When I use terms like “sundered ones” from my previous post (and probably in the next post to come) I am not repeating ideas from anyone’s mind but my own. These days I don’t attend seminars and lectures (not that there’s anything wrong with those). I’m learning on a different sort of track than I used to, but that’s just where I happen to be.
I’m reading. Books are helpful. Here are a few I’ve finished or am in the midst of: The Orthodox Study Bible; Surprised by Joy by C.S. Lewis; The Lost Gospel of Mary by Frederica Mathewes-Green; His Life Is Mine by Archimandrite Sophrony; and On the Incarnation by St. Athanasius (there is a new Greek and English version of this volume, that wouldn’t do me much good, but I linked to it).
Mostly what I’m doing is going to church and absorbing. Before I was of any mind to do this, as some of you who know me may remember, I surmised things about Eastern Orthodoxy, like when I had the thought that it and a certain church were to my daughter and me, regarding faith, as our different genre preferences were, regarding stories. Or authors. Or something. It’s interesting now to go back in my blog-past and read myself wrestling with what might be real and true. (Only an iceberg tip, compared to what went on in my journals and notebooks, without me really noticing.)
So. Now you know. I’m not, today, regurgitating anybody else’s reflections of what might be true. At least I don’t think so.
It is difficult to know myself. Well nigh impossible to understand others, because the experiences we different ones come from are just that — so different. The amazing thing is we communicate. Sometimes very well. Sometimes after only finding some time for clarification.
I’m reading. Books are helpful. Here are a few I’ve finished or am in the midst of: The Orthodox Study Bible; Surprised by Joy by C.S. Lewis; The Lost Gospel of Mary by Frederica Mathewes-Green; His Life Is Mine by Archimandrite Sophrony; and On the Incarnation by St. Athanasius (there is a new Greek and English version of this volume, that wouldn’t do me much good, but I linked to it).
Mostly what I’m doing is going to church and absorbing. Before I was of any mind to do this, as some of you who know me may remember, I surmised things about Eastern Orthodoxy, like when I had the thought that it and a certain church were to my daughter and me, regarding faith, as our different genre preferences were, regarding stories. Or authors. Or something. It’s interesting now to go back in my blog-past and read myself wrestling with what might be real and true. (Only an iceberg tip, compared to what went on in my journals and notebooks, without me really noticing.)
So. Now you know. I’m not, today, regurgitating anybody else’s reflections of what might be true. At least I don’t think so.
It is difficult to know myself. Well nigh impossible to understand others, because the experiences we different ones come from are just that — so different. The amazing thing is we communicate. Sometimes very well. Sometimes after only finding some time for clarification.
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