The Journey Onward

Where Else Would I Go?

My first real exposure to Roman Catholicism came through my college friend Sarah, who as I mentioned in my previous post was happy (and mature enough) to recognize that our beliefs were much the same.  I wasn’t easily persuaded, however.  I actually didn’t know much about Roman Catholicism, but I knew what I had been taught, or what I thought I’d been taught.  Whether or not these things were explicitly preached what I understood from my Evangelical upbringing was that Rome was the Whore of Babylon, the Pope was probably the antichrist, Catholics maintained an unhealthy devotion to Mary, worshipped the saints, and ignored the Bible.  That sounded to me like a totally different religion.  And indeed, the Catholicism in my head was.  My friendship with Sarah, however, helped me grow in willingness to exploring what Roman Catholicism was really all about, because, in case it needs to be said here, the vast majority of what I thought just wasn’t true.

Also during college I spent a quarter studying in Italy.  While there I grew an appreciation for the Roman church.  St. Peter’s Basilica, the Sistine Chapel, and even the more intimate San Michele’s in Lucca where I lived seemed to me monuments to the grandeur of God. 

When I returned home from Italy I felt comfortable occasionally attending mass at the local Roman Catholic parish.  During this time I learned a great truth about the Roman church: it has official teaching.  Some Roman Catholics may believe and communicate certain misunderstandings, but one can always go back to the official teaching of the church to see what it really believes and teaches.  I began acquainting myself with the Catechism of the Catholic Church, and other writings explaining official teaching and I discovered Sarah was right.  Much of what she and I believed was the same. 

Now, I was not ready to become a Roman Catholic by any stretch of the imagination, but I definitely softened to the idea that I could learn some things from the Roman Church.  It was at this time I met Fr. Dimitri Sala.  Fr. Dimitri is a Franciscan friar absolutely committed to church unity.  He and I had several long conversations over the phone about the similarities and the differences between Roman Catholicism and Evangelicalism.  Some of our common ground is that we are both deeply committed to working toward the fulfillment of Jesus’ prayer for church unity in John 17:20-23. 

During one conversation Fr. Dimiti said something that struck me.  Years earlier, while praying for church unity he felt he needed to answer the question “If God asked me to, would I be willing to leave the Roman church in order to work for unity among the separated brethren?”  Now, Fr. Dimitri loves the Roman Catholic church and doesn’t want to leave it.  But he felt God wanted to ask him if he’d be willing to give it up if that’s what following Jesus meant.  He said yes. 

After that conversation I asked myself, would I be willing to leave my tradition and become Roman Catholic, Orthodox, Anglican or something else if God asked me to?  This was a big deal to me because if I answered yes I had to admit God was actually present in these other Christian traditions.  It was also big because it made me realize God may one day ask me to do something really uncomfortable for his glory.  If and when that time came what would I do?  Would I be willing to step into the uncomfortable unknown in order to follow after my Lord and his purposes?  My answer was and is, yes, of course I would.  How could I even dream of not being where God would send me.  I resonate with St. Peter’s words, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” (John 6:68).

At this point in my journey the Lord is leading me into unfamiliar territory.  I’m actually excited about this.  And even though I don’t know the final destination, how exactly God wants to use me, or what all the implications of journeying on will be, I know I am willing to do anything and go anywhere to follow after the leading of my Lord.

The Ancient Paths

In college, during one of our occasional conversations about religion, a Roman Catholic friend of mine asserted she and I basically believed the same things.  I arrogantly and ignorantly dismissed her wholesale declaring we were part of two very different faiths.  Hers was a religion weighed down by all kinds of unnecessary manmade baggage; mine was a pure untainted relationship with Jesus. 

A year or so later one of my professors introduced me to some ancient church documents.  Among them were selections from the Apostolic Fathers and the Didache.  I remember judging their validity and usefulness by whether or not I agreed with them.   For fear of what they might say I similarly condemned, without having read for myself, the writings of St. Justin Martyr, St. Augustine, and others.

Among other things, these scenes of my life demonstrate mine was a faith divorced from church history.  Well, at least the history between AD 70 and the 1950s.  And at the time I was proud of this.  I was proud that my faith was unencumbered by nonessential religiosity and structure.  I imagined this left my faith nimble and easily adaptable to the current cultural climate, which in turn better equipped me to share the simple truth of the gospel with those who did not yet know Jesus.

Years later, in an attempt to better understand worship I attended the Divine Liturgy of St John Chrysostom.  I was to my chagrin profoundly impressed by the worship, including much of what I would have formerly classified as periphery and potentially harmful.  After the service one of the parishioners loaned me the book Becoming Orthodox by Father Peter E. Gillquist, a priest who had converted from Evangelicalism to Orthodoxy.  Of his own spiritual journey he writes,

“For years we had tended to view the Church in its trek through history as a sort of ranch-style structure, twenty centuries long, the foun­dations being re-laid in each century to reflect the cul­ture at hand. Now, it seems, we were starting to look at the Church as a vertical structure twenty centuries high, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets with Christ as the cornerstone.

Instead of having to build new foundations in each generation or each century, we were struggling to see if it were possible to stay with the original apostolic foun­dation, with that faith once for all delivered to the saints and, in turn, to build a new floor on it for our time, to house the people of our day. We grew less and less com­fortable asking, "Are the Christians in the second and third century in our church?" The issue was more the reverse: Are we in theirs?”

After reading this I felt convicted.  How could I judge whether or not the Christians in the early church were following the Lord in the best way possible?  How could I assume my twenty-something year old wisdom was greater than the accumulated wisdom and experience of the total Church throughout the ages?  I was humbled.  As an aspiring pastor, I had thought my job was to fix the mess created by all those people long ago, but now I began to think maybe my responsibility was to humbly listen to them as my teachers.  I realized in pride I had developed ideas and conclusions about the church that led me unintentionally to forsake the fullness of the “fountain of living waters.”  The sad truth was I had joined the ranks of those who had “hewed out cisterns for themselves, broken cisterns that can hold no water” (Jeremiah 2:13).

I am now fully convinced of the necessity of and committed to making sure my theology and faith expression is in continuity with the faith handed down once for all by the apostles and their successors.  I am eager to sit at their feet and submit to their instruction.  I have finally developed a deep desire to “Stand by the roads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is; and walk in it,” and find rest for my soul (Jeremiah 6:16).

Where Providence Placed Me

At this point in my spiritual journey I’m growing to value certain understandings and expressions of the Christian faith that differ from some of those most common in the tradition in which I was raised.  As I become increasingly aware of these differences I’m faced with a choice.  Will I arrogantly dismiss where I’ve come from as old hat, provincial, and tired, with nothing more to offer as I journey onward?  Or will I recognize all traditions are flawed to a certain extent, and that the direction I’m headed may in fact benefit from some of what I received growing up? 

The first option would require me to declare all I was raised with categorically wrong, or at least not always right.  The second option would allow me to honor where I’ve come from, and even take with me as travel companions those aspects of my tradition that seem most helpful, all the while acknowledging journeying onward means leaving some of it behind.  Two significant conversations have helped me happily choose this second option.

Conversation #1

I can’t remember the conversation verbatim, but I’ll do my best to recount it accurately.  A few years ago I attended a workshop hosted by a pastor friend of mine.  After the workshop a man I had never met introduced himself to me. 

“Rob Patterson, you don’t know me but I have been praying for you for a year or so.  I’ve been waiting to meet you because I have an picture from the Lord to share with you.” 

After expressing my interest in what he had to say the man continued, “There was a boat in a body of water, anchored to its spot.  The Lord wants you to know it is time to cut the anchor and move on.  It’s important that the anchor is cut and not pulled up.  This is because where you were anchored was not a bad place.  You can leave your anchor there, nevertheless, the Lord is moving you on.” 

Conversation #2

Last year I had the opportunity to receive some spiritual direction from Orthodox priest Father Patrick Henry Reardon.  After having detailed my story for him he shared a word of advice that has stuck with me.  “Proceed slowly.  And always be careful to honor the tradition in which providence placed you.”

I am determined to honor the tradition from which I come, and to leave the anchor as I sail on.  First and foremost, I’m committed to nurturing my submission to, dependence on, and worship of God, no matter where it leads me and no matter the cost.  This is a value with which I was raised and I intend to keep it.  Second, I’m committed to processing my journey in community.  I’m not running away from the significant relationships with which the Lord has blessed me, not least of which is my current church community.  Third, I’m committed to retain and celebrate those most helpful and uplifting aspects of the tradition in which I was raised such as a deep devotion to Christian mission, a sensitivity to proclaiming the gospel in a manner intelligible to my current local culture, and a passion for proclaiming the gospel through strong biblical teaching and preaching.

I praise God for where providence started my journey.  I praise him for the direction in which, by his grace, I’m headed.  And I praise him for the journey itself.