וייקץ יעקב משנתו ויאמר אכן יש יהוה במקום הזה ואנכי לא ידעתי׃
ויירא ויאמר מה נורא המקום הזה אין זה כי אם בית אלהים וזה שער השמים׃
Genesis 28:16-17
This passage, in slightly different wording, was chanted as an introit by the choir of my family church, the parish of Saint Mark, in Portland, Oregon (Episcopal then, now, schismatic Anglican). It was my favorite introit, and the chanting of it, even though it happened only once a year on the anniversary of the dedication of the church, is indelibly engraved in my memory, and I can chant it still.
We were a very high church congregation, but then it was a flawless act, covering unbelievable wickedness and hypocrisy. Little did I know it at the time. To me, the place was all magic, and in a good sense. It was in that darkly sparkling nave that I saw and venerated my first real ikons, old Russian ones blackened with the centuries, for ours was a unique parish, commemorating the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Pope of Rome, and the Patriarch of Constantinople, in every mass.
We were moved from that old church, into real Orthodoxy, the Greek Church, by a fortuitous accident, just as the old ship of Episcopalianism was about to disappear beneath the waves of the world's seductive charms. The parish of Saint Mark almost followed, but at the last minute threw its lot in with one of the new continuing Anglican groups, and it has floundered ever since. Only later did I find out what depravity was hidden beneath the brocaded chasubles and immaculate altar frontals.
This is a comment of sad reminiscence, but also a testimony that the Lord in His divine economy and faithfulness can still lead us to the Truth, to Himself, out of Babylon, and still preserve for us the tokens of His saving grace. “Oh, how dreadful is this Place, this is the house of God, and gate of Heaven, and men shall call it the Palace of God” (Introit for the dedication of a church, The English Hymnal, 716).
This passage, in slightly different wording, was chanted as an introit by the choir of my family church, the parish of Saint Mark, in Portland, Oregon (Episcopal then, now, schismatic Anglican). It was my favorite introit, and the chanting of it, even though it happened only once a year on the anniversary of the dedication of the church, is indelibly engraved in my memory, and I can chant it still.
We were a very high church congregation, but then it was a flawless act, covering unbelievable wickedness and hypocrisy. Little did I know it at the time. To me, the place was all magic, and in a good sense. It was in that darkly sparkling nave that I saw and venerated my first real ikons, old Russian ones blackened with the centuries, for ours was a unique parish, commemorating the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Pope of Rome, and the Patriarch of Constantinople, in every mass.We were moved from that old church, into real Orthodoxy, the Greek Church, by a fortuitous accident, just as the old ship of Episcopalianism was about to disappear beneath the waves of the world's seductive charms. The parish of Saint Mark almost followed, but at the last minute threw its lot in with one of the new continuing Anglican groups, and it has floundered ever since. Only later did I find out what depravity was hidden beneath the brocaded chasubles and immaculate altar frontals.
This is a comment of sad reminiscence, but also a testimony that the Lord in His divine economy and faithfulness can still lead us to the Truth, to Himself, out of Babylon, and still preserve for us the tokens of His saving grace. “Oh, how dreadful is this Place, this is the house of God, and gate of Heaven, and men shall call it the Palace of God” (Introit for the dedication of a church, The English Hymnal, 716).
1 comment:
As you know, I strive to be orthodox, though not Orthodox.
I'm thankful that the Lord ministered to you at that Episcopal church. I'm thankful that he revealed some of the hypocrisy (and I still fear because of my own hypocrisy). I'm thankful that he has led me out of some churches. (I've lived a lot of places, so not all of these were in the same place).
--One Sunday School class used denominational material that often tried to tell us which part of the day's Bible text we should believe.
--One pastor thought I could not have been saved, because my experiences were not in the chronological order pictured in the Exodus.
--One had a pastor who thought people who preferred anything that wasn't contemporary, didn't matter...and he lied about why he did what he did.
The Lord had his people at each place, and I loved them, and they loved me. I often think of all the people who received genuine blessings from Judas Iscariot. Yet, given a choice, we should not choose Judas Iscariot and his ilk as our spiritual leaders.
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