This is usually the point in this particular story where many people simply assume that I’m either becoming Orthodox or planning to become Orthodox at some point. They tend to act in disbelief when I tell them truthfully that I have no such plans. I’m not sure if I have any “plans” at all at this juncture. More than anything, I’m letting each day come as it will and I’m not sure what the future holds.

I’ve puzzled over that expectation and disbelief for some time and I think it may be linked to our modern tendency to self-segregate in groups according to what we believe about God. That tendency is most evident, of course, among Protestants, but I believe it may be much broader and deeper than that.

It’s not a drive I seem to share. Ultimately, any group with which I associate is going to be a community of people with all the difficulties that entails. Of course, I will tend to move away from groups who hold beliefs I find abhorrent or perhaps even harmful, but that’s more from the effects of those beliefs upon people than because of the beliefs themselves.

I suppose other things matter more to me than the specific beliefs a group does or does not hold. And most of those things revolve around relationships more than ideas. Don’t get me wrong. It has been, is, and will continue to be a huge relief to me that the things I’ve experienced, understood, and believe about God and the nature of reality are not somewhere on the fringe, but are instead right in the mainstream of Orthodox theology. But that fact alone does not translate into a desire to run out and become Orthodox.

What would translate into such a desire or intention? That’s really hard for me to say. As many spiritual leaps and transitions as I’ve made in my life, I can’t really say that I exactly planned any of them. Even in retrospect, I’m not sure I could detail the reasons for every shift, though some are clearer than others. If my wife were ever drawn toward Orthodoxy (which is unlikely) that would almost certainly pull me in that direction as well. I know myself well enough to know how important that relationship is to me. Other than that, I’m not sure there’s much that ever would, though once again I’m not good at predicting the future.

One thing I do know, though. I will continue to pray, “Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on me, a sinner.”

In my last post I mentioned that I was largely ignorant of modern Orthodoxy. I did not, of course, mean that I was ignorant of its existence. I knew of the Russian Church and the Greek Church. I knew something of the Ecumenical Patriarch. I had had some Greek Orthodox acquaintances. For some strange reason, though, I had never mentally connected the ancient writers and councils I had studied to the modern Orthodox Church. I can’t really say that I thought much about them at all, but to the extent I did, I suppose I thought of that tradition as some sort of eastern Catholic similar to the Roman Catholic Church.

Once I became aware of my error of omission, of course, I set about correcting it. It’s been an illuminating and very helpful journey. I don’t know that I would say I have developed a different view of God than I had three and a half years ago, though I have certainly extended and deepened many beliefs. I had long since tried on and abandoned as untenable many of the typical Protestant beliefs about God. Those beliefs were largely historically and culturally rooted in the last few hundred years and many of them had no connection at all to anything recognizable in the cultures that gave us the New Testament, much less the ancient Jewish Scriptures.

However, much of my understanding and experience of God (in no small part developed from reading the ancient writings of the Church) seemed so unlike what either the Protestant or Catholic traditions had to say about God. As a result, I tended to question it and tried to hold it at some length. I also largely kept my thoughts to myself on topics ranging from ‘original sin’ to ‘hell’ to the nature of our salvation in and through Christ.

The Orthodox, in their theology, describe the God I love, or at least want to love. They describe a God worth loving and offer a theology worthy of the dignity of the human soul. I didn’t encounter new ideas as much as I found a freedom to truly embrace the God I thought I was coming to know and love. And I remain incredibly grateful for that gift. I feel as though a great weight has been lifted from shoulders.

I prayed, “Lord Jesus have mercy on me,” for years and had no idea that the prayer itself would be a vehicle of his mercy.

I mentioned in my first post that I had been praying the Jesus Prayer for years before I discovered it was an actual prayer of the Church. That makes an interesting story itself, so I thought I would share it.

First, I want to make it clear that my own personal prayer rule and practices have never been that great. I’m hardly someone to emulate. My intentions to pray normally exceed my actual prayer itself.

Prayer is one way we are present with God. It’s an unmediated mystical experience of God. About a decade ago, I first read Brother Lawrence’s letters and discussions collected as The Practice of the Presence of God. I was particularly taken by his description of the use of breath prayers, very short prayers you could say during the course of your activities during the day. I began to develop and incorporate breath prayers of my own. These were short prayers, like “God is love” and “Love never fails.” But the prayer I seemed to return to again and again, drawn from the parable of the publican, was “Lord Jesus have mercy on me” or sometimes simply “Have mercy on me.”

In the summer of 2006 I was reading Scot McKnight’s book, Praying With The Church, for the first time. From my own reading and experience, I was already familiar with the ancient Jewish practice of set prayers, how it permeated the NT, and the long tradition of set prayers in the Church. I appreciated the way he tied it together and explained, but I didn’t expect any surprises. Then I got to Chapter 7, How the Eastern Orthodox Pray with the Church, and as he described the Jesus Prayer, I remember a sense of astonishment growing within me. I had not only stumbled onto a tradition I didn’t know existed, my favorite prayer over the course of every day was among the oldest continuing prayer traditions of the Church.

To be honest, I’m not sure how I had missed the connection before then. I suppose that things like that happen when your reading and experience are largely self-directed and somewhat haphazard. It was at that point that I really began to look at modern Orthodoxy, but that’s a story for my next post.

For me, the Jesus Prayer stands like an icon at the center of my journey into the Christian faith. And yet, it’s an odd icon, for I prayed it for many years before I really understood that it was a distinct prayer tradition of the church. I suppose it’s fitting that what is considered the central work on the Jesus Prayer is itself a story of a journey, The Way of the Pilgrim. I haven’t yet read that spiritual work, but I have a feeling I will empathize with the Pilgrim in his search.

I suppose a bit of background is in order for those who are not familiar with the tradition of the Jesus Prayer. It is drawn, in large part, from the parable in Luke 18, so I believe that’s the best place to start.

⁹ Also He spoke this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and despised others: ¹⁰ “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. ¹¹ The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself, ‘God, I thank You that I am not like other men—extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even as this tax collector. ¹² I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all that I possess.’ ¹³ And the tax collector, standing afar off, would not so much as raise his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, ‘God, be merciful to me a sinner!’ ¹⁴ I tell you, this man went down to his house justified rather than the other; for everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.”

The point, of course, is as clear as that of any parable. The moment we believe that we are more spiritually accomplished or blessed in any way over anyone else, we stand in the shoes of the Pharisee. We essentially thank God that we are at least not like those others, whoever those others may be. I know that is where I most often find myself. And yet this parable tells us that only when we pray for mercy, acknowledging our own state, can we return to our house that day justified. When we pray exalting ourselves, we might as well not have prayed at all.

The Jesus Prayer is drawn directly from that parable. It doesn’t really have one set form, but its longest form is probably, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, be merciful to me a sinner.” Another common form is, “Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on me.” Its shortest form is likely, “Lord have mercy.”

That’s probably enough for this first post. I’ll continue with this series when next I write.