The Camerado Chronicles -- Part One -- Chapter 16

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27 June
Barstow, Calif.

Jeez, do you think I was too hard on that hypothetical reader last night?
Not hard enough?

In any case, it got too divisive at the end. I read over it, and I see
someone who is trying to pick a fight rather than find the Highest
Common Factor of our divergent beliefs. I’m going to leave it in –I am
sincere in my desire to hear from, talk to or sit with anyone who believes
in Christianity’s exclusive status and will defend it passionately, in part
because I don’t believe it can be done. I also want my warts to be as
visible as anything else I am led to reveal of myself, and I wanted to take
a moment here to point out that it was indeed a wart. I can’t go around
representing spiritual unity and accuse certain people of seeking
something other than the heart of God. I actually made myself into
Exhibit A for the very phenomenon I oppose. Ah well, it only goes to
show how hard the higher calling can be. Lord, please heal my divisive
heart. Please show me how to get out of my own way. Amen.

It was building up inside of me, I think, to utter some final disavowal of this doctrine which my own church –a place I happen to love
immensely—holds as part and parcel of the Christian faith. That I did, and that I must hold to, because I cannot sit silently in the pews and
pretend it doesn’t offend my Christian spirit –but neither can I stand up in church every Sunday and denounce it in front of sincere, devoted
believers who are laboring to walk the walk as I am. This is the dilemma I have attending Western Orthodox churches, and this journal is
probably meant as a compromise. For those to whom it is ministering, praise God! I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping it would. If it
doesn’t, click it off your screen, close the book, and return to what does. Simple as that. If it lights up only a tiny minority –but lights
them like firecrackers—it will bring great joy to this pilgrim.

I don’t suppose Christotheism could ever be more than a tiny majority compared to the Western Orthodox Church, just as the mystical
element of all faiths comprises a small wing of their respective orthodox congregations. Such is the nature of the narrow path.

Today, for instance, at the service I attended in Barstow, the pastor instructed us, “If you want to know God’s will for your life, you’ve
got to study the scriptures. It is the primary way he speaks to us.” He elaborated that point for a good ten minutes, but I didn’t take any
notes; the gist of it all is right there. Nothing to the effect of “the scriptures are an important place to start.”

Almost parenthetically he added, “Sometimes He uses the ‘still, soft voice.’” Sometimes? Still, soft voice? Of course, because you filter
out everything that doesn’t correspond with ‘Book, Chapter, Verse.’

He added, “It wasn’t a bunch of men that wrote scripture, it was God’s holy men. Their thinking is in it, yes, but it was perfectly in line
with God’s thinking. They were like a gigantic pen that He used to write the scriptures.”

Their thinking is in it, but it was perfectly in line with God’s thinking….which they knew because they heard it loud and clear, word for
word, so much so that one could say they were merely taking dictation, that they simply held the pen steady and God Himself moved the
paper underneath…and since then, for about 1,900 years God has reverted to speaking in a still, soft voice which is infrequent and
unreliable compared to our daily study of the Holy Bible, which we know is God’s true, unadulterated Word because….the still, soft voice
told us it is?

Earlier in the service, the pastor also gave us what seemed to be a good working definition of “idolatry:” “whatever we place our devotion in
above God.”

…..he said it, I didn’t.

And yet, I keep going back each week, because of encounters like this: There was an elderly lady, looked either Japanese or Korean, I don’t
want to say for sure; either way, I’m sure she is rightly revered in her family. She was passing out the bulletins, and when she gave me
one she had the brightest smile all over her old Far Eastern face, and all she said when I thanked her was “God loves you.” Cool, I’m
thinking, she’s never seen me before, she doesn’t know if I’m a Christian or an atheist or a Zen Buddhist. I like this lady. After the service
I decided to thank her for greeting me so warmly, tell her how nice it is to have that kind of reception when you’re an out-of-town stranger
and you don’t talk to many people on a given day, etc. As I began to speak and shook her hand delicately, she gave me the same smile –
literally, I don’t think she put it away the whole morning—and she said, “God loves you.” Hmmm, I’m thinking now: maybe this is all the
English she knows. And heck, what more does one need to know?

But then, God bless her dear old soul, she added, “And so do we.”

Buddy, after that, I was ready to go up and hug that goofy Orthodox pastor and thank him for a great service, which I did. Then I more or
less soared back to Camerado, and we began making our way to Bakersfield. Such is the life of a loyal heretic: sometimes you get caught
in your own crossfire, and you realize you’re shooting yourself; sometimes it all just doesn’t matter, so you put down your weapon (the
pen is mightier than the sword, and can be just as divisive) and love with all your might. I’m getting used to this strange, dual existence. I
think I like it.

*             *              *               *

Somehow I managed to get all that down while crossing both sides of Tehachapi Pass. The western slope is especially windy and steep in
some places –also beautiful, classic California golden hills dotted with stately oaks. I am very surprised I didn’t burn up my brakes; I had
to use them more than I’d like because my jake brakes aren’t working right (those are the rumbly sounding things you hear from trucks
usually going downhill; they use air compression in the engine to slow down RPMs without the air brakes your foot pedal employs), and it’s
a 100-degree day here in the Mojave. Now I’ve reached the geometrically flat Central Valley, old Highway 99.

*             *             *              *

I hope you took from that church story the same lesson I did: Christ-love is all that matters, not the means we use to bring it out. I
don’t know anything about the background of our old Asian friend from Barstow, but whatever she learned that encouraged her to share
that kind of love with strangers, I have to call that Good. This understanding was implicit in my declaration of purpose at the beginning of
this journal, but sometimes I forget. No church is a gulag for the spirit, unless an individual makes it so; ultimately it’s always up
to the individual. Maybe for every one soul bursting with the Word of God at a Biblian church, there are two who are going through the
motions, or interested only in saving their own butts from the Great Judgment; maybe five, maybe ten, maybe 100. Who knows –doesn’t
matter; that one justifies it all. As a loyal heretic, I must remember that my job is to build a new wing on the existing church building,
not tear the old building down.

I need to keep that in mind as I critique the Western Orthodox Church. I need to remember the little Asian lady’s face and her words of
kindness, and how that church gave her a place to seek the heart of Christ. Amen.

So, back to my writing plans for the day. A little memory practice right off the bat.

You may remember long, long ago, I talked about summarizing the two main themes I had found in the Western Orthodox Church that
bother me as a Christian. As long as the first summary turned out, it was still only one. I want to get to the second before I go home, then
do something of a wrap-up for what I’m seeing now as Part One of the Chronicles, so when I leave next weekend I can start fresh with
Part Two. HC- Stockton, Ca.

© 2004 by Hermit Crab
a Fish Out Of Water production

Next -- Chapter 17