness and gentle-ness of the priest-monk who was the pastor of her church.  She finally asked me if I was Orthodox and I answered that I was but I wasn't really going anywhere.  Her reply of course was that I needed to come to her parish and meet the priest, Father Gabriel, who would certainly speak with me and don't worry, he's very approachable. I don't remember exactly what I said next but I think I just nodded and agreed and that was the end of it. 

Or rather, the beginning of it.

Next post, Fr. Gabriel.