Here I write about anything and everything.
My book is now available for sale as paperback and e-book; click here.
For now, it’s just on Amazon, because I signed up for Kindle Select for 90 days.
My author page is here. There is much to do; I hope to even put together a playlist on Youtube for songs that inspired the book.
The troubles at our church have finally been resolved with the assignment of a new, young priest who everybody seems happy with. I have no idea how soon it’ll take for hurt feelings to be soothed, but I’ve already seen people on opposite sides of the divide, take steps to come together again. And so far the priest doesn’t talk politics!!!!
There have always been young preachers and priests, of course, since you have to start somewhere, but everywhere I’ve ever gone to church, the preacher or priest has always been older than I am, usually much older. Now I’m the one moving into venerable middle age while the priest is a Millennial! I’m not sure what I think about that yet. 😉 But hey, I’ve always liked Millennials. They’re like my beloved younger siblings.
Just two and a half months ago, I thought this was all gone for me. I thought I no longer fit in here. I thought I’d have to start over somewhere else. And to come back, feel healed for a moment, then feel like it was all about to get ripped out of my hands again– The past couple of months have been a mixture of dread and depression, combined with the heady feeling of learning how much my friends care about me and want me to stay in the church. Things were brought out into the open and I have a new closeness with one friend in particular.
I just hit 50 years old last week, which is its own dread, but I still feel youthful, with a youthful spirit, I’m fitter than I’ve ever been, and my skin is still clear of wrinkles. To my shock, three people on Sunday called me beautiful; a previous priest’s wife said I look better and younger every time she sees me; I don’t know if any of them knew about my birthday. They just said it without prompting. Almost losing my church makes me appreciate the beauty of the icons, and every moment there. I appreciate the beauty of the landscape when I go out on my bike (and am NOT forced inside by wildfire smoke). I’ve stopped paying so much attention to politics, now that we have a much better US president and I don’t need to RESIST all the time anymore. I’ve got other things to put my attention on in the next 50 years.
Meanwhile, I’m formatting my latest novel. My attention has been derailed by all of this, but we have a writer’s fair coming up and I want to have copies available. Can I finally focus now?
(And yes, Richard and Tracy, this is also for you, since I know you were so interested in the church business. After all these years, Richard, I think you’re still my biggest confidant!)
So after the spiritual crisis I described in the last three posts–here, here and here–I went back to my church and there was a General Assembly, later than usual, and scheduled last-minute. My own issue with the priest had been resolved; I caught wind of a few complaints over the past many months, but didn’t think it was of much importance. To my shock and dismay, the General Assembly turned into a verbally abusive tirade against the priest, along with a litany of complaints–none of which had anything to do with my own issue. They all seemed to be about him not doing things exactly the way some people thought they should be done.
Now, I’ve been there long enough to see two other priests, and there have always been complaints about something or other that the priest does or doesn’t do. I was not expecting this level of vitriol, or the division. I have to wonder if things were percolating in the four months I was gone, and that’s how I missed it all.
Another thing I learned is that despite his praise of things said at the local Ephraimite monastery, Father does not seem to be an Ephraimite himself. It’s just one person who is an Ephraimite, a new member of our parish, and their views are not shared by others. (I explained Ephraimites here.)
As of today, it’s been a month since that General Assembly, and we have no priest as of yesterday. There is a shortage of priests. I have no idea what’s going to happen with our church. The parish president, my beloved friend, assures me that not only am I still welcome there no matter how liberal my beliefs are now, but that we will get through this and survive as a church. But I still doubt because other parishes have closed around us. There is only one other church left near us, and that’s in the next county. I fear that despite my hard decision to return to my church, there soon will be none left and I’ll still end up going back to the Protestant world. The local ONA UCC church would be my refuge, as–in his latest sermon–its preacher said it has been for others in the community. But I would be heartbroken to have to leave my beloved church of about 17 years, and all the relationships I’ve formed there. It may be a crazy family, but it’s MY crazy family.
Please pray for my church and for me.
Once again, it was time to pull my favorite Gary Numan song out of the drawer and play it over several times because of my recent faith crisis. (I got to hear him sing this in person a year ago, the same night he found out he had COVID! lol ) Now there’s something else going on which I don’t want to talk about online, though I have a little Notepad file getting all my deep dark secrets. So I’m going to post this video in honor of that as well as the past four months of spiritual despair and heartbreak, which all seemed to be healed by hugs from three people on Holy Friday night:
Now for a video of the four deer living by my house. Ever since last spring, in the warmer months they come out of the woods at dusk or cloudy weather and graze in the field behind our house:
In my last post, I spoke of issues with my church turning fundie, and fearing I had to leave it. Some people may think, Well this is what Orthodoxy is–Didn’t you know this when you converted? Especially nowadays, various bloggers and celebrity priests and Youtube influencers have gotten people thinking that Orthodoxy means right-wing views on both politics and religion. David Bentley Hart has joked that American Orthodoxy is now “a wing of the Southern Baptists with incense.”
But no, actually, it’s a small-town Midwestern Greek church, mostly cradle, where the people have more modern practices, women have fought for more equality and leadership in the church, and–unlike what I hear about the big-city ethnic churches–actually welcome in newcomers. You don’t have to be Greek; you don’t have to wear a headscarf; you don’t have to obey your husband; women can read and chant and sometimes even help the priest during services. You don’t have to follow all the fasting rules; organs are fine and pews are welcome; birth control is okay. Some people are Republican, even Trumpers; some are Democrats. Some have more traditional views of–well, everything; some are more progressive. I came here not for strict old-fashioned practices and patriarchal society, but for mystical spiritualism that says God is love and NOT wrath. This is why I, deconstructing from Evangelicalism and leaning liberal, was able to come into an Orthodox church and stay there for about 16 years. Any convertitis I felt back in 2006, under the influence of people I met online, was quickly tempered by assimilating into what some would dismiss as an “ecumenist” or “modernist” church.
The trouble came when more traditionalist and Republican views seemed to start coming in and taking over. A nearby right-wing monastery under Elder Ephraim has been gaining influence when I never heard much about it before. The new priest began channeling Tucker Carlson–even said the local nuns were “praying for Kyle Rittenhouse.” He’d say in one breath that our church is not racist or against people who are LGBTQ, then in the next say God didn’t make anyone trans and complain about CRT. Pull your kids out of the public school because they’re influencing the kids into being trans, he said. This government is evil, he said. I began to fear that I couldn’t be an ally for racial and queer justice and stay here.
This is why I left right before Christmas. Well, physically left. I didn’t officially leave because I don’t make decisions lightly. I have to research and ponder first. I’ve left churches before, but never did I have so much at stake. I’ve put 16 years into this church–studying the doctrines and why they do things, learning to talk to saints and use icons, learning how to fold palm crosses, decorating, reading Epistles and a good chunk of the Holy Week readings every year, Greek Fest, running the website. They’re family: parental figures, grandmotherly figures, siblings, now a new generation coming in and converting and possibly becoming like one’s children. I have a BFF and occasionally the Greeks will flirt with you. Especially for a transplant from another state, finding chosen family is a big deal.
Christmas came; instead of church, I was home nursing a dying bird. (RIP Spice. 🙁 ) I stayed away for nearly four months. I kept dreaming about people from church. I researched–the results of which are in the last post–and checked out local liberal churches online. (The local ONA UCC church has an AWESOME preacher.) But for the past month, I realized I’d have to make a decision whether to come back for Holy Week.
My stomach twisted; I didn’t know what to do. I was told the priest had stopped talking politics. I didn’t want to give up icons or my patron saint (Gregory of Nyssa, the universalist). People like our progressive archbishop and David Bentley Hart and Archbishop Lazar Puhalo are Orthodox. I missed people and felt very lonely. Holy Week came and I decided to do the fast. We didn’t have the usual number of services; I missed Wednesday and Thursday, feeling headachey and reluctant. I missed the Friday afternoon one. But I finally went to the Friday evening one.
I got a warm welcome. People missed me. I got hugs. The priest smiled and said something like, “Hey stranger, where have you been?” The people I missed the most were the happiest to see me. One of them, the president, basically filled in my stewardship card for me and before I knew it, my membership was renewed another year (I’d been holding off on it). “I see what you did there,” I thought with an inward chuckle. Then at the Paschal service, my BFF–who told me he’d be working the whole week–showed up at some point. I didn’t know it till I was walking downstairs after services and he hit me on the back. lol We connect on social media all the time, but he lives in another town and works a lot, so I hadn’t seen him in MONTHS.
I still have the same issues with the church. But I decided to give it another chance. I seem to go through periods of doubt every five years; just as in the past, the people kept me from leaving. Maybe I can have some influence, too. We’ll see how things go.
