Wonder

Theme: This American Saint

Articles:

At the Grave of Saint Raphael

by Mr. Jamil Malone

Saint Innocent’s Rules

by Mr. Andrew Boyd

My Journey with Saint Alexis

by Fr. Steven Voytovich

Matushka Olga Michael: A Helper in Restoring the Work of God’s Hands

by Fr. John Shimchick

More information on the authors and contributors can be found here.

by Jamil Malone

Since our youth we have been told that the saints are always around us. Whether we’ve lost something and need help finding it, or we need comfort in our lives, we have been told the saints are there. But how true is that? How do you actually know the saints are there with you, helping you and inspiring you in your daily lives?

Picture with me a dark, cold night in the mountains of Pennsylvania, on the edge of a forest filled with dark trees. The air is crisp and there is no sound except the breeze creeping through the trees as it chills your skin. The only light is from the candles that a few college students are holding as they came to pay their respects. As they draw near, the light catches on a tall gray stone and they feel the emptiness of the night upon them. These college students are members of the Orthodox Christian Fellowship Student Advisory Board, and they’ve come to pay their respects to an American saint. As they surround his grave, they begin chanting his Kontakion, breathing warmth into the night air.

“Today the memory of blessed Raphael hath shone on us;”

Together, they feel a warmth come upon them. At this moment they know they are not alone but another has joined them. Bringing these young adults together to sing praises at his grave, he inspires them to use their voices. And so they do. In the dark of the night, on this little corner of the world, these students begin singing more than just to St. Raphael. Having never sang together, they begin singing “The Angel Cried” and as if part of an angelic choir, their voices join together in four parts. They sing on and on, bringing warmth to the cold, knowing that the presence of St. Raphael is filled within them.

The Grave of St. Raphael

Back in the lodge, they explain the joy of what has just happened to the rest of their friends. Reflecting on this experience, they look into this wondrous saint they have just experienced. St. Raphael journeyed around America finding the lost sheep of the church and preformed marriages, baptisms, heard confessions, and celebrated Divine Liturgies at homes and in 30 parishes that he started. Much like St. Raphael, we as members of the Student Advisory Board were charged to spread Orthodoxy and find lost sheep on college campuses. From this point on, we knew St. Raphael would be with us.

“For having received Christ’s call, he faithfully took up his cross and followed Him becoming a fisher of men.”

St. Raphael has touched more than just a group on college students. In 2001, another group of individuals were inspired by him. Just over a year after he was proclaimed a saint, a group dedicated to the youth in the central United States formed Camp St. Raphael. St. Raphael has given inspiration to the youth. An activity done by many counselors of the younger children every year helps explain how real the saints are. Sitting in cabin time, the campers are given a black and white picture of an old man. When asked who this person is many say some bishop. An icon of St. Raphael is then passed around and everyone knows who the icon is of. When told that these two images are of the same person, the children are shocked. A photograph of a saint? They learn the story of St. Raphael, and how each of us is called to be saints. St. Raphael wasn’t a wonder-working saint per se, he lived his life through Christ, much like we all should live. He is an example to the campers and staff to live a Christ-centered life, much like our patron saint. Eleven years and over one thousand campers later, St. Raphael continues to inspire.

St. Raphael

“Let us cry aloud to him saying: Rejoice O Father Raphael!”

Like we were told as children, the saints are always around us. Having an experience where you can feel the presence of a saint adds to that realization. We find safety in the saints, and we find familiarity in our American saints. A saint who walked on the same streets we walk on every day. A saint who started churches that we still sing praises in today. A saint who has touched and continues to touch the lives of many. Through the intercessions of this great American saint who passed away 97 years ago on February 27, May God have mercy on us all!

Canonization of St. Raphael

More information about Saint Raphael.

by Mr. Andrew Boyd

In 1853, while he was a missionary bishop in Alaska, Saint Innocent wrote a letter to a priest in the Nushagak region of Alaska and gave some simple instructions on how to do missionary and evangelical work among the native people. In 2008, I shared some of these with an OCF chapter, and we had a long discussion about how these rules might be applied to evangelical work in a campus setting. Saint Innocent started with this instruction:

Nushagak River, Alaska

On Arriving at Some Settlement of Savages, thou shalt on no account say that thou art sent by any government, or give thyself out for some kind of official functionary, but appear in the guise of a poor wanderer, a sincere well-wisher to his fellow men, who was come for the single purpose of showing them the means to attain prosperity.

This rule was obviously specific to the context of St. Innocent’s work in Russian America where the government, a private corporation, and the Church were sometimes confusingly intertwined. He tasks missionaries with having “the single purpose of showing them the means to attain prosperity.” I am going to go out on a limb and assume that St. Innocent was not trying to indoctrinate people into some sort of pyramid scheme, but instead the prosperity of eternal life in Jesus Christ. That is the single purpose of missionary work, the good news of the Kingdom of God and his Christ.

From the moment when though first enterest on thy duties, do thou strive, by conduct and by virtues becoming thy dignity, to win the good opinion and respect not alone of the natives, but of the civilized residents as well. Good opinion breeds respect, and one who is not respected will not be listened to.

Respect is key to evangelical work, as are loving relationships. One student used the example of a man shouting outside the student union for hours about how all college students were going to Hell. Perhaps that is an example of not being respectful or seeking to attain the good opinion of people in the society. Better instead to forge respectful relationships with people and to give room for the Holy Spirit to work.

On no account show open contempt for their manner of living, customs, etc., however these may appear deserving of it, for nothing insults and irritates savages so much as showing them open contempt and making fun of them and anything belonging to them.

There is much “open contempt” for the college “lifestyle” from many religious groups. College has become synonymous not with growth, education, and responsibility, but rather excesses, debauchery, and “finding yourself”, whatever that means. As destructive as these behaviors can be, a person has no hope, no ability, no resources to change them without a relationship with Christ in the context of His Church. If we bring people to Christ, and Christ to them, then behavior will change as they encounter Him more. Many college students have made Christians into judgmental and uptight caricatures, and perhaps this is largely our fault as so often we only have a word of judgment towards them, not a word of the good news of Jesus Christ.

In giving instruction and talking with natives generally, be gentle, pleasant, simple, and in no way assuming an overbearing or didactic manner, for by so doing thou canst seriously jeopardize the success of thy labors.

This may not be an effective strategy

This is where we Orthodox so often fall into the traps of the richness of our faith. We are rarely simple in presenting our faith, and often overbear people with our eagerness and didactic presentation of our history. There is a temptation to define ourselves against another group (for example “We’re like Catholics, but different”). Our OCF chapter challenged each other to explain our faith without reference to the Byzantine Empire or certain events in the year 1054. We all found this very difficult. Rarely do we start speaking to non-Orthodox using the Gospel of Jesus Christ. We’d often rather start with a complex and nuanced history lecture.

When a native speaks to thee, hear him out attentively courteously and patiently, and answer questions convincingly, carefully, and kindly; for any question asked by a native on spiritual subjects is a matter of great importance to the preacher, since it may be an indication both of the state of the questioner’s soul and of his capacity, as well as of his desire, to learn. But by not answering him even only once, or answering in a way at which he can take offense, he may be silenced forever.

Do we listen when we engage non-Orthodox people? Or, do we bury them with our well-rehearsed theological and historical arguments? St. Innocent argues that how we answer questions is paramount. Often we don’t give very good answers, eager instead to force our agenda, or to give an “easy” answer, or say that we will “find out” but never follow up. If we have people who are interested enough to ask questions about our faith, we have a duty to do everything we can to give them complete and satisfactory answers, answers which not only convey information, but our care and concern for individuals. Paying careful attention to questions is necessary for missionary work.

Saint Innocent ends his instructions by commanding his missionary priests to wish well and treat well those who reject conversion and baptism. This is also helpful advice, if people reject Jesus Christ; we are still called to treat them with respect, keeping in mind that how we treat people is in itself a missionary effort. Matthew’s Gospel is quite clear, that we are all called to missionary work, to teach and baptize in every context. Even though Saint Innocent was writing for a very specific context (work amongst native Alaskans), his instructions are useful for us today in almost any setting. Our campus ministry group attempted to draft some rules for missionary work on our campus. What would some specific rules be for yours? How would they help you and others in missionary work?

St. Innocent by the hand of Fr. Andrew Tregubov

The English translations of Saint Innocent’s writing were taken from “Orthodox Christians in America” by John Erickson published by Oxford University Press in 1999.

More Information on Saint Innocent.

By Fr. Steven Voytovich

I grew up with two parish homes: St. Mary’s Cathedral in Minneapolis, and St. John’s Orthodox Church in Huron, Wisconsin.  St. Mary’s began as an Eastern Rite Catholic Church community, to which St. Alexis Toth was called as first resident pastor.  St. John’s began as a country parish community built by immigrants from the Carpatho-Rusyn region of Galicia of which I am a descendant.  Growing up in Minneapolis I spent many hours in the parish hall where a large picture of Fr. Alexis Toth hung.  It was known already then in the parish that one day he might be recognized as a saint.

St. Alexis was of Carpatho-Rusyn heritage, worshiping in the Easten-Rite Catholic faith.  His father and brother were also priests, and his uncle a bishop.  He married, was ordained an Eastern-Rite priest, and served as parish priest.  Fr. Alexis lost his wife and child while there.  He eventually taught Canon Law and Church History in the Prešov Seminary and served as Chancellor of the Diocese.  In 1889 he arrived in Minneapolis, called to be parish priest of this Eastern-Rite parish. After being refused by the Catholic bishop John Ireland, he eventually made a trip to San Francisco to seek the restoration of this parish community to the Orthodox Faith.  Bishop VLADIMIR visited on the Sunday of Orthodoxy in 1891 to receive the parish, pending approval by the Holy Synod in Russia.  Because of St. Alexis’ witness and action, many Eastern-Rite parishes here in the US and abroad returned to the Orthodox Church.

Exhuming of St. Alexis's Relics

During Great Lent in 1994, several of us clergy drove to St. Tikhon’s to be present as the relics of St. Alexis were exhumed, following his death in 1909, now in preparation for canonization services.  Fr. Nicholas Timpko, a former St. Mary Cathedral pastor, drove his spacious station wagon.  Along the way steam began pouring forth from the engine as we drove on the highway.  We headed for the first exit at just before 8am.  As we reached the end of the ramp, an auto parts store was to our left, the doors being unlocked as we drove in.  We purchased and installed the necessary hose and in minutes were on our way.  We all agreed that St. Alexis had been watching over us as we traveled.  We arrived on time for these services that were very meaningful and moving.

Fr. Steven carries the relics with his brother clergy

In May 1994, St. Alexis was canonized, and I was blessed to participate in the services. The relics of St. Alexis were taken in procession to the large outdoor chapel area for the Divine Liturgy.  Then at the Little Entrance, after “Blessed is the Entrance of Thy Saints” was proclaimed, the relics were brought into the altar through the royal doors.  What a powerful fulfillment of this prayer!

St. Alexis's Canonization Liturgy

By September of the same year I was called to journey with a brand new “mission station” from its first steps.  When it came time to select a name to forward to our bishop, we placed the names of several saints in the chalice after the Divine Liturgy.  Two young members of the parish drew out the names of St. Alexis and St. Herman to be forwarded to our Bishop.  St. Alexis was chosen in the spring of 1995, so that this St. Alexis parish has celebrated each annual observance of St. Alexis Feast Day of May 7^th since he was proclaimed a saint.  On the iconostas of St. Alexis Church, Clinton, CT, now a full parish, to the left is an icon of St. Herman, reflecting the missionary origins of the Orthodox Church in America, and St. Alexis to the right, reflecting later immigrant origins.

St. Alexis Church

I initially struggled with St. Alexis having been chosen, however, with concern about how to share about our patron saint in greater ecumenical circles and in the community.  Then I reflected upon the blessed saint’s journey following Bishop Vladimir’s embrace.  His bishop recalled him to Prešov after the meeting he held with other Eastern Rite clergy. Bishop Vladimir was recalled to Russia, and a year went by before Bishop Nicholas arrived with word of approval of the Holy Synod. During this time the parish refused to pay Fr. Alexis thinking that he sold them out to the Russians, forcing him to work in a bakery.  Through all of this the blessed saint remained faithful to his calling to pastor his flock, initiating another parish community in Wilkes-Barre where he would eventually become pastor.  I became aware that St. Alexis had been most meaningfully selected as our Patron Saint to aid us in remaining faithful as we moved through “mission station” to full parish status.

Several years later, in March of 2001, I prepared a retreat day around the life of St. Alexis to lead our parish and those joining us.  During the preparation phase, I came upon a two volume series relating a psychological profile of the Slav.  Being a third generation descendant, I only ever had seen myself as an American.  In reading this profile, however, my Slavic heritage was awakened. “The Slav of today in general is strong and prolific, capable of doing, as well as of suffering, anything when his heart is in it; he is at the bottom pious, simple, kind, and loves peace; he is very patient, sober, thrifty, capable of laborious effort, peculiar to an agriculturist life, possessed of great powers of endurance and perseverance, home-loving, devoted to religion and enthusiastic for the ideals of humanity.” (Radosavljevich, p.100-101)  As I shared these elements of Slavic identity, I observed the energy among the mostly Slavic attendees rise through the course of the day, also connecting with their heritage.

In closing, St. Alexis’ canonization appeared to have been met with skepticism by some in elevating him to the ranks of the saints “simply” by leading the Eastern-Rite Slavs, a small ethnic group. Here are my thoughts about St. Alexis’s witness in our American context.  He could have remained quite comfortable in his service and station in Prešov.  Instead, he stretched beyond familiar cultural, ethnic, and religious orientations in order to encounter others in and beyond the Orthodox Faith.  By doing so, St. Alexis encountered his own faith with greater depth and authenticity, while reaching out to others in a new cultural and pluralistic-faith context.  His identity was not lost, but deepened, and many others – sharing his ethnic background or not – were edified by the opportunity to interact with and learn from St. Alexis.  I continue to significantly draw upon St. Alexis’ example as a Slavic-American, and priest chaplain serving in ecumenical and interfaith contexts.  As we still work to make good on our Mission as the Orthodox Church in America to bring Orthodoxy to this American context and people, let us be strengthened in this effort by the example of blessed Saint Alexis.  Holy Father Alexis, Confessor of Orthodoxy in America, pray to God for us!

Holy Father Alexis, Pray to God for us!

Radosavljevich, Paul R., Who are the Slavs? A Contribution to Race Psychology, Boston, Gorham Press, 1919, vol 1. (Digitized reference)

For further reference, please see Radosavljevich’s six fundamental emotional-volitional or temperamental traits for the Slav, p. 365

Further information on the life of St. Alexis Toth.

By Fr. John Shimchick

While all of the canonized Saints of North America have so far been men, over the past few years an Orthodox woman, native of North America, has slowly become known to more and more people, particularly other Orthodox women.

Matushka Olga Michael, wife of the departed Archpriest Nikolai O. Michael from the village of Kwethluk on the Kuskokwim River in Alaska, as described in Fr. Michael Oleksa’s book, Orthodox Alaska, was neither a “physically impressive or imposing figure.” She raised eight children to maturity, giving birth to several of them without a midwife. While her husband was away taking care of many other parishes, she kept busy raising her family and doing many things for other people. One is reminded of the story of Tabitha in the book of Acts (9:36-ff) when hearing that “[i]n addition to sewing Father Nikolai’s vestments in the early years and crafting beautiful parkas, boots and mittens for her children, she was constantly sewing or knitting socks or fur outerwear for others. Hardly a friend or neighbor was without something Matushka had made for them. Parishes hundreds of miles away received unsolicited gifts, traditional Eskimo winter boots (‘mukluks’) to sell or raffle for their building fund. All the clergy of the deanery wore gloves or woolen socks …[which she] had made for them” (p. 203). While fulfilling many of the other tasks (like preparing the Eucharistic bread) that are often assumed by other priests’ wives, she also knew the hymns of many feast days, including Palm Sunday, Holy Week and Pascha in Yup’ik (her Eskimo language) by heart. After, miraculously surviving an initial bout with cancer when it seemed that nothing could be done, she eventually succumbed to a return of the disease, preparing herself for death which took place on November 8, 1979 with great courage and faith.

Metropolitan Jonah and Bishop Benjamin arriving in Kwethluk, AK

It appeared that the normal snow and river ice of that time of the year would prevent many people from attending her funeral. But, the weather uncharacteristically changed and a southerly wind helped to melt the ice and snow allowing parishioners from the neighboring villages to make the journey to Kwethluk. “Hundreds of friends…filled the newly-consecrated church on the extraordinary spring-like day of the funeral. Upon exiting the church, the procession was joined by a flock of birds, although by that time of year, all birds have long since flown south. The birds circled overhead, and accompanied the coffin to the grave site. The usually frozen soil had been easy to dig because of the unprecedented thaw. That night, after the memorial meal, the wind began to blow again, the ground refroze, ice covered the river, winter returned. It was as if the earth itself had opened to receive this woman. The cosmos still cooperates and participates in the worship the Real People [i.e. the name native people give to themselves] offer to God” (p. 205) .

However, it is not just her story, that has been so special and life changing to others, but the actual encounter with her presence that has taken place in remarkable ways. One woman, originally from Kwethluk but now living in Arizona, had a dream in which Matushka Olga appeared, assuring her that her mother would be alright because she was coming to join her in a bright and joyful place. This woman did not known her mother was sick at the time, that she had been rushed to Anchorage, and that she would soon die. But the next day she received news of her mother’s emergency evacuation and rushed from Arizona to Alaska, comforting her mother with the news Matushka Olga had brought her about her eternal destiny. The woman died in peace and with her daughter without the shock and grief that would have certainly ensued if the dream had not reassured her.

His Beatitude leads a memorial service for Matushka Olga in Kwethluk

Another woman, after viewing a picture of Matushka Olga, experienced a “compassionate, loving, gentle, and very real – very accessible presence.”

The most detailed account comes from an Orthodox woman who, as in the previous example, had suffered for many years from the consequences of severe sexual abuse experienced as a child. This is her testimony of meeting Matushka Olga:

One day I was deeply at prayer and awake. I had remembered an event that was very scary. My prayer began with my asking the Holy Theotokos for help and mercy. Gradually I was aware of standing in the woods feeling still a little scared. Soon a gentle wave of tenderness began to sweep through the woods followed by a fresh garden scent. I saw the Virgin Mary, dressed as she is in an icon, but more natural looking and brighter, walking toward me. As she came closer I was aware of someone walking behind her. She stepped aside and gestured to a short, wise looking woman. I asked her, “Who are you?” And the Virgin Mary answered, “St. Olga.”

St. Olga gestured for me to follow her. We walked a long way until there weren’t many trees. We came to a little hill that had a door cut into the side. She gestured for me to sit and she went inside. After a little while some smoke came out of the top of the hill. St. Olga came out with some herbal tea. We both sat in silence drinking our tea and feeling the warmth of the sun of our faces. I began to get a pain in my belly and she led me inside. The door was so low I had to duck like bowing in prayer.

Inside the hill was dry and warm and very quiet. The light was very soft coming from a shallow bowl and from the open hole on the top of the hill. Everything around me felt gentle, especially Mother Olga. The little hill house smelled like wild thyme and white pine in the sun with roses and violets mixed in. Mother Olga helped me up on a kind of platform bed like a driftwood box filled with moss and grasses. It was soft and smelled like the earth and the sea. I was exhausted and lay back. St. Olga went over to the lamp and warmed up something which she rubbed on my belly. I looked five months pregnant. (I was not pregnant for real at that time.) I started to labor. I was a little scared. Mother Olga climbed up beside me and gently holding by arm, she pretended to labor with me, showing me what to do and how to breath. She still hadn’t said anything. She helped me push out some stuff like afterbirth which kind of soaked into dried moss on the box bed. I was very tired and crying a little from relief when it was over.

Up until this she hadn’t spoken, but her eyes spoke with great tenderness and understanding. We both got up and had some tea. As we were drinking it, Holy Mother Olga gradually became the light in the room. Her face looked like there was a strong light bulb or the sun shining under her skin. But I think the whole of her glowed. I was just so connected to her loving gaze that I didn’t pay much attention to anything else. It was the kind of loving gaze from a mother to an infant that connects and welcomes a baby to life. She seemed to pour tenderness into me through her eyes. This wasn’t scary even though, at that time, I didn’t know about people who literally shone with the love of God. (It made more sense after I read about St. Seraphim). I know now that some very deep wounds were being healed at that time. She gave me back by own life which had been stolen, a life that is now defined by the beauty and love of God for me, the restored work of His Hands.

After some time I felt like I was filled with wellness and a sense of quiet entered my soul, as if my soul had been crying like a grief-stricken abandoned infant and now had finally been comforted. Even now as I write… the miracle of the peacefulness, and also the zest for life which wellness has brought, causes me to cry with joy and awe.

Only after this did Holy Mother Olga speak. She spoke about God and people who choose to do evil things. She said the people who hurt me thought they could make me carry their evil inside of me by rape. She was very firm when she said, “That’s a lie. Only God can carry evil away. The only thing they could put inside you was the seed of life which is a creation of God and cannot pollute anyone.” I was never polluted. It just felt that way because of the evil intentions of the people near me. What I had held inside me was the pain, terror, shame, and helplessness I felt. We had labored together and that was all out of me now. She burned some grass over the little flame and the smoke went straight up to God who is both the judge and the forgiver. I understood by the “incense” that it wasn’t my job to carry the sins of people against me either. It was God’s, and what an ever-unfolding richness this taste of salvation is. At the end of this healing time we went outside together. It was not dark in the visioning prayer. There were so many stars stretching to infinity. The sky was all shimmer with a moving veil of light. (I had seen photos of the northern light but didn’t know that they move.) Either Matushka Olga said, or we both heard in our hearts — I can’t remember which — that the moving curtain of light was to be for us a promise that God can create great beauty from complete desolation and nothingness. For me it was like proof of the healing — great beauty where there had been nothing before but despair hidden by shame and great effort.

His Beatitude praying at Matushka Olga's grave

What is one to make of these accounts? If nothing else, for now, one can acknowledge the special place that Matushka Olga has had in the lives of certain native people and a growing number of contemporary women. But it is in the slow and gradually expanding process of knowledge which moves from local veneration to broader awareness that God reveals how He can be “wonderful in His Saints.” Matushka Olga was herself a midwife and may have also known from personal experience the traumas of being abused earlier in her life. Perhaps it is in this role as an advocate for those who have been abused, particularly sexually, that God will continue to use Matushka Olga in drawing “straight with crooked lines”, His work of “creating beauty from complete desolation and nothingness.”

If God wills, may it also one day be possible to exclaim: “O Blessed Mother Olga, pray to God for us!”

O Blessed Mother Olga, pray to God for us!

[Special thanks to Fr. Michael Oleksa, and to Fr. John and Lyn Breck for their support and help in providing the source materials for this article.]

This article was originally published in 1997 by “Jacob’s Well“  a publication of the Diocese of New York and New Jersey, and can be accessed here.

More information on Matushka Olga.

Mr. Jamil Malone is an advertising strategist in Wichita, Kansas. His home parish is St. George Cathedral in Wichita. Jamil holds a bachelors of arts from The University of Tulsa, and served on the OCF Student Advisory Board for four years, chairing the board for three of those years while at Tulsa. His other “jobs” include helping with administrative work at Camp St. Raphael, teaching Church School and singing in the choir.

Mr. Andrew Boyd is the Managing Editor of this blog and a member of the OCA’s Department of Youth, Young Adult and Campus Ministries. Originally from Connecticut, he attended the University of Connecticut where he was very active in the local chapter of The Orthodox Christian Fellowship (OCF). He is now in his final semester in a Master’s program at St. Vladimir’s Seminary in Yonkers, NY.

Archpriest Steven Voytovich is the Director of the Department of Institutional Chaplaincies for the Orthodox Church in America. He holds M.A., M.Div., and D.Min degrees from St. Vladimir’s Seminary. He works in institutional settings training hospital and institutional chaplains. He is attached to Holy Trinity Orthodox Church in New Britain, Connecticut.

Archpriest John Shimchick is the rector of Holy Cross Orthodox Church in Medford, New Jersey. He studied music at Concordia College in Bronxville, New York and completed his seminary studies at St. Vladimir’s Seminary in 1980. Since 1990 he has been the editor of “Jacob’s Well” a publication of the Diocese of New York and New Jersey.

Theme: “Why am I still here?”

We asked different members of our Church to reflect on why they chose to remain in the Church as adults.

Articles:

Because of the Words of Eternal Life

by His Grace, Bishop Matthias

Because Belief Leads to Life

by Father Daniel Rentel

Because of the Pursuit of Jesus Christ

by Dr. Peter Bouteneff

Because the Journey Never Ends

by Mrs. Rebekah Moll

Because of that Charlie Brown Christmas Special

by Mr. William Kopcha

More information about our Authors and Contributors can be found here.

by His Grace, Bishop Matthias

When I contemplate the events of my life, I suppose there were times when, in regards to the Orthodox Church, I may have asked the question, “Why am I still here?”  I am what some call “cradle Orthodox,” meaning I was baptized in the Orthodox Church soon after birth.  My father is cradle Orthodox, and my mother converted to Orthodoxy prior to her marriage to my father.  Growing up, we didn’t attend Church regularly.  In fact, we were Christmas and Easter Orthodox Christians.  The turning point in our Church life was when I was about ten, and my grandmother on my father’s side departed.  The priest showed kindness to my family and buried her from the funeral home, and it impacted my father in a positive way.  This same priest, Father Stephen Jula, left what was then the Metropolia (future OCA) and started a mission parish in the Carpatho-Russian Diocese.  My parent’s faith renewed, we began attending this new parish on a regular basis.

At the age of twelve, I became more involved in the Church by reading the Hours and Epistle.  Soon after I graduated high school, Father Stephen invited me to travel with him to Johnstown, Pennsylvania, to visit the seminary.  I met Bishop John, the Hierarch of the Carpatho-Russians at the time, as he was leaving the Cathedral in his beautiful and impressive vestments.  He was walking to his home next door, and I’m sure an 18-year-old was the last person he planned to talk to that day.  Bishop John stopped and asked what my plans were now that I had graduated.  I told him I planned to join the Marines.  He said to me, and these words still ring in my head, “Why don’t you join the army of Christ and come to seminary?”  It was as though the Lord had spoken to me.  I went home with my priest and decided to go to seminary that September, just to try it out.  I remember making the commitment that I would attend for one year, whether I liked it or not, and then decide what to do.  After a few weeks of experiencing the studies, the services, and the brotherhood of seminary, I made up my mind that it was for me.  I eventually graduated seminary, got married, and was ordained to the Holy Priesthood.  This bishop gave me five minutes of his time, and it changed my entire life.

The Few, The Proud, The Seminarians

I actually considered monasticism during my last two years of seminary, probably because I didn’t think I would ever meet someone I wanted to marry.  Once again, the Lord had other plans.  I met my future wife, Jeannette, during my last year of seminary, and there was no doubt that I wanted to marry her and be a married priest.

We had a wonderful life together, serving the parishes to which we were assigned and raising two beautiful children.  We had been married 24 years and our children were in college, and I remember a particular moment when I thought life couldn’t be any better.  I remember how happy I was and that I felt blessed to have the family I had.  Then, the unthinkable happened.  My wife was diagnosed with acute leukemia.  It was a type that needed to be put into remission immediately.  So, for the next eleven months, we battled this disease with prayer and the best doctors in Philadelphia.  She spent seven of those last eleven months of her life in the hospital and fell asleep in the Lord on March 26, 1997.  She departed this life minutes after receiving the Eucharist from me in her hospital bed in our home, following the Pre-Sanctified Liturgy. I didn’t know how I would live without my soul mate.  I remember being devastated and filled with fear.  Fear, because I really didn’t think I would be able to survive or live life without her.

I visited monasteries for the next several years figuring I would eventually take the monastic tonsure since I truly believed that Orthodox priests are either married or monastic.  I felt that monastic tonsure would be my recommitment to the Holy Priesthood.  After many trips to the Hogar Rafael Ayau Orphanage in Guatemala where I spent time with the nuns, I also stayed more than a month at the Iviron Monastery on Mt. Athos in 2003.  I was tonsured a monastic on October 14, 2003.  I remained a parish priest but also visited monasteries and tried the best I could to live a monastic life, though I felt that I fell so short.

The Iviron Monastery on Mount Athos

In 2006, I was assigned to St. Gregory Church in Seaford, New York, where I thought I would stay until my retirement, at which time I would begin my continued ministry in Guatemala.  Once again, God had other plans.  I was nominated and then elected by the Holy Synod of Bishops of the Orthodox Church in America to be the Bishop of Chicago and the Diocese of the Midwest.  I was elected November 16, 2010, and consecrated April 30, 2011.

Why am I still here – in the Orthodox Church?  I guess the best answer to that question is found in the exchange that our Lord had with St. Peter the Apostle in St. John’s Gospel, Chapter 6.  At the time, Jesus was preaching “… unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you have no life in you.” (John 6: 53)  Many of the disciples stopped following Christ at that time saying, “This is a hard saying, who can understand it.?” (John 6:60)  Jesus asked the Apostles if they too were going to go away, and Peter said, “Lord, to whom shall we go?  You have the words of eternal life.  Also, we have come to believe and know that You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.”

The Orthodox Church is the New Testament Church – it is the Faith of the Apostles and the Fathers!  Where else would I go when I know the Orthodox Church has the fullness of Truth and has been faithful to the teachings of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.  I have been blessed with many things in my life and, although I have experienced loss and tragedy in this fallen world, I know that it is the Lord that strengthens me and is united to me through the Holy Eucharist.  I look forward to the life beyond this fallen world.  No matter the crosses we bear in this life, no matter the tragedies we experience, no matter the failures of human beings, the Lord remains faithful to us!  The Lord and His Bride, the Church, will always sustain us, now and ever, and unto ages of ages.

His Grace extends his blessing to the faithful following his ordination to the episcopacy

By Father Daniel Rentel

“Why am I still here, in this Church,” is a good question.  I’ve really had to think about it, to reflect, to tease out the elements that have supported belief, the temptations that challenged and discredited it.  It’s been a good exercise.  I’ve come to realize that I believe because, with God’s grace, I’ve determined that there’s no place else to go where I can be.

From the beginning something about the church appealed to me and answered my innate need to believe. I was born into an ethnic family in central Pennsylvania. My family roots could be found in the mountains of Central Europe, but the Church of  Sts. Peter and Paul was liturgically bound to the Russian Orthodox Greek Catholic Church of North And South America, the Metropolia.  We used Old Church Slavonic and heard  Russian sermons, used Russian Tones, 4 part harmony – Bortniansky was in our repertoire – and there were Russian language classes.  I would go to confession; the priest would recite a prayer (in Slavonic), I’d tell sins in English. It would end by his asking, “You sorry?” I’d say yes and he would then offer a departing prayer in Slavonic.

So it went, but in all honesty there was more. We fasted – Jesus would be crucified and die for us. Everybody knew that. Jesus rose from the dead! We knew that. We feasted.  We ate blessed food for a week. every day at another Aunt or Uncle’s house.We celebrated two Christmases: the New Calendar Christmas exchange and food of the no fasting variety, the 7^th of January being the ‘religious one’. To me,  the 7^th  meant no presents, but a day off of school and it was always supposed to snow.

There were the sounds of the Church that became part of my inheritance. The old ladies would come to Church early enough so that they could almost whistle their prayers kneeling way in the back, close to the potbelly stoves that heated the women’s side of the sanctuary. The intensity of their prayers made me think that they had to go somewhere to Someone, and these babas were bound together by the common Faith they shared.

Another important memory was of processions, which   worked their way around the Church in such a way that one just knew that the sadness of the walk with the ‘Plaschanitsa’ was different from the one where they pounded on the doorway  so as to enter a Church filled with light, wondrous smells, open doors, and joy that moved itself from individual to community.

The Winding Sheet or "Plaschanitsa" on Holy Friday

Eventually, English-speaking priests came. We opened a Sunday School that met on Wednesdays. I thrilled at the Old Testament stories that came first. I did. Not only were they heroes, but they somehow pointed to Jesus: Jonah in the belly of the whale usually comes first to mind when I think back. Or was it Abraham and Isaac, both so trusting, it actually bothered me for quite some time because I couldn’t see myself going to the limits as they did.  Despite some obstacles in my early experiences, what was there was necessary but not sufficient.  My senses had been stirred and my intellect challenged.  I wanted more.

Coptic Icon of Abraham and Isaac

For complicated reasons that to this day I  don’t fully understand,  I decided in my early teens that I wanted to be a priest. Once the beckoning implanted itself, I never completely lost what became a calling. And, it happened, not without some struggle. My first year of seminary was  a disappointment in my quest for knowledge and understanding, as classes were taught in the Russian language.  However, I formed sound and close relationships with my fellow seminarians.  Their identical desire to respond to a calling promoted discussion, self-teaching, and camaraderie. Several of us left early in the fall of our second year to attend another seminary where classes were rendered in English.. After spending a year and a half  there,  several of us went back to the Seminary we had left. We were met by a new administration, a course of studies in English, and a growing premonition that Orthodox life in this country was beginning to change.

Cathedral of the Holy Virgin Protection, New York City

I graduated and two years later was married.  Soon thereafter  I was ordained at the Cathedral in New York. All was in Church Slavonic.  Despite my intention to enter the priesthood, when actually faced with the reality, I was in  a state of  panic,  praying against all odds that at least some parts of the service would be in English.  It was not to be.   To my amazement the one who became my champion was the grand and fearsome Russian Protodeacon of the time. He found me cowering in a far corner of the altar, discovered I had no real knowledge of  the Russian language,  and took pity, speaking broken English and leading me through the proceedings. To this say, I bless him.  That occasion was 49 plus years ago.

Our experiences of parish life were mixed, as is often the case. I served one parish whose warden  threatened to kill our dog, another that could not see its way to provide a $25.00 raise despite a paltry salary, and a mission that we loved dearly that finally couldn’t afford to go on. We left there with heavy heart.   The mission collapsed but the mission experience allowed me to see as never before the catholic nature of Orthodoxy.  It dawned on me that Orthodoxy could more than survive in twentieth century America.  That was a revelation.

"We'll get you Father, and your little dog too!"

But in the process of furthering my education, I reentered the world of ethnic congregations while I serviced some small parishes in mining towns. These small places somehow reignited my faith. Despite shrinking numbers, shrinking incomes, shrinking opportunities, these believers hung on.  Their kindness to me  was overwhelming.  The back seat of  my car on Sundays became shelving for fresh eggs, wild strawberry preserves, home made bread, and even kolachi. The people in these mountain towns were convicted in their faith and revealed in their generosity and brave gentility an element of the enduring qualities of faith.

A desire for more schooling forced a move to Columbus, Ohio. While here  initially on a fellowship,  I was put on loan to the Midwest Diocese as a supply priest.  I was then  directed by Central Church authorities to explore the possibility of establishing a mission  in Cincinnati, Ohio, about 125 miles to the southwest.  This ended up a seven year commute that  allowed me to come into ownership of my Faith.  My family and I became for a time spiritual nomads. My wife worked and went herself to graduate school. Finally, the stress and strain on the family front, and the demands of serving a mission two hours’ drive away, while continuing to pursue my own doctoral studies,  all caught up with me. One Sunday, I  pulled into a rest stop, crying.   For two hours at an interstate rest stop, all came into question. In those crisis moments, words offered to me by my Father Confessor surfaced:  “The Fathers tell us that we all go into spiritual deserts, arid and empty. Just go on. Whenever fitting, you’ll find yourself drinking new life in an oasis God will provide.” It didn’t happen instantaneously, but it did happen.

"Just go on."

When I was 54 years of age, I suffered a massive heart attack, and my life hung in the balance for several days.  Even on the border of life and death, the prayers from my youth sustained me, but with a whole new depth of meaning.   Area clergy  anointed me. I knew them only by their countenance: kindness, love, and spiritual brightness – they brought the Lord to me in a holy Mystery.

Now I have retired from what has been ultimately a most rewarding pastoral experience at St. Gregory’s in Columbus.  The challenges of a parish in an urban setting necessitated the fulfilling of Gospel injunctions that I’d not faced before.  I believe that I had become a true shepherd of “rational sheep”; the notion of hierarchy and conciliarity became for me a reality.  What a gift that has been!

So why am I still a believer?  Looking back, I can say without presumption but with total conviction that I believe that God has been with me all the days of my life.  I recognize that at some level, one chooses to believe or not, but I now understand that the greater reality is the absurdity of faith.  The notion of nonbelief I see has a trick of the Evil One, a trick that leads to despair and emptiness.  Belief leads to life! Through belief, I belong to something greater than myself.   Through belief, my life has purpose, structure and meaning—it is life itself. . Through faith, my senses and my intellect have been nourished abundantly.  Through faith I have been called in the most personal way to overcome doubts along the way, and, God willing, in the future.

By Dr. Peter Bouteneff

This writing assignment intrigued me: ask people who are committed to the Church why they are “still” here. The implication is that there are reasons not to want to be involved with the Church, and of course there are. “Organized religion” can be a hard sell, generally speaking. Increasing information about the multiplicity of religious and non-religious viewpoints, many of which seem very wise and reasonable, make people wonder why anyone would want to commit to just one view as “the true way.” And, for us cradle-Orthodox, the Church is so easy to associate exclusively with our family background and with our ethnicity, something that we ought to transcend as we grow up, even if we retain a sentimental attachment to it. And then of course there are scandals financial and sexual, Church squabbles, and Church priorities which sometimes seem all askew.

All of these factors are serious, and all of them have affected me – sometimes powerfully – at points in my life.

When I think of the many factors that have kept me in the Church, for which I thank God every day, I think a lot about the people I was surrounded with. Since my childhood I was close to people who were completely genuine, and also completely committed to the Church. Their relationship to the Church was real and penetrated their whole being. One such person was my confessor through my entire childhood, up until his death when I was 23 years old. He was Fr Alexander Schmemann. Partly owing to his influence, and that of my parents whose relationship to the Church was also deep-set and organic (yes, ethnic, but never obsessively so), the church-types I gravitated towards were normal people. They weren’t ideologues. Which means that their real priorities didn’t lie with things like the calendar (old or new), ecumenism or anti-ecumenism, or The One Right Kind of Iconography. They knew when God was properly praised, when Christ was rightly confessed, and when people were being real. Their BS-sensors were finely tuned. Like me, their reactions to the ideologues was some combination of puzzlement, “yuck,” and boredom.

Not everyone can grow up with Fr Schmemann as an uncle-figure, and not everyone who grew up in his orbit ended up sticking with the Church, as many of my extended family attest! But aside from the overall benefits of being around genuineness and realism, one specific thing all this taught me was how to “place” sin and holiness within the Church experience. Because, let’s be honest, the whole thing can sound so confusing and so schizophrenic: on the one hand, we profess faith in “One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church,” an inherently sinless body. And on the other hand, we don’t have to probe very far to find signs of everything that is opposite to unity, holiness, catholicity, and apostolicity. Oh look – news of another schism, another financial scandal, another act of bigotry in the name of pious Holy Orthodoxy. A clergy fist-fight in the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, for crying out loud! (Google it if you must.)

So where is the Church? What do we even mean by the word? Here are a couple of principles I’ve learned to try to live by:

First, although there is mud, don’t get stuck in it. Learn to recognize, first and foremost, holiness in the Church. It’s there. Right among you, in your parish, as well as in what you see when you travel, what you read in its pages. Holiness is there in sometimes unexpected, unassuming, imperfect ways, and sometimes in very clear-cut ways. And holiness wins.

"...although there is mud, don’t get stuck in it."

Second, don’t be in denial of the mud, the sin. This can be hard for some people to do, because their definition of the Church is so totally exalted and so undifferentiated that they can’t figure out how the word “sin” could possibly figure into the picture. They’re right, Church is holy. But guess what: its members are all sinners, striving for holiness. The Church is not the sum total of its sinful members. It is their hospital. It is our hospital.

"It is our Hospital."

These lead to the third point: the mud is not the Church. Never let sin define the Church for you, because that would be seeing things really, completely backwards. The Church is Jesus Christ: not of the world, yet fully in the world – and sinless, with the holiness of God himself. The Church’s members, from the very top on down, are charged with being Christ’s body. We simultaneously are the Church, and are striving to become the Church.

Fourth, when thinking of scandals, don’t get self-righteous: recall that you and I are sinners too. We’re the scandal. Sin takes us away from the reality of the Church, such that we have to be called back into it. That’s why the priest says after we’ve confessed our sins: “Reunite this, your servant, with your holy flock.” We have to be the Church. Together. Calling ourselves and each other into it, constantly.

The upshot is that every time we recite that line in the creed, “I believe in One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church,” we can take it as an invitation to reflect on what that Church is. We can try to ensure that it’s not simply a Church that we are conceptualizing in our own image, or along the pattern of our own possibly deluded ideals. Because our pursuit of identifying the real Church, as an article of faith, as a body that we seek constantly to represent, is finally the pursuit of Jesus Christ himself. The Church, after all, is his body – it is the continuation of his incarnate life. That is what we are saying is holy, whole, full, and sent into the world (i.e., one, holy, catholic, apostolic). And that’s what I want to be in, that is what I want to partake in, eat of, implicate myself in, and continue to grow closer to. And I want to do it together with all these nutty people who, like myself, are groping our way forward in a messy world. That’s why I’m still here.

Why I am still here