Our Family’s Journey to Eastern Orthodoxy: A Path to the Fullness of Faith
Our Family’s Journey to Eastern Orthodoxy: A Path to the Fullness of Faith
My journey into Eastern Orthodoxy began unexpectedly six years ago while pursuing my BA degree in biblical studies at Grand Canyon University. An assignment—meant to simply explore a different Christian tradition—would ultimately change the trajectory of my spiritual life and that of my family. Out of curiosity, I chose Eastern Orthodoxy, a faith I knew almost nothing about. What began as an academic exercise soon became a profound exploration of a tradition that felt both ancient and new, distant and yet deeply resonant with my longings to know Christ.
The more I studied, the more I realized that Eastern Orthodoxy is not just another Christian denomination. It is the most ancient Christian faith, a Church that predates divisions and schisms, preserving a continuity with the early apostles. This faith is evangelical, but not Protestant. It is Orthodox, but not Jewish. It is Catholic, but not Roman. It is not non-denominational, it is pre-denominational, existing before the divisions that would later fragment the Christian world. The deeper I went, the more I was shaken by the realization that this Church had been believed, taught, preserved, defended, and died for since the time of the apostles themselves.
One of the most transformative parts of my journey was my study of the early Church Fathers. These saints of the early centuries opened my eyes to the depth of the Orthodox faith. St. Ignatius of Antioch, one of the earliest Christian martyrs, emphasized the necessity of a bishop for the unity of the Church. His writings revealed a Church structure designed not for power but to preserve truth and ensure accountability, reflecting the apostolic tradition passed down through the centuries. As he wrote in his letter to the Smyrnaeans, “Wherever the bishop appears, there let the congregation be; just as wherever Jesus Christ is, there is the Catholic Church.” This highlighted for me the importance of hierarchy and apostolic continuity. Some very clear New Testament examples of this are found in Timothy and Titus where Paul leaves the role of the bishop to appoint new leaders, preserve sound doctrine, and maintain Church order (1 Timothy 3:1-7, 1 Timothy 4:11-13, 2 Timothy 4:2, Titus 1:5, Titus 1:9, and 2 Timothy 2:2).
In addition, the Cappadocian Fathers (Basil the Great, Gregory of Nazianzus, and Gregory of Nyssa) showed me how the Church’s structure mirrors the heavenly order. St. Basil explained that “the essence of the Church is communion with the Holy Spirit, who brings unity to all believers.” The Church wasn’t just an institution; it reflected divine order—a place where the Holy Spirit actively works to transform hearts. The Church is the extension of Jesus’s presence here on earth.
The Fathers also illuminated the Eucharist for me. St. Ignatius described it as the “medicine of immortality,” revealing that it was not merely a symbol but the real Body and Blood of Christ. The Eucharist, according to the Church Fathers, was the center of Christian life. St. John Chrysostom’s words echoed in my heart: “When you see the Lord sacrificed and laid upon the altar... do you still think you are among men and standing on earth? Are you not already in heaven?” These words deepened my understanding that the Eucharist is the place where heaven and earth meet, where time and eternity converge.
Another key revelation from the Church Fathers is their teaching on salvation. I came to understand that salvation in Orthodoxy is not a one-time event but a journey that encompasses the past, present, and future. This understanding is rooted in the writings of the early Fathers, who emphasized that while we have been saved by Christ’s sacrifice, we are also being saved through the process of sanctification and will be fully saved in the age to come. As St. Irenaeus of Lyons beautifully wrote, "The Word of God, Jesus Christ, on account of His immense love, became what we are, that He might make us what He is" (Against Heresies 5. Preface). This process, known as theosis, expressed the idea that salvation is about union with God, about being transformed into His likeness over time. This is the goal, the corruptible becoming incorruptible. A restored Edenic union again with our creator.
St. Athanasius of Alexandria also expressed this understanding of salvation as an ongoing journey. He famously wrote, "God became man so that man might become god," (not in essence but by Grace), reiterating the Orthodox belief that salvation is a process of becoming more like Christ, to become partakers of the divine nature (2 Peter 1:4), not just a moment of conversion. This teaching deepened my appreciation for Orthodoxy’s focus on sanctification and spiritual growth.
Now, I need to stop here and ask that you take a breath. This may be hard to digest but I want to take a moment to explain one of the most important aspects of Orthodoxy, which is the same for all Christians, salvation. This idea is not only taught by the early Church Fathers, but it is also deeply rooted in New Testament teaching. The Greek word σῴζω (sōzō), meaning "to save," is used in all three senses throughout the New Testament. It refers to the past work of Christ’s death and resurrection, our present sanctification, and our future hope of eternal life.
Past Tense (11 occurrences): We have been saved by grace through faith (Ephesians 2:8), as seen in these verses:
(Matthew 1:21, Matthew 9:21-22, Luke 18:42, Luke 7:50, John 3:17, Acts 15:11, Acts 2:47, Ephesians 2:8, 2 Timothy 1:9, Titus 3:5, Jude 1:5)
Present Tense (8 occurrences): We are being saved as we continue to grow in Christ and live out our faith:
(Acts 4:12, 1 Corinthians 15:2, 1 Corinthians 1:18, 2 Corinthians 2:15, 1 Timothy 4:16, Hebrews 7:25, James 5:20, 1 Peter 4:18)
Future Tense (16 occurrences): Salvation is ultimately something we will attain in the fullness of time, when Christ returns:
(Matthew 10:22, Matthew 24:13, Mark 13:13, Mark 16:16, Luke 19:10, Acts 11:14, Acts 16:31, Acts 2:21, Romans 10:13, Romans 10:9, Romans 11:26, Romans 13:11, Romans 5:9, 1 Thessalonians 5:9, James 4:12, 1 Peter 1:5)
What struck me most was the emphasis in the New Testament on future salvation, with sixteen references pointing toward what is yet to come. And yet, many Protestants, such as my old self, focus almost exclusively on the past event of being "saved," missing this broader picture. In contrast, the Orthodox Church has always embraced a more comprehensive view—one that includes our past justification, present sanctification, and future glorification. This is not a new interpretation; it has been the consistent teaching of the Church for 2,000 years.
Orthodoxy holds that salvation is a journey toward union with God, a process that touches every moment of our lives. It is not simply a past event but an ongoing transformation, culminating in our ultimate reconciliation with God in the age to come.
Now, as my studies continued (perhaps now 4 years into my studies), I couldn’t ignore the beauty of Orthodox worship. I learned that the incense symbolizes the prayers of the saints rising to heaven (Exodus 30:7-8; Revelation 8:3-4). The very air of the liturgy becomes a reminder that we are in the presence of God and His holy ones. The Divine Liturgy itself is often described as "heaven on earth." The icons, which are so integral to Orthodox worship, are more than religious art. They are windows into heaven, offering us a glimpse of the divine reality that lies beyond what we can see. When they venerate these icons, they honor the saints and Christ whom they depict (the prototype), recognizing that the heavenly realm is always present with us in worship. It is not worship (latria - λατρεία) which is for God alone, but it is honor and respect (dulia – δουλεία). Latria is for God alone!
The candles lit throughout the service represent Christ as the light of the world, a visible reminder that His light shines in the darkness (John 8:12). The priest’s censing of the altar, the icons, and the congregation, a multilayered act of reverence and blessing, honoring Christ, the saints, and the people, while symbolizing prayer and the presence of the Holy Spirit. One of the most powerful aspects of Orthodox worship for me has been the chanting of the Psalms. The beauty and timelessness of the chants elevate the words of Scripture in a way that feels otherworldly. And, in every liturgy, more Scripture is read than in any sermon I have ever encountered. From the Old Testament to the Gospels, the Word of God permeates the service, reminding us that Eastern Orthodoxy is deeply rooted in Scripture.
Then there’s the Eucharist. Though I haven’t yet partaken in the Eucharist, simply observing it during the Divine Liturgy has been a deeply moving experience. In Orthodoxy, the Eucharist is understood as a divine mystery, where the bread and wine become the real presence of Christ—His Body and Blood (1 Corinthians 10:16). This is not a mere symbol, but a mystical communion with Christ that has been central to Christian worship since the earliest days of the Church. Knowing its significance and witnessing others partake in this sacred act has only deepened my desire to one day fully participate. All these things just drew me more into Christ and it feels like you’re standing in the presence of God. Worship is not just a mental act; it is embodied.
Up until this point, this was just my own personal study and experience with the Eastern Orthodox Church from a distance, but on August 18, 2024, our family finally attended our first Divine Liturgy together at St. Andrews Orthodox Church. It is hard to describe how this event unfolded but it was through years of questions, research, and discussions with my wife. God seemed to finally be nudging not just me but also in particular my wife to see what Eastern Orthodoxy was all about.
From the moment we entered the parish, I knew this was the culmination of all my years of study. As we stepped inside, we were immediately enveloped by a sense of sacredness that touched every part of our being. The smell of the incense—earthy and sweet—filled the air, rising toward the domed ceiling as though carrying the prayers of the faithful to heaven. The soft glow of candlelight flickered across the room, casting warm reflections on the gilded icons that adorned the walls.
As we walked further in, the beauty of the icons drew our eyes in every direction—vivid images of Christ, the Theotokos, and the saints seemed to gaze back at us, their faces full of peace and solemnity. These icons, painted with vibrant colors and gold leaf, were not just decorations but windows into the heavenly realm. You could feel the weight of centuries of faith in the very walls.
The sound of the liturgy echoed throughout the space—the chanting of the Psalms in ancient melodies resonating in our ears, as though the very words of Scripture were lifted into eternity. It was unlike any music we had heard before—timeless and unearthly, filling the room with a sense of awe and reverence all for Jesus. The rustling of robes and the occasional ringing of bells from the altar further enhanced the feeling that we were participating in something profoundly sacred.
The sense of touch, too, played a role. As people crossed themselves, the feel of their fingers tracing the sign of the cross across their bodies was a tangible connection to the faith that had been handed down through the centuries. And when they venerated the icons, gently kissing them, a reminder of the closeness of the saints.
Even one’s taste was anticipated—though I had not yet partaken in the Eucharist, I watched as others approached the chalice to receive the Body and Blood of Christ, understanding that this was not just a meal, but a mystical union with God Himself.
All these elements—the sights, the sounds, the smells, the touch—combined to create an atmosphere unlike any we had ever experienced before. It felt as though heaven and earth were meeting in that moment, and the beauty of it all overwhelmed us. Both Wendy and Grayson later told me they felt as if they had finally come home, and I couldn’t agree more. All this just points to Christ in the most profound way and it is a place where I just didn’t want to leave.
For both of us, that day marked a turning point. When we came home, we couldn’t stop reflecting on the beauty of the liturgy and the profound sense of peace and closeness to Christ we witnessed. My wife began to study Orthodoxy herself, praying and seeking God’s guidance, just as I had done. It was no longer just my journey—it was ours.
That journey also included both of my sons, Grayson and Donoven, who first came to an Orthodox liturgy with me six years ago when Grayson was only four and Donoven was fifteen years old. For Grayson though, it was an instant connection. Even then, he was captivated, referring to the Church as the "Holy Father Church." Grayson’s connection to the Church has been profound and natural. Even before I have fully embraced these practices, Grayson was making the sign of the cross, doing prostrations, and venerating the icons. There is such beauty in the heart of a child, so open to the things of God. Witnessing Grayson’s instinctive love for these holy practices reminds me of Christ’s words: “Truly I tell you, unless you are converted and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3). In his childlike simplicity and devotion, Grayson has taught me a great deal about the faith we are pursuing.
My whole life, I have longed to know Christ more deeply, to experience the power of His resurrection, and to share in His sufferings, as the Apostle Paul wrote in Philippians 3:10-11: “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.” This journey into Eastern Orthodoxy is not just about understanding ancient tradition—it is the path that I believe will magnify Christ in my life to the highest point and draw me ever closer to Him. It’s about finding the fulness of the Christian faith, the place where Christ shines the brightest.
The power of His resurrection is what ultimately allows us to be united with God again, restoring us to that Edenic moment when humanity walked with God in perfect communion. It is through Christ’s resurrection that we are healed and made whole, returning to that divine relationship for which we were created. This profound mystery of salvation leads us back to the heart of God, where we are made new.
Orthodoxy, in its essence, to me, can be summed up in three words: Mysterium Tremendum Ephiskenons. It is the mystery of the Holy Trinity that causes us to tremble in awe, fear, and wonder, yet draws us in with its profound beauty and divine presence. Is this not our Savior, who calls us into the fullness of His presence? Through the mystery of the Holy Trinity, He invites us to experience His grace and power, to be overshadowed by His love as we walk in awe, reverence, and communion with Him. It is through this divine mystery that we encounter the living God—not just as an idea, but as a reality that transforms us, drawing us ever closer into the heart of Christ.
The Greek word episkiazō, meaning “to overshadow,” captures this idea. It speaks to those sacred moments when God’s presence becomes tangible—when He overshadows us with His grace and power, as He did in the conception of Christ, the Transfiguration, and the miracles of healing (Matthew 17:5; Mark 9:7; Luke 1:35; Acts 5:15). Another way of putting it is Eastern Orthodoxy uses earthly perceptible realities to point to spiritual varieties that direct you to the worship of God through prayer, praise, the word, and the sacraments.
In Orthodoxy, I have found a faith that does not try to explain away the mystery of God but rather invites us to dwell within it. The journey is about being restored, renewed, and ultimately reunited with God. This invitation into mystery is what compels me to continue, trusting that Christ will reveal Himself more fully to us. The path we now follow leads us not only into the life and death of Christ but into the fullness of His resurrection and the divine life we were meant to have.
As I reflect on my spiritual journey, several longstanding issues I faced as a Protestant have naturally led me toward Eastern Orthodoxy. First among these is the disunity that pervades Protestant Christianity. If we all share the same Holy Spirit, why are there so many differing interpretations of God’s Word? These divisions have splintered Christianity into thousands of denominations, each claiming truth while fostering discord rather than unity. This fragmentation contradicts Christ’s desire for His Church to be one. Orthodoxy offers a remedy: a continuous tradition grounded in apostolic teachings, where Scripture is interpreted within the life of the Church, preserving unity through the Spirit and in truth.
Another significant issue has been dispensationalism, which proposes separate plans for Israel and the Church. For me, this doesn’t align with the message of Scripture, where God consistently shows that His people are united by faith rather than ethnicity. Rahab, Tamar, and the sojourners who joined Israel left Egypt to partake in God’s covenant blessings not because of birthright but because of faith in Yahweh. Paul affirms this unity in Galatians 3:25–29, where he declares that all who belong to Christ are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to the promise. Eastern Orthodoxy teaches that the Church is spiritual Israel, the people of God united in Christ, fulfilling the promises made to Abraham and his descendants through a singular, continuous plan of salvation for all people.
I’ve also found myself troubled by the casualness with which Protestantism often approaches worship, and particularly the Eucharist. A pervasive trend has emerged that tends to reduce worship to a matter of personal preference rather than a sacred act before God. The Eucharist, central to the early Church, has often been treated merely as a symbol or remembrance, following Zwingli’s interpretation rather than the ancient understanding. Orthodoxy, by contrast, views the Eucharist as the true Body and Blood of Christ, offering the believer real communion with God. Orthodox worship as a whole reflects a reverent posture toward God, seen in the use of incense, icons, chanting, and liturgical prayers. This is a Church that does not bend to cultural trends or dilute its practices but instead maintains the mystery and holiness of the faith.
Finally, I’ve observed how Protestant and even Catholic churches have increasingly bent to societal pressures, adapting beliefs and practices to fit the times. I long for a faith that does not change with the prevailing winds of culture but remains steadfast. In Eastern Orthodoxy, I’ve found a tradition that resists this tendency, remaining faithful to the teachings and practices handed down by the apostles. Orthodoxy offers a grounding stability in an ever-shifting world, upholding the fullness of the Christian faith as it has for two millennia.
In this ancient faith, I’ve found answers to the struggles that have weighed on my heart for years. The Orthodox Church does not splinter under the weight of differing interpretations but stands united, preserving the truth of Christ as passed down by the apostles. It invites believers into the mystery of God, encouraging a reverence that goes beyond understanding and into the depths of worship. Orthodoxy does not attempt to explain away the sacred but rather draws us into the divine mystery, calling us to a faith that is both profound and transformative. Eastern Orthodoxy is ancient yet alive, timeless and transcendent, mystical but tangible, holy and humble, incarnational and iconic, heavenly yet earthly, historical but unchanging, and overwhelmingly beautiful yet so biblical. It is here, in the arms of the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church, that I find myself truly home.
References
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