Of everything that I am learning about following Christ, one of the hardest lessons is “it is not all about me.”
Orthodoxy has challenged me in this regard to the deepest degree. At first glance, church is not the way I would like it to be. Music is simple singing. Chanting sounds funny. Standing hurts my feet. Sometimes I go and feel like I have wasted time. My friends and family find going to church with me to be boring. Sitting at coffee hour with tables means I talk to people. My present parish has a multitude of small children. During the week activities happen at 0700.
What happened to my contemporary music services with engaging sermons that I could apply to my life? What happened to the small group focus groups where I could choose who in the church I hung out with?
It seems that over the last 18 months, I am learning to die to myself. I am struggling to be remade. I find myself craving for the stories of the Saints to figure out how they managed to die to themselves. I find myself struggling to pray but grateful for all of the reminders that I am not alone. I am coming to grips with the idea that certain things are mysterious, but that does not make them bad.
In short, I am recognizing that it is in my weakness that I experience the most frustration. Yet, as I take steps back, I realize I am on the road of true transformation.
Lord, have mercy.
You aren’t alone. My very first Orthodox service (I’ll be frank) bored me to tears. I actually sent a friend a message with my phone saying, “This makes Catholic services look like John Woo films.” My second service, done when I was sincerely thinking about joining Orthodoxy, was much better. Now it’s gotten to the point where if I don’t attend at least the Sunday services I feel that the week has been wasted.
Now I greatly appreciate everything – the chanting, the icons, the motions, the sign of the cross…everything. When I went to mosques it was always nice to think that the passages they read from in the Koran were the same passages the first Muslims heard; with my church, which is Greek Orthodox, it is a marvelous thing to hear the gospels and epistles in Greek and realize you’re hearing it exactly as the first Christians heard them.
Now it’s gotten to the point that most “modern” services do nothing for me. Seriously, I’ve been to some local churches around my area, and I leave feeling shallow. I either find the music uninspiring, the preacher insane, or the sermon completely pointless. I leave with a feeling of having just watched a play rather than a deeper connection with God.
For some it may be an acquired taste, or it may take a while to learn to appreciate…but then again, so does learning to ride a bike, walk, and read.
I’ve had a similar struggle. At my parish, I feel . . . well, I wouldn’t say ‘unwelcome,’ but if I stopped attending tomorrow, I don’t think it would be become a day of mourning. There’s something disappointing about attending liturgy week after week and feeling worse when you exit the doors than when you entered them.
Still, I’m beginning to ponder what the meaning of St. Theophan’s self-imposed solitude could mean in my life. I think of him alone in his cell, performing the liturgy, day after day. Eventually, dying alone. But perhaps not really — not in the most profound sense, perhaps — alone at all.
Anyway, thinking of him keeps me slogging back. Ascesis? That’s my hope.