The founder of an organization promoting women's full partication in ministry (W.O.M.E.N.) in the Orthodox Church describes how she learned 'to dance in the paradoxical tension" between Orthodox faith and a pluralist worldview.
This article originally appeared in The Witness, October1994 published by the Episcopal Church Publishing Company but is independent with an ecumenical readership.
I remember clearly Good Friday when I was in the fourth grade. Good Friday meant spending all day at church, attending three services, and busily helping the women decorate the symbolic tomb of Christ with flowers, for the dramatic procession of the lamentations that night.
The grade-school girls got to wear white dresses and represent the myrrh-bearing women, stand in front, and at the appropriate moment during the hymn, walk around the flower-bedecked tomb, sprinkling rose petals on the tapestry of Christ, while the altar boys stood back to make room.
It was exciting, so I told my friends about it. They responded by asking, "Why don't you have Good Friday on the right day?" Crestfallen, I'd say, "We're Orthodox. It's just different, that's all." Then they'd say, "Orthodox ... that's kind of like Catholic, isn't it?" and I'd stand up very straight and say, "No, Catholic is kind of like Orthodox!"
Within these memories lie the core issues in my spiritual struggle and journey: the polarization between my immigrant Orthodox and American identities; the fear of questioning too closely or speaking up too clearly lest I be belittled or outcast; the centrality of family partipation in church services which, while not understood because they were in koine Greek, still managed to install an awe-filled sense of something very special going on; the bittersweet joy when, once a year for about three minutes, the GIRLS got to be close to Christ in a central ritual of the church.
Over 30 years later, with these early impressions still jangling around inside me, I did something absolutely nonsensical and blatantly impractical: matriculate as the first Orthodox Christian to receive her M.Div. at the local liberal Methodist seminary. I frequently describe my seminary years as feeling like a porcupine passing through a boa constrictor. Yet those four years were the crucible in which God insisted I work through my Issues and my anger, to struggle toward a new freedom in a transformed reality.
The first thing I did was become more confused than I'd ever been. I found disembodied pieces of Eastern Orthodox Christian theology scattered here and there in Western Christian theology. What was all this fuss about Matthew Fox? His remarkable new ideas seemed like Orthodoxy's oldest news. And then there was Rosemary Ruether- her theology both repulsed and attracted me.
A key skill for sorting things out was to learn to measure my faith by my own yardstick. This meant venturing into radical pluralism, a pluralism which allows absolutists to live in solidarity with pluralists while keeping their absolutism intact- something which sounds basically illogical. Justin Martyr, an apologist in the early Christian church, addressed this question, which centuries later still perplexed modem Western thinkers struggling with Christianity's claim to superiority in a shrinking world.
When asked how non-Christians are to be judged.Justin Martyr answered, (my paraphrase), "Yes, we Christians have the fullness of truth, AND the seed of the Word ("sperma tou logou") IS spread throughout all creation." He stopped short of stating the logical conclusions, "Since WE have the fullness, THEY do not."
My own convictions regarding pluralism coincide with Justin's, in that one need not presume opposites to be mutually exclusive. Rather, two contradictory premises may stand together in paradoxical tension, their resolution left to God, as one of God's mysteries,
Understanding this typically Eastern, pseudo- Dionysian, apophatic insistence that human logic is ultimately inadequate to the mystery of God, was the key to my understanding Orthodoxy. It also was a big step in freeing me to fully embrace both my Orthodoxy and my citizenship in a religiously pluralistic society, and to live in the tension between them. The fullness of my truth is measured by and between me and God, not by and between me and my neighbours. There is also truth in my neighbours, which I celebrate and embrace, and its measurement is God's job, not mine.
I used to bounce uncontrollably between my anger at the Orthodox for not understanding my feminist concerns, and my anger at the Western Christians for not appreciating Orthodox theology. I was in a ricochet rut, flailing at my own tradition for what it lacked and at the Western tradition for what it arrogantly presumed.
Then one day, by the grace of God, I stepped to the side to look at myself and saw I had etched out not what had felt like a bumpy depression between two pits, but surprisingly a beautiful bridge. I shifted from struggling to prove Orthodox ministry is NOT just for men, to offering joyful witness that it INCLUDES women. I changed from fighting to prove that Christianity is NOT just for Western Christians, to witnessing that it INCLUDES Eastern Christians.
The reasons for leaving became the reasons for staying, when I discovered the inner wisdom from God to cease grounding my energy in what is lacking, and embrace the positive realities in my life. The treasures at each end of the bridge were beckoning me to dance in the paradoxical tension between them, where both dance and dancer vibrate to the limitless, creative movements of the Holy Spirit.
From the ashes of my seminary experience arose a phoenix of supportive ecumenical solidarity, giving me the courage to return to the Orthodox with renewed vigor. As the cataracts of anger dissolved, I could see support within my own faith community. With intentional concentration on Christ, I could joyfully experience a liturgy led by all-male celebrants, knowing that my identity in God runs much deeper than any titles or institutional practices. Encouraged by the ecumenical community and a handful of Orthodox, I dared to trust my own spiritual experiences of God as signposts of reality. This yielded the courage to risk action.
Yes, I still see and hear the same old injustices, and there certainly are times when I feel frustrated, disappointed, and that not enough has come too late. But somehow, these times have less power over me, and mysteriously, I have more power over them. Daily I rechoose to focus my energy on promoting parity for Orthodox women in ministry, as well as ushering in authentic global ecumenism, stimulated by moving amidst the harmonious contrast between the two.
I am still Orthodox because of the times like that Good Friday long ago, when the light of God's reality fills me, leaving behind the distortions of the world which torture and destroy.
Trusting my best experiences of God and encouraged by a supportive community, I keep firm footing to dance on my bridge, celebrating more fully who I've chosen to become - a female American Orthodox Christian, who knows it is possible to change things, to live prophetically, and to grow closer to God.
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