of all the craziness that’s been part of our Archdiocese for these past months. I’m sad, too, because things have been exposed that are deeply embarassing and any person who had some idealized vision about us is probably stunned right now, or running to the nearest Orthodox parish NOT in the Antiochian Archdiocese.

This is a rough game, this archdiocesan politics with its statements, its maneuvering, its ambiguous use of words and decidedly un-Christian set of rules (not the official ones, they’re for the newbies, but rather the realpolitik stuff used by the people in the know). How sad it would be if we had to resort to the courts and have them tell us how to govern ourselves. What should I tell the people who listen to me every Sunday? How can I put a positive spin on it? I could tell them shut up and obey but these are not children and even children ask questions that pierce through adult pretensions.

So what to do?

I’m not going to be a “company man” if being such requires me to smile and pretend. This is a rough time, this is awful, this is wrong, and there are no smiles that can shelter us from that storm. I, will, though, be Orthodox in all of this. I have no intention of leaving the Faith and the truth is that all of this has made me dig deeper into its core values. An Archdiocese is an important thing but it is temporary as well. The world is littered with defunct dioceses.The Faith endures, its truth, its call, its beauty, its power, and its hope. Ironically, the solution, the way out may be for all of us to actually become more Orthodox, more faithful, more holy, and more rooted in our Tradition. Its to that shelter I must go and as I find it invite others to follow because after all I may be tired, I may be sad, but I remain.

starting to market for Christmas.

Yuck. And btw I plan on remembering this when it comes time to actually shop for some gifts.

many martial arts is learning to use an opponent’s weight and force against them. Since a number of these arts were developed, as best I remember, to allow unarmed people a defense against the armed this was a crucial skill.

I’ve been pondering that in relationship to combat with sin. We’re often advised to wrestle against the darkness within and this is true but many have never learned the skills of combat while our adversary is old and seasoned. If I were to rushed, today, into a professional ring what chance would I have against even a small but skilled combatant? But I’ve been thinking.

Now the truth is this is not original thinking but more like an “aha” from a lifetime of struggling, messing up, and trying to recover. If you hit yourself in the head with a board enough times you either knock yourself out or discover that the pain goes away when you stop and my thoughts in this matter are more like the latter.

It certainly matters that people, that I, recognize sin in my life. It’s really the first step to getting better and the sad truth is that many people, myself included, have a deep capacity for just being unaware of the force and energy of sin in our lives. But presuming that you have some awareness, and by the way you can ask God for it but understand you won’t like what you see, the question becomes how to not simply cope with it but move through and beyond.

Many Orthodox Christians will come to confession with a list of sins, sometimes its an actual written list. Often the list varies little over time. Its the same for me. Our confession is faithful but at best we’re simply holding the ground and not advancing. In a certain sense this is okay, God knows us, loves us, cares for us, and accepts our feebleness. His mercy is great and a penitent heart is never rejected.

Yet how good it would be to be able to not fail at the same point time after time? In my career as a sinner I may have stumbled on something, something not new, not original, something that took years to discover because of the sheer density of my intellect and soul, but something that still could make a difference.

It starts with a question. Why do we sin? I’m not talking about the big picture stuff with the fall and inherited mortality because while that’s true my thoughts are most focused on why we commit this or that particular sin, sometimes over and over again. And it was at that point that I had the “aha” moment.

The thought is simple. We can listen to and learn from our sins. I’m not talking about cherishing them in our soul and finding new ways to practice sin but rather our particular sins say something about us that, if we listen, we can use to engage them in effective combat.

Let me explain. I can’t remember for a second ever being tempted to commit a bank robbery but anger and murder in my heart, that’s not unusual especially in city traffic. So what is it about anger in my heart that holds such an attraction to me? As I answer that I realize the anger is about my desire for control, for my sense of wanting the world, including others, to be the way I want them to be, and my frustration when this primal selfishness is not assuaged. The flash of anger is a symptom, a warped sense of who I am is the disease. Address the disease and the symptoms go away.

Now of course putting that principle into practice can be very difficult. Sin is a cagey opponent and just when we think we’ve got a hold on it it reaches out and gets us from a place we weren’t looking. Yet by learning from our sins, what they can teach us about ourselves, we can, like a skilled martial artist use the force of our adversary for our own defense. The attack, whether we know it or not, has within it the knowledge of how to defend against it.

It should be noted as well that this not merely a psychological exercise, but rather a skill that has liturgical and contemplative aspects that must be incorporated into it for it to work. Steeping our lives in holy things is essential to discernment and gives us the strength to draw on, the dynamis necessary to do effective battle. It also requires a commitment of our will. Simply being aware of something without taking steps to engage it is meaningless.

Anyway, I’m not finished with my ponderings yet, so some of what you are getting here is incomplete, developing thought. I posted it for your comments and I hope it helps even in a small way. That I’m ten years into Orthodoxy and just working through this shows you how far I still have to go. But I’m not planning on giving up either.

to Cincinnati regarding a prior post. I forgot one simple fact.

When you normally travel through a city its very probable the highway cuts through some nasty parts of town. Now whether the road was the attempted cure for, or the source of, the blight is another question but the first layer following downtown can be quite depressing. So, by the way, can an area around a working river like the Ohio.

But there were and are bright spots along the way. Cincinnati’s downtown was clean and safe, at least on game day, parking was reasonable, and the Great American Ballpark spacious and authentic. The seats were comfortable (seats in the Metrodome in Minneapolis feel even narrower compared to them) and people were generally not boorish (I had to sit one row in front of a Red Sox fan a month ago…).

The suburbs around Cincinnati, well they looked suburban with the added touch of hills coming up from the river. The road to St. James Church in Loveland was particularly nice and reminded me of the bluffs around LaCrosse. By the way, if you ever want to see how people can turn a old school building into a house of worship you should visit St. James Church, the transformation is remarkable.

One thing, though, is for certain. I really like to travel and if I had lottery type money its the one thing I would spend it on, that and some really cool basses. Yet no matter where I go I still like my own bed the best, probably always will. Oh, and the Sheraton Hotel didn’t provide a cat with each room. How can a person possibly fall asleep without a cat in the room?

can he found here. Actually, I kind of like the idea.

The woman whose death as a martyr in the recent unrest in Iran shocked the world may have been a Christian.

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.

around 10:30 am local time. The flight was delayed but uneventful and I filled the time by reading “What’s So Great About Christianity” by Dinesh D’Souza.

Driving through the center of town I’m struck at how worn the city looks. The sign said “Settled in 1788” and there are rows of very interesting houses, tall, skinny, European, that seem like they’ve been there since then, some without the benefit of a paintbrush. At one time this was the edge of America but America seems to have caught up and passed Cincinnati.

I was struck, too, at the Ohio river as I made my way from the airport, which is actually in Kentucky, to the city itself. Around a century and a half ago this river was the last step towards freedom for slaves and it must have been surreal to be on one side in captivity hoping you could find your way across to the lights on the other shore and freedom.

I’m hoping to see the Reds play on Thursday night and add another stadium to my collection. I’m hoping, too, that the troubles which have presented themselves in the larger Archdiocese stay some distance away. We’ll see.

And now for a nap.