Getting Orthodox

A reason for the hope that is in me.

Russian Easter by Nicholas Roerich

“There is only one way to understand Orthodoxy: through direct Orthodox experience… To become Orthodox, it is necessary to immerse oneself all at once in the very element of Orthodoxy, to be living in an Orthodox way. There is no other way.”

— Father Pavel Florensky

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By now, some of you will have seen this post called “After Catholicism: The Tragic Tale of Michael Warren Davis”. The author, Maxim Grigorieff, is a convert from Orthodox Christianity to Eastern Catholicism. His essay is basically one long ad hominem. For instance, Grigorieff points out that I deleted my old Substack, along with my conversion story, “Why I Became Orthodox”. He figures I did this because I’m insecure about my conversion, and concludes that I have failed to fulfill Saint Peter’s command: “Always be ready to give a defense to everyone who asks you a reason for the hope that is in you, with meekness and fear” (1 Pet. 3:15).

Well, let me say this about that.

Shortly after I became Orthodox, I promised myself that I would steer clear of online religious polemics. Actually, I quit writing altogether. That was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I really enjoyed the peace and quiet. Then, articles about my conversion started popping up in the Catholic blogosphere. Most were, understandably, disapproving (e.g., Michael P. Foley and Marcio Antonio Campos). Some were quite gracious, even sympathetic (e.g., Peter Kwasniewski and Stuart Chessman).

Now, I don’t mind being talked about or even criticized. The trouble is that everyone seemed to assume I left the Catholic Church because of Pope Francis. And that’s just not true. I wanted to set the record straight. So, I started a new Substack called Yankee Athonite and put all of my best arguments for Orthodoxy in the article that Grigorieff mentions: “Why I Am Orthodox”.

Well, one thing led to another. Before long, I was basically a full-time apologist. I wrote two articles per week for my Substack on Orthodox apologetics. I took part in YouTube debates against Catholic apologists like Elijah Yasi. I even got a blessing to do apologetics from my bishop. Then I remembered the promise I made to myself, about steering clear of religious polemics. And I decided to pack it in.

That’s nothing against apologists, by the way. The Church has canonized many of them! There’s Justin the Martyr, Athenagoras of Athens, Katherine of Alexandria… The list goes on. However, I will say this: Many of us assume that, when Saint Peter tells us to defend our hope, he means, “Make sure you can argue your position better than the other guy.” And that’s not true.

Believe it or not, you can be received into the Orthodox Church even if you don’t know why Augustine’s understanding of the double procession of the Holy Spirit is compatible with the monarchical trinitarianism of the Cappadocian Fathers. Because (thank God!) we’re not saved by our opinions—not any more than we’re saved by our own righteousness.

Our hope is not in the Church’s doctrines and dogmas. Our hope is in the Church, the Body of Christ.

So, how do I defend my hope in the Body of Christ—the Holy Orthodox Church? Well, I guess it depends on who’s asking.

Saint Isaac the Syrian says, “Do not dispute over the truth with someone who does not know the truth; but from the person who is eager to know the truth, do not withhold words from him.” In this, we have no better example than Christ.

When the Pharisees asked the Lord a question, He refused to answer them directly because He “knew their hypocrisy” (cf. Mark 12:14). That is to say, He knew they weren’t really interested in His perspective. They just wanted to argue.

Not so with the disciples. Jesus answered every question they asked Him. Sometimes they would ask the same question over and over, and He’d give them the same answer over and over. Why? Because they really wanted to know. “The secret of God’s kingdom has been given to you,” He explained, “but to those who are outside everything comes in parables” (Mark 4:11).

So, with all due respect, I don’t think I should engage Mr. Grigorieff. Something tells me he just wants to argue. And that’s his choice! I’m not judging him. I’d just rather hold my peace.

If someone really did want to know the reason for my hope, though, I might put it like this:

My wife and children were received into the Orthodox Church about a year after I was. Our daughter Beatrice was four at the time, and she was very excited. Every Sunday morning for about six months, she would ask me, “When can I get Orthodox?”

I don’t think Bea has seen the Ubi-Ybarra debate. She hasn’t read a single volume of Hopko or Ware of Alfeyev. All she knows is that she loves our parish, our priest, and our community. She loves receiving Holy Communion with her friends and processing around the Church with icons together. She loves seeing the bishop in his cape and crown. She loves the incense, the bells, the prostrations. Oh, the prostrations.

She loves the chant. I have videos of her singing “Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death…” in August. Her favorite, though, is “Joy of All Who Sorrow”. She needs to enunciate a little more, but she’s really quite good.

She loves our saints. Herman of Alaska (or “Fathah Herman” in her little Boston accent). Seraphim of Sarov (“and Mischa the bear!”). The Royal Martyrs (“Nicholas is the papa and he’s a king, Alexandra is the mama and she’s a queen, the little girl is Anastasia and she’s a princess…”). She especially loves her patron.

One day, Bea appeared next to my desk with a play-silk wrapped around her head. Her left hand was raised with her palm facing out; in her right hand was a little cross. I didn’t notice any of that, however. Not at first. What really struck me was the look on her face. It was fierce, defiant—like she was ready to walk into a lion’s den. I recognized that look straight away. She’d been studying our icon of Saint Beatrice of Rome.

If you ask Bea what she wants to be when she grows up, she’ll say, “A saint.” Sometimes she’ll even say, “A martyr.” Or maybe, “A nurse.” But usually, “A saint.”

Beatrice wears her baptismal cross everywhere—even to bed. She refuses to take it off. She also wears a prayer rope around her left wrist, like Mama and Papa.

She’ll come into the living room in the morning when I’m chanting Matins. Every once in a while, she tries to join in. Usually, she just flips through a psalter, or plays with her prayer rope, or does prostrations (oh, the prostrations). Sometimes she just stands there quietly and looks at the icons. But it draws her in. She knows something is happening, and she wants to be part of it.

That’s how it was for me, too. Once I became aware of the Orthodox Church, it just… drew me in. I knew something was happening, and I wanted to be part of it. And it wasn’t any one thing, either. It was everything, together. Orthodoxy demanded my whole self: my attention, my awe, my reverence, my time, my loyalty, my love.

All of me longed for all of the Church. And that’s all I really have to say. I can’t explain myself any better than Bea can. But I hope that my love, like hers, will speak for itself.