People familiar with my past work in Orthodox Christian theology and practice—and, before that, Christian apologetics focusing on new and alternative religions—might be confused by some (or, depending on the person, much) of what they see on this site. People familiar only with my Orthodox Christian writing and podcasts might be confused by the first series of books from Transforming Way being by an Anglican writer, while those who know only my increasingly distant apologetics writing might be put off by my focus on Christian mysticism—and both groups will wonder about various other elements in my work. “Who are you,” such people might ask. “When and why did you change?”
The simple answer is, “I haven’t changed…much.” Of course, it is in that qualifier of “much” that a great deal of the problem lies. I have therefore written this overview of my spiritual journey to explain where changes in my life and worldview have occurred, and how these changes are at the same time not as inconsistent as they might seem at first glance.
When I first became a Christian I was attracted by two things: the exquisite joy of liberation and freedom in Christ, and the rich depth and seeming stability of Christian Tradition. I was raised a Jehovah’s Witnesses—a religion for whom “liberation” and “freedom” are most decidedly foreign concepts—and after leaving I was motivated to share this liberation and freedom with others (particularly those in oppressive religious systems like the one in which I had grown up). Still more, I delighted in participating in the “living stream” of the “Great Tradition” of Christianity, and wanted others to experience the wonders of 2,000 years of thinking about, and being empowered by, the Christian faith.
Amidst this joy there was, at the same time, a profound conflict between my appreciation for liberation and freedom and the deep satisfaction I derived from traditional Christianity. I had long-standing questions and doubts about some of the doctrines considered to be central by many traditional Christians (i.e., the infallibility of the magisterial authority of the Church, the inerrancy of Scripture, eternal damnation, etc.), as well as strong personal convictions which contradicted some of the socio-religious positions taken by traditional Christian groups (i.e., the role of women, LGBTQ+ issues, etc.). I handled this conflict by sublimating my personal beliefs and convictions to Tradition: when my personal beliefs or questions came into conflict with traditional Christian teachings, I deferred to the sensus fidei fidelium, taking seriously Vincent of Lérins’ “Canon,” which defines the catholic faith as that which “has been believed everywhere, always, and by all.” In other words, when my personal positions conflicted with the Christian majority through the ages I did my best to conform my thinking to the traditional majority.
And, for a while, this largely worked: for the first twenty or so years of my Christian life, I was relatively content to defer to traditional Christian thinking and practice. On those occasions when one of my doubts or non-traditional convictions would pop to the surface of my consciousness I would diligently squash it, telling myself that I, as a mere individual, had no business bucking the faithful consensus of the ages. Ultimately, however, my ability (and, subsequently, my willingness) to sublimate many of my beliefs and convictions to the common Christian Tradition fell apart. It did so for two reasons.
First and foremost, as I continued learning about Christian and world history and applying this knowledge to my life I increasingly accepted that the Christian Tradition was not a stable and unbroken line of belief and practice displaying the inviolable harmony proving its God-given direction. Instead, a number of doctrines and practices—particularly those which seem to be most oppressive and controlling—can clearly be seen within the historical contexts in which they developed to be either heavily influenced by the culture and mores of the time or efforts by religious institutions and leaders to reinforce (and, when possible, expand) their control over their followers. I had seen how the sausage is made and, while I still enjoyed much of the product, I no longer wished to turn my diet over entirely to the sausage makers.
Secondly, as the attributes of love and mercy became paramount in my life, I became increasingly resistant to doctrines and practices which promote the opposite. As I was called upon to develop and demonstrate ever-greater levels of love and mercy toward others in situations where such attributes were agonizingly difficult, I found myself increasingly disgusted with those doctrines of God’s love which revolve around sparing from unimaginably horrific eternal punishment only the limited number of individuals who successfully jump through whatever hoops the individuals’ respective Christian groups have declared are divine essentials (I should note that this is an aspect of traditional Christianity I never accepted; what I lost was my ability to ignore when other Christians emphatically promote such a doctrine). My disgust was compounded by watching much of traditional Christianity in the United States dedicate itself whole-heartedly to the agenda of a messianic figure waging a self-serving vendetta of hate and destruction. If our concepts of love and mercy are merely control mechanisms then those concepts are not really loving or merciful, and if our religious authorities are using love and mercy as control mechanisms their authority is illegitimate.
The ramifications of my last point are profound: the absence of love and mercy in many of the groups claiming the mantle of “traditional Christianity” has caused a growing number of people who had once been Christians to lose their faith. I truly understand such a reaction, and have no disrespect for anyone whose journey takes them in that direction, but in throwing off the authoritarian shackles with which I’d bound my conscience I found my spiritual life strengthened. The reason for this is rooted in the first thing which attracted me to Christianity: the exquisite joy of liberation and freedom in Christ.
I still consider myself a traditional Christian. Much of my beliefs and practices are consistent with those of Christians through the centuries, differing only where my reason, knowledge and experience make it impossible for me to conform to ideas and activities which are demonstrably outdated and damaging. More importantly, I am a traditional Christian because I look at much of Christianity—both past and present—and see God working in and through the traditions of different Christian groups. I see freedom and liberation, opening and bringing us into new life that transforms us and the world. Then, inspired by this liberating tradition, when I encounter a development within a Christian tradition that illegitimately uses false understandings of love and mercy to destroy freedom, I am empowered by God through the liberating tradition to overcome that illegitimate development.
This is where Christian spirituality and mysticism is so very helpful, and why I publish works on these vital subjects (and, still more, give most of them away for free). Christian mysticism is intensely personal, typically focusing on developing the relationship of the individual mystic with God. At the same time, though, this intensely personal relationship is usually developed within the framework of a distinctly Christian community, where that community’s doctrinal and spiritual life are resources from which the mystic draws direction and strength, and to which she in turn contributes. The individual mystic’s relationship to the community is therefore entirely holistic: the mystic grows in relationship with God and others.
This is also why I publish older works (in addition to my own articles). Liberation and freedom have always been part of the Christian Tradition, even if they are not always emphasized by religious leaders focused more on the status and strength of their authoritative position. I find it deeply moving, and incredibly empowering, to read the words of Christian thinkers and worshippers from many hundreds of years ago and see the same spirit of freedom flowing through them into us, and through us into the world around us and into the future. We are all part of that “living stream,” nourished and refreshed by those who have come before us and making our contribution to those coming after, and one of the best ways of experiencing this is by immersing ourselves in the deep lives and writings of Christians throughout the ages.
At this point we come back to the beginning of my article. Have I changed? In one way, the answer is an emphatic yes: I no longer allow man-made (the gendered term is deliberate) writings or doctrines to bind me to positions which violate my conscience or intellectual integrity. As much as I value traditional Christianity, in the end, as Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan puts it, “The ancient authorities are entitled to a vote but not a veto.” At the same time, I can also say I have not changed: I still passionately love God, the ekklesia, and the liberating Tradition through which we are transformed in communion with God and all creation.
This is true liberation…this is true freedom…this is true life.
Image: Change sign (Source).
