Yet Another Conversion Story (But This One is Mine!)

Breviary, Aquinas, Jordanville PB, and BCP

There are many conversion stories to be found both in print and online, and during my conversion process I found many of them to be a blessing. It help provides converts and potential converts with a sense of community and the knowledge that virtually all of what they are experiencing has been experienced before. Particularly helpful is the testimony given by people who converted from the same tradition. It is my hope that struggling Episcopalians and Anglo-Catholics considering or starting their conversion process will find some small comfort and help from this my testimony.

Leeds Episcopal Church, My Childhood Home

Shortly after I was born, my parents (one a former Baptist and the other a former Presbyterian) decided that they wanted their children raised in an environment of a structured faith community. It is not that they were zealots of faith, but that they realized the importance of providing children with what they considered an important aspect of the human experience, namely organized religion. After asking friends in the area and shopping around a little bit, they decided to join the local Episcopal Congregation. They were attracted by the traditional liturgy and moderately conservative values that can be found in most country Episcopalian parishes throughout the nation. After they were received, I (and my little brother shortly after) was baptized at Leeds Episcopal parish as a toddler, by a female priest.

My childhood to a fair degree revolved around parish life. My parents became increasingly involved in the life of the parish, and so did I, though not always willingly. I remember helping with numerous charities, working the annual apple festival, sitting at the back of the church waiting for lengthy choir practice to end, running around outside during vestry meetings, and of course being dragged out of bed to go to 10:30 Eucharist, Rite II.

As I approached my early teen years, I started to appreciate Church more and began to take an interest in my faith. I was confirmed by our Bishop and made several visits to the National Cathedral in DC, which at the time was the most spiritual and majestic place I had ever seen. My Father, who had little patience for the crowds and noise of the Rite II service began to attend the 8:00 Rite I service, and as I grew older I went with him. There was no singing. It was quiet and meditative, with only a few in attendance. My Father began to read some of the lessons and prayers of the people, and I remember being very proud of him. When I was asked if I wanted to become an altar server I jumped at the chance, eager to serve. I loved assisting the priest at the Eucharist, often it was just me and her at the altar. This time in my life gave me an early appreciation for liturgy, and a clear (if limited) understanding of the Sacraments and their importance in Christian life. I credit this time with starting me on the path to catholic Christianity.

In time, when I grew old enough, both my Father and I were ordained Eucharistic Ministers, authorized by the Bishop to not only assist the priest in the celebration of the liturgy, but also to distribute communion. I felt awed, and never more nervous when I held the chalice out to people and said softly "the Blood of Christ, the cup of salvation." As part of the ordination process, we were taught more about the Eucharist. Before the training, I had the basic Anglican notion that the Sacrament was a symbolic version of a spiritual reality. Luckily for me, several of the parishioners involved in the training were of a more catholic mindset (one was even an iconographer!) and I was taught for the first time of the real presence of Christ in the bread in the wine, and the devotion that we should give to that presence. I began to genuflect and kneel more during services, and when several people in the congregation began making the sign of the cross I joyfully joined in.

Washington National Cathedral

I began to recite parts of the daily offices as found the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, learning to love the Psalms and hymns that had shaped Western spirituality for so long. I loved attending every liturgy I could and started making even more frequent trips to the National Cathedral, specifically to attend the Eucharist and browse their extensive book store. Then, around my 17th birthday, I experienced the crisis so often experienced by people that age, and began to rebel against all that I had been raised to believe in. I wanted to make up my own mind about religion, and I resented having been told from birth what to believe.

I began to take a strong interest in Judaism, which oddly enough would later contribute to my conversion to Holy Orthodoxy. I stopped reading the New Testament, and focused on reading the old law and prophets. I decided that while I believed in God, I just couldn't accept the radical and miraculous stories about Christ. I was attracted by the idea of being part of the tight knit community of Judaism, of the feeling of being set apart. I learned to dress modestly and grow a beard, and to study intensely the scriptures. I contacted a local Jewish congregation, but for some reason held back. I don't know exactly why, but when the time for leaving behind all that I had known became imminent, I was frightened and saddened. I continued my study of Judaism, but made no move to continue contact with any specific congregation.

Then, during my Junior year of high school, I accidentally caused a fire in my house by leaving candles burning when we were all out. No one was harmed, and while smoke damage required us to live away from the house for a few months, little destruction was caused. But it made me feel more sorry and shamed than I had ever felt before. I had cost my family thousands of dollars, and my quasi Jewish faith was simply not responding to me. For the first time in a year I picked up my prayer book and recited compline, and felt a calm that I had not felt since my misguided attempt to convert had started. I stopped resenting my parents, and with new fervor resumed my study of Christianity.

Although my parish was largely of a protestant mindset, as I mentioned earlier there were several parishioners who were more catholic oriented and in their company I began to explore things that I didn't know an Episcopalian was allowed to do. I remember being nervous when for the first time I purchased a crucifix and hung it around my neck. I was equally nervous the first time I said an Ave Maria when I started to pray the Angelus and later the Rosary. I began reading of John Henry Newman and Edward Pusey and the other heroes of the Oxford movement. I began reading St. Augustine and St. Thomas Aquinas, and studying what the church had been like before the protestant reformation. I came to love incense, bells, vestments, and all the trappings that went with my new Anglo-Catholic identity. I stopped praying the prayer book offices and purchased a copy of the famous Anglican Breviary, as well as using the very Roman devotions found in the St. Augustine Prayer Book. Best of all, I would sometimes be able to persuade my parents to attend Mass (another word that made at first made me nervous) at St. Paul's on K Street in D.C., one of the flagship parishes of the Anglo-Catholic movement in the Episcopal Church. But amidst my wonder and joy, something wasn't quite right.

St. Paul's, K Street

As I began my studies of the ancient Church, I started to notice that things then are not as they are now. Although I owed a lot to the female priest with whom I had served at the altar so many years, I began to question whether or not she could be truly ordained. I remember feeling discomfort with the ordination of Gene Robinson, the first openly gay Episcopal Bishop. And I remember feeling insulted and worried when a liberal woman bishop was chosen to be the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church over several male and catholic minded bishops. Although the Anglo-Catholic movement was picking up steam, especially amongst youth like my self, the liberals in charge really did not seem to respect our views or the views of ancient Christianity. They seemed more concerned with being inclusive and supporting social causes than preaching the Gospel and celebrating the sacraments. My discomfort grew day by day, and though I continued to serve my home parish, I secretly began to look for other options.

High Altar of St. John the Baptist, Front Royal

I never seriously considered the Continuing Anglican movement. It seemed even more fractured and disorganized than mainline Anglicanism, and although they maintained traditional values, most of them were hard line Protestants with little value for the Catholicism that I had grown to love. I started attending Eucharistic adoration and the occasional Latin Mass at St. John the Baptist Roman Catholic Church in Front Royal Virginia, a large and busy parish with a prominent traditionalist community. After I graduated high school, a trip to Ireland exposed me to the Roman Catholicism of my Irish heritage. I loved attending mass in the ancient churches and visiting the holy sites and wells. When I returned to the U.S., my interest in Roman Catholicism continued to grow, and the story of the conversion of Cardinal Newman inspired me. I spoke with several priests and started looking into starting the conversion process, but as with my near conversion to Judaism something held me back.

Although I loved the liturgy and solemn devotion of Roman Catholicism, the more I learned of Roman theology and history, the more uncomfortable I became. The liberal and ecumenical zoo that surrounded the 2nd Vatican Council made me feel that what I was seeking had been abandoned by most of the Roman Church, and the doctrines of Papal Infallibility and Purgatory did not seem to mesh with even my limited understanding of scripture and holy tradition. The abuses of the late medieval Roman Church repulsed me as much as they did Martin Luther, and I was shocked to discover that many of these abuses remained in the modern church. The feminine piety, the indulgences, the morbid fixture on suffering and veneration of strange and almost pagan devotions all served to distance me from Roman Catholicism. Up to this point, I had studied almost nothing of Holy Orthodoxy and thought that it was essentially Roman Catholicism for Easterners. I began to despair of ever finding the original Catholic Church preserved anywhere. In my lack of faith I even wondered if perhaps it simply no longer existed.

Hermitage at Madonna House in Canada

Luckily for me, my family maintained close contact with my Aunt, a pious convert to Roman Catholicism and a member of Madonna House, a lay apostolate that serves the poor and was founded by a former (sadly, apostate) Orthodox woman from Russia. Madonna House maintained a strong connection to the piety and liturgy of the East, and it was through them that I was first experienced Eastern Christianity. I learned of holy silence and the Jesus Prayer, and began to study what to me was still a mysterious and far away thing. I was not even sure if there were many Orthodox Churches in America. As with so many converts, I read Bishop Kallistos Ware's book, "The Orthodox Church." This was a truly momentous moment in my journey, because I learned that not only was Orthodoxy not Roman Catholicism, it preached that communion with it, not Rome, was the true measure of Catholicism.

As I studied, I found that there was nothing that I disagreed with, and to a degree my thinking (though limited) was usually in line with basic Orthodox doctrine. I had (and still have) a great deal to learn, but at last I had found Catholicism that wasn't polluted by Rome's doctrines. I knew that the Orthodox Church had many problems of its own, but these problems were not contained in its doctrine. I knew virtually nothing about its liturgy, but I knew that it had many parts in common with the traditional mass that I knew so well, and I delighted in the mystery and magnificent ceremony that I first saw in videos online (I know there is a great deal more to the Liturgy that ceremony and rubrics, but the Great Prince Vladimir was converted by the beauty of the liturgy, why shouldn't I?). I decided that this Church was likely where I needed to be, but I knew that it needed to be experienced not just studied.

When I typed my zip code into a website used to locate Orthodox parishes, I was delighted to discover that there was a parish in Warrenton, not far from my home. Even better, it followed the Western Rite. Now I could be part of true Catholicism and still follow the rite that I knew and loved. At the time, I knew none of the controversy between jurisdictions and about the Western Rite, so I made contact with the priest and attended my first ever Orthodox Liturgy in a small chapel built in an Odd Fellows Hall.

The parish was St. Patrick's Orthodox Mission under the Western Rite Vicariate of the Antiochian Archdiocese, and I was immediately made to feel welcome. Virtually all of the parishioners were converts, and virtually all of them had been at least some form of Anglo-Catholic like me. Although the service was familiar in word and ritual, it had an extremely different feel that both calmed and excited me. My certainty continued to build as the priest instructed me, and eventually I asked to be made a Catechumen, which was done. Shortly after this, I returned to the college I had been attending where unfortunately there was no Orthodox Church near enough for a poor student with no car to attend. However, my priest took excellent care of me, calling me every week and always making himself available when I was home. I was taught over many phone conversations, lunches, and dinners, and through a great deal of assigned reading. Eventually, to my joy, my priest decided that I was ready to be admitted as a Communicant and member of the one Holy Orthodox Catholic Church. On Pascha of 2007, I was received by Chrismation with a number of other converts. My journey was by no means over, but I knew that at last I was truly a Catholic, neither Anglo nor Roman (or for that matter, Eastern), but simply a Catholic.

Since my Chrismation, developments in the Church and in my personal beliefs had led me to leave the Antiochian Archdiocese but I will not go into that here, and I remain grateful to my original congregation. I am still as happy about my conversion as I was the day of my Chrismation. Certainly there have been days when I miss my past, and of course the glowing "honeymoon" period has long since come to and end. But a deeper and more real happiness has begun to set in, and I still get excited when I learn more about my new faith. I miss Western Ritual, but I certainly do not ever regret becoming a real Catholic.