Vespers Homily...

On December 12, 1999, a small group of us were together at the Morgan Avenue Lutheran Church in Minneapolis, standing at the front of the church, being sealed and made new as a tiny congregation of Western Rite Orthodox.

It seemed like forever since my first contact with Orthodoxy, peeking though the mail slot of St. Panteleimon Church because the door was locked and my curiosity got the best of me. And yet it seemed that time had passed quickly as well, a journey of wandering from place to place seeking a faith and a place where my heart could rest. I had learned much along the way, about myself, my faith, and I knew there was still more to learn, but I was closer now then I ever had been, standing with my brother as my sponsor as oil was placed on my forehead, my eyes, my hands, my ears.

I was no longer the only Baptist pastor in Kansas with an icon. I was no longer the searcher reading “Becoming Orthodox” for the hundredth time. I was no longer opening doors hoping to find something that mattered behind them. I was Orthodox, raw and new for sure, but where I know I needed to be.

People come to Orthodoxy in so many ways but my path was and is a journey of love. I love this faith and as I was struggling towards it every step, looking back, was a step of love. I remember standing outside a little schoolhouse in Mequon, Wisconsin as Fr. Olnhausen pounded on the door a little after midnight. I remember sitting with my brother and weeping as the great hymns of the Liturgy washed over our tired souls at St. Mary’s OCA in Minneapolis. I remember the nights when sleep would not come because my thoughts were deep. I remember the sweet hospitality of the late Fr John Khoury and the patient teaching of Fr. John Mangels as he held our hand and walked us the final way home.

I remember feeling lonely sometimes. I remember doubting myself. I remember the fear I had that my wife could not come with me. I remember wondering would happen to me. I remember longing for the chalice, so close yet so far away, and I remember telling Fr Mangels that I would be a catechumen only if he promised to chrismate me if something bad happened because I did not want to leave this world or the 20^th century without being Orthodox.

And, for the sake of love, I would do it all again.

I love this faith, its sounds, its sights, its smells, its sweet music, its holy stillness. I love the beauty of its prayers and the depth of its theology. I love being in a Church that’s bigger then me and yet accepts me as I am. I love the fact that I am never alone, I walk and worship with Saints and Angels and every Sunday the Lord who loves me visits me in a most holy and intimate way. I love that I am brother with people all around the world, bound together by one Lord, one Faith, one Baptism. There is nothing like the smell of an Orthodox Church, there is nothing like the fragrant meals, the joyous feasts, and the ability to dance even if its just my toe tapping under my cassock. I even love the feisty old Greek lady in my parish who always has something to comment about with a twinkle in her eye. I want to grow old in this faith, I want to die in its embrace, and a million years from now I still want to sing its hymns. All for love.

Now I’m not naïve. I read and see and I know that the guys standing around this hotel with little things in their ears are not people from the Episcopal Church coming to find out what happened to all their members. It’s a hard time now, we’re being tried by fire, the bonds that hold us together are being strained, all is not well, and we each in our own way bear the pain of it all. My eyes are open. I see.

But I will not stop loving this Faith, this Church, and all that is holy and good and right about it. I have traveled far to find Her and I plan on staying. For the love of Her I will not give myself over to dark things and for the sake of Her beauty I will endure. Where would I go without Her? How would I live? What crushing emptiness to stand outside Her doors.

And the hope of my heart is that in this time, even these hard days, you would be awake and aware but not overcome by despair. I pray that whatever love you have for this Church, this Faith, our Lord, will even in these moments be kindled anew if not by the grace of the Holy Spirit at least by the understanding that we often learn the true value of things only through struggle.

The scriptures tell us that weeping endures for the night but joy comes in the morning. By faith I can see that morning and I hope you can as well. And for the love of this faith, its magnificence, its holiness, the light of God that shines through it unconquerable by whatever darkness comes, I hope we draw from its rich depths, strengthen ourselves with its grace, let its life become alive in ours, and with confidence let it lead us all the way home.