My Journey Into the Orthodox Church

I recall being
deeply moved by Fr. Richard John Neuhaus’ recounting of his journey from
Lutheranism into the Roman Catholic Church (“How I Became the Catholic I Was”). It is a move that not a few have made, with
denominational provenance spanning most every Protestant confession. Though I journeyed in a different direction
from that of Neuhaus, many of the sights along the way were quite similar. Like him, however, neither do I wish for what
follows to be an argument for my position, nor do I wish to engage those who
have “cruelly, disdainfully, and despitefully” spoken against me, with little
or no basis for their assertions (Psalm 31:20).
The former I wish to avoid because I have embraced a way of life, not a
set of dogmatic presuppositions, and everyone must be persuaded for himself or
herself; and the latter because, as Jesus said, “they have received their
reward” (Matt 6:5). Instead, I wish to
tell my story for the sake of my friends, for those who may be asking, with
kindness: Why?

On 1 December
2013, my family and I were received into the Orthodox Church by the Sacrament
of Holy Chrismation. On that same day,
my entire family received, for the first time as Orthodox Christians, the Eucharist—the
constitutive gift of the one, holy,
catholic, and apostolic Church.
Nevertheless, my journey began long before that most profound day,
probably around the time I entered the Fort Wayne seminary of the Lutheran
Church-Missouri Synod in 2003.

At seminary, for the first time, I encountered the liturgy,
rich in meaning and overflowing with the ability to bring order to my
life. There, for the first time, I came
to see that, by virtue of the Incarnation, all theology was principally
Christology, and the sacraments were the source and summit of our very existence
as humans. There, for the first time, I
came to embrace the rigors of theological study, such that upon graduation, I
immediately commenced doctoral work in that same discipline. I am grateful for those years, and I would
not be who or where I am today without them.

But that institution did not embody the reality of
Lutheranism (as a whole) and the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod (in
particular).

What struck me within weeks of my ordination was the reality
that most parishes did not “do church” the way my parish did (not to mention
some of the other theological and confessional aberrations and contradictions). And that was okay, or so the Synod said. In fact, that was encouraged. Unity was important, or so it seemed, but
only in the essentials. While some very
good pastors supported the understanding that Leitourgia Divina adiaphora non est, the general practice of the
Synod conveyed a different reality. In
short, it was left to every parish (governed by the voters’ assembly) to
determine what it thought was best. In
turn, some were liturgical. Others were
more liturgical than many Roman Catholic parishes. Still others were middle-of-the-road. And many were indistinguishable from the
local charismatic Protestant parish. What
this discontinuity signified, however, was a break in communion. We did not have “all things in common” (Acts
2:44). In fact, in many instances, we
had very little in common, save a quia subscription
to the Lutheran Confessions. Yet, even
that was delineated by interpretation.

For some time, I was determined to put my head down and simply
live faithfully in my own little corner of the LCMS world, doing what I had
always done and doing it as best I could. Consequently, the parish grew, giving
increased, and spiritual maturity flourished.
But I quickly discovered that when one lives thusly, he eventually
becomes his own church, his own president/bishop, his own synod, and,
eventually, his own god. And that was a
reality with which my conscience would not allow me to live. Admittedly, I am not so naïve to believe
that, in Orthodoxy, such problems of continuity do not exist. However, I do know that, in Orthodoxy, no man
is above the liturgy, for the liturgy is the very hermeneutic of continuity and
principle of unity, and if the liturgy remains, the Church retains her koinonia, her communion.

The second, and equally significant, reason for my move was
my children. I am in no way suggesting
that they could not have grown into faithful Christians within the LCMS—many
have and many will. Rather, I am
suggesting that the best way to help children grow into faithful Christians is
by giving them the food for the journey, the bread for the way: the Holy Eucharist. However, it is not just a novelty that Holy
Orthodoxy gives the Eucharist to the baptized of all ages. Rather, it presupposes the very heart of our
existence as humans—that it is only in Christ’s body and blood given to us that
we are enabled to become fully human again.

Moreover, it is only when we are in the process of being
restored to our intended humanity that God is glorified (Gloria Dei est
vivens homo, as St. Irenaeus
has said). Clearly, the arguments for
and against the communion of all the baptized have been played out elsewhere,
so there is no need to recreate them here.
Rather, suffice it to say that I accept the clear witness of the
Scriptures, the early Church and, for that matter, the Orthodox Church: that
those baptized and chrismated are admitted to the Eucharist, precisely so that
when they grow up, they never remember a day without it.

To that end, in discovering the great liturgical continuity,
coupled with the emphasis on the sacramental life for those of all ages, there
is one further reason for my reception into the Orthodox Church, but one that I
could not have predicted before becoming a catechumen: In Orthodoxy, God is
mercy. God is not an angry judge, nor is
he wrathful. Rather, God is a Father,
who is always and ever filled with that which he is: mercy. No need for belated commentary on various
theories of the atonement, for no single theory accurately conveys the
reality. Rather, I should only like to
say that you can tell a lot about a church from its liturgy, as I have
mentioned already. But, more
specifically, for example, the word “mercy” appears 140 times in the Liturgy of
St. John Chrysostom.

It is also significant that, in the Western Rite of the
Orthodox Church, the singing of the kyrie
actually sounds like a cry for help.
Mercy is what drives Orthodoxy and, in particular, her many spiritual
disciplines (e.g. fasting, frequent confession, penance, alms giving, prayer,
etc.), not out of fear, but as a desire to be united fully with our Father
again. Orthodoxy provides the means for
healing our broken relationship and the mercy needed to silence our
predetermined prodigal deal (“I will arise and go to my father, and I will say
to him . . .” [Luke 15:19]). Yes, our Father
runs to us, precisely because he has always been waiting for us with a merciful
heart.

There is more, yes, and with every passing day, as we begin
to grow more fully into the Orthodox way, I recognize that reality. But my prayers remain with those who have yet
to find their way home. For not only do
I believe that the fullness of life is found in Holy Orthodoxy, but I also
believe that, in a unique way, this is, in part, the life the Lutheran
reformers were after (though the trajectory is markedly different with today’s
Lutheran confessors).

It is not insignificant, in fact, that one of the first
appeals for Lutheran support went from Germany to Constantinople. The Tübingen theologian, Jakob Andreae,
penned the following as an attachment to the Greek translation of the Augsburg
Confession, sent to Patriarch Jeremias of Constantinople:

I
am sending you a little book that contains the main parts of our entire faith,
so that Your Holiness may see what our religion is, and whether we agree with
the teachings of the churches under the jurisdiction of Your Holiness; or
whether perhaps, there might be something that is not in agreement (which I
would not desire). I earnestly ask Your Holiness to receive it with the same
good favor with which you have accepted my previous communications and, if it
is not too much for your wise person, to kindly express your most favorable
judgment concerning these articles, if God would grant that we think alike in
Christ.

The hope of the Lutherans, in fact, was that the Orthodox Patriarch “count [them] worthy of [his] indulgence and
receive [them] kindly into [his] paternal care.”

Indeed, therefore, from the earliest days of the Reformation,
the Lutherans sought theological affirmation from the Orthodox Church (and not
vice versa), in no small part because they viewed the Orthodox Church as
holding unswervingly to the faith of the apostles. The Orthodox were, very
simply, the Church.

And, so, in a most profound way, I have done what the
earliest Lutherans had hoped to do. Finally, I have come home. But some are not home, at least not yet.

I do not for a moment doubt the sincerity and faithfulness of
my friends who wish to remain Lutheran and, in fact, I commend them for that, because,
although I have found my way home, I continue on the journey toward the telos for all Christians—unity with the
one true God—a journey that my Lutheran brothers and sisters desire to share. Like the disciples on the road to Emmaus, our
eyes have been opened by the Lord to the truth of our human story, and we are
all growing into our understanding of that story, into the fullness of who God
created us to be: made in the image and striving for the likeness. And so, we
travel together still.

My
only prayer, of course, is that my Lutheran traveling companions respect me for
lifting the burden on my conscience and doing what I was persuaded by love to
do. Indeed, that is what happened to me
and my family: We fell in love. And, to
steal an idea from Bonhoeffer, while I know that love will not sustain this
marriage with Holy Orthodoxy, I am convinced beyond
all doubt that my marriage to Holy Orthodoxy will sustain my love for her, now
and ever, and unto the ages of ages.
Why? Because “this
is the Faith of the Apostles, this is the Faith of the Fathers, this is the
Faith of the Orthodox, this is the Faith which has established the Universe.”

Joshua Genig is assistant professor of historical theology at SS. Cyril and Methodius
Seminary.

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