theophiliacs

The following essay was written by my imaginary friend for a short bio he needed for a church project. I’ve posted it here with his permission.

By: Linus Spindrift

I grew up in a die hard progressive Episcopalian family. We attended Holy Communion weekly and were very involved volunteering in our local community. I always loved church, even as a child. The bright colors of the vestments, the candles, the smell of incense (our parish was quite high church) and mystery of the Eucharist enticed me from an early age. As I grew older, I came to appreciate the values and morals I learned from our priest and felt myself growing into my place in the one, holy, catholic and apostolic church.

At the same time I felt myself coming of age into the body of Christ. I also began to recognize that there was something different about me. In my early teenage years when the other boys were just starting to discover what freedoms there were available to young, viral men in a liberal movement, I began fantasizing about having a future wife and a family. Long after my friends grew out of praying and singing to God, I continued the Christian disciplines on my own, secretly, still believing that maybe, someone was actually listening to me.

When I was fourteen I made the mistake of confessing to my best friend that I read the Bible privately, for no reason other than the fact that I enjoyed some of the stories and thought that maybe God might be speaking to me through them. He was shocked and couldn’t understand how anyone could ever feel that way. He thought that maybe I was threatening him.

“You’ve never felt that God was ever saying anything to ME through the Bible, have you?” he accused me, visibly disgusted that I would ever even consider it. The truth was, I really had felt like God might be wanting me to encourage him in some small way, but after this confrontation, I knew my fantasy of discussing Christ with my friend would never be realized.

I quickly denied it and tried to pass off the whole conversation as joke but it didn’t work. Word spread quickly around school that I was a “bigot.” Kids picked on me and called me “ignorant” and “hate-mongerer.” I lost all my friends who treated me like I had some sort of disease. I had to change prep schools.

I learned from this experience that there was something inside of me that was deeply and utterly wrong. But I knew with the help of almighty Knowledge, I might be able to be healed of my unnatural attraction to Traditional Liturgy. At my next school I tried really hard to be a good, liberal Protestant. I never told anyone what I believed or why I believed it ever—even if they asked me and seemed like they genuinely wanted to know. I apologized to every minority I could for colonizing their land. Whenever I met someone who acted like they knew God in an intimate way, I quickly joined my friends in accusing them of being an exclusivist and a fundamentalist.

There were a few occasions while reciting the creeds at Church when I felt a powerful urge to confess them as a believer. I soon learned, however, to always quell this forbidden desire, knowing that it was more natural for me to join in the doubting gymnastics all the other parishioners were performing in their minds.

Things went really well like this for a few years. I graduated high school and completed my undergrad at a local private college (Double Major: Sociology and Arabic). I entered the discernment process and prepared to enter seminary. Along the way I tried really hard to be attracted to other religions. I had a fling with Buddhism for a few years and thought that I might even marry it with Christianity to make some sort of super religion. Ultimately, it didn’t work out, however. My buddhist companions said that all I ever wanted to do was talk. That’s when it all fell apart.

I had my first Christian Conversion experience in the deserted men’s locker room of a YMCA. A stranger was praying silently at his locker next to mine. He had his Bible out to Luke 23. I approached him, thinking I might enlighten him on how Jesus didn’t actually resurrect from the dead but that it was OK, since society was ethical enough now not to need him to have resurrected anyway. He listened patiently to my statements. I thought I was doing him a favor just by tolerating his blatant bigotry right there in public. He pointed to the verses that discussed the other criminals being crucified with him. He asked me to read verse 42.

“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” I recited, surprised that the hateful man was using a scholarly translation.

He asked me what I thought that verse meant. I gave him some disjointed answer, and now I’m not even sure what I said. At some point I realized I had no idea what that verse meant. That’s when he proceeded to tell me about his previous intimate relations with Jesus.

I wont go into the details (I understand that descriptions of these intense situations can still be offending to certain progressive sensibilities) but what followed can only be described as absolute freedom. I felt that years of lies and deceit fell away from me as I embraced who I really was—what love really was! It hit me in that locker room: I was an Orthodox Christian—a flamer on fire for God. And my life would never be the same.

I kept my discovery a secret for another few months. On the weekends I would sneak out secretly at night to a library in a seedy part of town to discuss N. T. Wright with one, two or sometimes even three others like me. I developed an addiction to hardcore patristics on my home computer. It was a secret life that I couldn’t contain. I was excited and shaken and scared all at the same time. I met a beautiful Christian woman who came from a nice family in the suburbs. Her name was Beth. We fell in love. She was the one who gave me the strength to come out to my parents.

“Mom and Dad,” I began slowly, “I’m…” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’m a fallen sinner in need of redemption.”

My mom just about flipped out. My dad just stared at me emptily, disappointed. They’d always dreamed of me growing up to be a world renowned professor of comparative religion at a public college where I could debunk the myths of Evangelical undergrads. Now here I was talking about the Trinity—in their home! Worse, they were immediately distrustful of the clean-cut, well-mannered and traditional Beth and I’m so proud of her for enduring so much suspicion for those first few months.

At one point my mom asked, “Linus, have you ever tried… just, not… being Orthodox?”

She didn’t get it. She didn’t understand that this was who I was now. Maybe even who I’d always been.

A few years have passed since I came out. Beth and I are married now with two kids. Thankfully, my parents have slowly come to accept my alternative way of life. I think once they saw that my Orthodoxy wasn’t hurting anyone—that I could still love people even if I disagreed with them—they warmed up to the new me. Over these years I’ve had some time to reflect on my journey and the prejudices of those I grew up with. It has occurred to me that maybe some of the stereotypes associated with Orthodox Christians might not be too far off from some of us, and for this, I’m disappointed.

I’m happy to report that I’m still an Episcopalian and I’m still in my same liberal diocese. I love my church, for all the reasons I did as a child, plus more. I’m more than happy to minister along side of, accept communion from, and serve under the liberals I once tried so hard to be like. I am a catholic Christian after all! It’s difficult sometimes because many in my diocese still don’t accept me. But I believe God can change hearts.

I still hope to be a priest some day but the opposition is strong. It’s hard to change old patterns and there is still a lot of distrust of Orthodox Christians amongst progressives. The current climate in the Anglican Communion hasn’t helped heal these perceptions. From my studies, I’ve learned that ordination isn’t a right, but a privilege, a service that one is called to—not earned or deserved. I pray that God would one day call me to that place of service to his Church. Until then, I’ll just have wait and keep telling my story.