Category: Calling and Discernment

Writing Again: Returning to the Page After a Season of Study
After months of deep immersion in my Master of Divinity program, I find myself writing again. The pause was necessary—absorbing, integrating, and wrestling with the content of five challenging, beautiful courses left little space for my own words to emerge. But now, after passing Intro to Theological Formation, Jewish Mysticism, Esoteric Christianity, Eastern Mysticism, and New Cosmology, I sense the words flowing back, shaped by study and by Spirit.

A Season of Study

Each course brought me face-to-face with traditions, wisdom, and mysteries that have stretched my soul.
- Intro to Theological Formation laid the foundation. It was less about “what to think” and more about “how to hold”—how to approach study with prayer, humility, and a willingness to be formed. One line from my paper still rings true: “Theology is not a ladder we climb toward God, but a lens polished by love through which God reveals Godself to us.”
- Jewish Mysticism awakened a deep resonance in me. The study of the Kabbalah, and especially the Tree of Life, became more than academic. Mapping the sefirot, I recognized the pathways not just as mystical architecture but as reflections of my own inner journey. In one paper I wrote: “The Tree of Life is not a diagram to master, but a mirror—each sefirah revealing both the wholeness of God and the fragments within myself longing for integration.”
- Esoteric Christianity reminded me of the hidden heart of my own tradition. Beneath dogma lies a wisdom that seeks transformation, not mere belief. I wrestled with the Gnostic voice that whispers through history, one that challenges and liberates.
- Eastern Mysticism drew me into silence. Studying Buddhism, Taoism, and Hindu philosophy, I found myself less inclined to write and more drawn to breathe. In my reflections, I wrote: “The East does not ask me to explain God but to dissolve into God, to release the grip of ego and allow the Eternal to breathe me.”
- New Cosmology expanded the horizon. To weave the story of the universe with the story of faith is to recognize the Christ who is both Alpha and Omega, the Cosmic Christ, whose song has been reverberating since the Big Bang.
  
  I am also thinking of writing more in depth on each of these courses because of how they affected me deeply, each in different ways, and sharing them allows me to synthesize everything more fully as well as sharing these insights and experiences with others along the way.
A Conversation on Ordination

Somewhere between writing papers and chanting prayers, I sat down with Father Jorge. We spoke about ordination—about the path ahead. The plan is clear: Subdeacon after 10 courses (I’ve now completed 7 toward that goal), the Diaconate after the next 10, and then, finally, the priesthood after the last 9.

What makes me smile is the timing. There is a possibility that I will be ordained Subdeacon on the Feast of Theophany—which in Orthodoxy is actually the Feast of Nativity. That was the very day I entered into the Orthodox Church. A little synchronicity, a divine wink, that reassures me I am walking the right path.

Solaya Fellowship

Alongside study, something new has been born. Together with LeeAnn, I have founded Solaya Fellowship. Its purpose is to hold sacred space for growth, healing, and community, weaving together the threads of ancient wisdom and modern practice.

Already, we are offering classes at the Shrine of Holy Wisdom, a place that has become a spiritual home for me. My own offering, Sacred Resonance, blends sound, vibration, chant, and song with crystal singing bowls—transforming worship and healing into one embodied act. The bowls sing, and in their resonance I hear echoes of the very cosmology I study: creation itself humming, the Spirit vibrating through every particle of existence.

Returning to the Page

Now, as I write again, I recognize that study and practice are not separate from writing. They are its source. Every paper, every chant, every conversation, every resonance is a seed. And writing is how I gather them—how I weave together my journey into a tapestry I can share.

This is only the beginning.
24 September 2025
My Soul Cries for a Wounded World

When I look at the state of the world today, my heart aches. The division in our politics, the hatred and bigotry that pour out in our communities, the cruelty of homelessness in the midst of abundance—it all weighs heavily on me. I see people judged for simply being different, excluded because they do not “fit into” someone else’s mold of worthiness, and it cuts deep into my soul.

I struggle because I know the pain of coming from traditions that did nothing to heal this suffering. In fact, too often, those traditions made the wounds worse. Instead of offering Christ’s mercy, they offered judgment. Instead of opening the doors of grace, they guarded them, deciding who was “in” and who was “out.” The Church, which should have been a hospital for the brokenhearted, became instead a fortress of exclusion. I saw the Sacraments used not as lifelines of God’s love but as weapons of control.

And I carry repentance for my part in that. For the times my own words, thoughts, or actions mirrored judgment rather than mercy. For the times I stayed silent when others were excluded. For the times I thought God’s love was something to be earned instead of something freely given. I am sorry. Truly.

My soul cries for the families who were denied the embrace of Christ because others acted as if they were the doorkeepers of salvation. I cry for those who were told they were unworthy of His love, when the truth is that His Sacred Heart has always burned for them. My soul cries for a world crushed under pain, hurt, hate, silence, and struggle.

But in the midst of that grief, I have found another way. In the Independent Sacramental Movement, I have found a home where the grace of Christ is not rationed out or fenced in. Here, the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary overflow with love for all people—without exception. Here, the saints are not distant figures of judgment but companions of mercy. Here, the Sacraments are open to every soul who hungers and thirsts for God’s presence.

This is the Church I want to serve. This is the ministry I commit myself to. My future will not be about gatekeeping, but about opening doors. Not about exclusion, but about radical welcome. Not about judgment, but about love—overflowing love.

If you seek Christ’s love, you will find it here. If you hunger for His Body and Blood, the table is set for you. If you long for healing, the arms of the Church are open. Always.

I can only say it plainly: My ministry will be for all who seek the love of God. Without exception. Ever.

A Prayer for Healing

Sacred Heart of Jesus, burn away the walls of hatred and fear that divide us.
Immaculate Heart of Mary, hold close every soul who feels lost, rejected, or unloved.
Holy Spirit, breathe new life into a weary world.

May the Church become again what You intended it to be—a refuge for the broken,
a fountain of grace for the thirsty,
a table of welcome for the hungry,
a home of mercy for all Your children.

And may my life, Lord, be nothing more and nothing less
than an instrument of Your endless love.

Amen.

29 August 2025
Coming Home: My Journey to the Shrine of Holy Wisdom

For much of my life, I have searched for a place where faith felt alive—where spirituality was not about fear or exclusion, but about love, healing, and truth. There were seasons when I thought I had found it, and others when I nearly gave up searching altogether.

Life has not spared me from hardship. I have known loss that hollowed me out, brokenness that left me questioning God, and disappointments with religion that nearly extinguished my faith. There were times I walked away, convinced that church was not a place where I could ever truly belong.

And yet, God has a way of calling us back when we least expect it. For me, that call came when I discovered the Shrine of Holy Wisdom in Tempe, Arizona.

From my very first visit, I felt something I had longed for but thought I might never find again: peace. Not a surface peace, but a deep stillness that touched my soul. As I stood in the Sunday Divine Liturgy, surrounded by prayers that felt ancient and alive at once, I realized my faith was stirring again. It wasn’t just the beauty of the liturgy—it was the authenticity of the community, the compassion of the leadership, and the unmistakable presence of God’s Spirit moving among us.

The Shrine’s clergy, led by Bishop Jorge Rodriguez Eagar, embody a vision of the Church I had almost given up hoping to find. They welcome without judgment, guide with humility, and teach with wisdom rooted in love. In their care, I began to see that the broken pieces of my faith could be gathered, healed, and made whole again.

Week by week, the Shrine became more than a church I attended; it became a home for my soul. In the liturgies and feast day celebrations, I found joy. In the healing services, I found comfort. In community gatherings and conversations, I found belonging. Slowly, the faith I had lost began to awaken again—not in the way it once was, but in a way deeper, stronger, and truer.

This reawakening has changed the course of my life. I have answered a call to seminary, beginning the path of preparation for ordained ministry. On August 15, 2025—the Feast of The Formation of the Theotokos and Holy Wisdom—I was ordained to the Order of Acolyte. Kneeling in the altar that day, vested and trembling with awe, I felt both the weight and the joy of stepping into service in a new way. The very Shrine that healed my faith is now the place where I am called to serve, to pray, and to help guide others into the same embrace I have found here.

Now, as a seminarian and acolyte, I feel a deep responsibility—not only to tend the altar and assist in the liturgy, but to help open the doors of the Shrine wider, so that others who are searching might find what I have found. My heart is especially drawn to those who feel disillusioned with religion, those who have been hurt by churches, and those who quietly carry questions and longings with no safe place to bring them. To you I say: come and see.

If you are weary, come. If you are seeking, come. If you are filled with joy, sorrow, doubt, or hope, come. At the Shrine of Holy Wisdom, you will find a community of welcome, a leadership rooted in compassion, and a Spirit that renews the soul.

I came to the Shrine lost, grieving, and nearly faithless. I have found here healing, belonging, and joy. And now, I have found my vocation.

The Shrine of Holy Wisdom is not just a place I go. It is my spiritual home. And perhaps, it could become yours too.

Come Visit the Shrine of Holy Wisdom

📍 Shrine of Holy Wisdom
5025 S Ash Ave, Suite B-15
Tempe, AZ 85282
📞 (480) 219-9633

✨ Sunday Divine Liturgy – 10:30am, [9:30 from June – September]
✨ Feast Day Celebrations – as announced on the Shrine calendar
✨ Healing Services, study groups, concerts, and special gatherings – see the events calendar

🕊️ For more information, visit: www.theshrineofholywisdom.org
Calendar if Events: https://www.theshrineofholywisdom.org/events/calendar

22 August 2025
Preparing My Heart for the Acolyte’s Path

On August 15th, I will kneel before the altar and be ordained to the ancient Order of Acolyte—an order that has quietly endured through the centuries, often unnoticed but deeply significant. This moment comes not as a formality, but as a threshold: a sacred invitation to deeper service, devotion, and transformation.

It is no coincidence that this ordination falls on the Feast of the Dormition of the Theotokos and the Feast of Holy Wisdom—two celebrations that speak directly to my heart and my path. The Dormition, or “falling asleep” of Mary, invites us into the mystery of surrender: of letting go into the arms of Divine Love, of trusting the unseen, of becoming vessels for what is greater than ourselves. And Holy Wisdom, known as Sophia in our tradition, reminds us that true knowledge begins not in books or rituals, but in the still, listening heart. These two feasts together remind me that the journey of faith is one of both reverent silence and radiant service.

As I prepare for this ordination, I’ve been reflecting on what it truly means to serve at the altar—not just as a ceremonial assistant, but as someone who helps create a space where heaven and earth meet. The Acolyte’s role is not about being seen. It is about being present. It is about carrying the light, preparing the sacred vessels, and embodying stillness amidst the movement of liturgy. It is about offering my hands to help make the mystery visible.

I remember the first time I served as an altar boy, nearly 25 years ago. I was young, nervous, and enchanted by the bells, the incense, the rhythm of prayer. I didn’t understand much then—but I knew I was close to something holy. And now, decades later, that same holy longing has returned, fuller and more mature, asking not just for admiration but for embodiment.

This preparation hasn’t only been external. It has stirred something inward—a longing to align more fully with who I am called to be. I’ve been praying more slowly. Listening more deeply. Holding silence longer. Letting the gestures of liturgy imprint themselves on my body, not as choreography, but as prayer in motion. Every step toward the sanctuary feels like a step inward as well, into the mystery of God and into my own calling.

For those who have supported me—mentors, friends, companions on the path—I carry you with me. Your prayers, encouragement, and witness have helped prepare this ground. And to those who may feel far from faith, or outside the bounds of traditional church: please know that this ordination isn’t about hierarchy or exclusion. It’s about widening the circle of love. It’s about being a bridge between the sacred and the everyday.

On August 15th, I will say “yes” again—to service, to mystery, to the slow unfolding of the sacred in the ordinary. I offer this “yes” not just for myself, but for all those still searching, still aching, still wondering if they belong.

You do. We all do.

And the Light we carry is meant to be shared.

With hope and devotion,

Joseph Martinka

Candidate for Holy Orders

Shrine of Holy Wisdom, Tempe, AZ

01 August 2025
A Reflection on Acceptance into Seminary

“Called Beneath Her Mantle: A Seminary Acceptance on the Feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel”

On July 16, the Church commemorates the Feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel—a day soaked in mystery, devotion, and maternal tenderness. For centuries, it has been a day set aside to honor Mary not only as the Mother of Jesus, but also as the patroness of contemplatives, mystics, and all who dwell in the shadow of the holy mountain—those who seek God in silence, in hidden places, and in the deep interior of the soul.

This past July 16, I received a call that would mark a threshold moment in my life: I was accepted into seminary.

To many, it might appear to be a matter of timing or paperwork. But I see it differently.

I believe Heaven chose this date for a reason. And Mary, the Mother of all seekers, wrapped me in her mantle and whispered gently, “Yes. Now is the time. Walk forward, my son.”

The Mountain Behind Me

Like many who walk the winding road to ministry, my path has not been smooth. I have climbed emotional and spiritual hills, navigated the valleys of heartbreak, loss, and rebuilding. I’ve wrestled with the weight of calling, the silence of God, and the noise of self-doubt.

I’ve lived a life formed by both love and suffering—two great teachers in the school of Christ. From my earliest days, I’ve sought the holy in the hidden, the sacred in the shattered. I’ve been both prodigal and prophet, student and teacher, wanderer and home-builder.

But something in me has always longed for deeper waters, for ancient wells. For sacraments that do not merely symbolize, but transfigure. For a Church that does not merely instruct, but welcomes. For a ministry that does not merely preach, but heals.

The Mountain Before Me

Mount Carmel, biblically, is the place where Elijah called down fire from Heaven and showed Israel the living God. But for the Carmelite tradition, it became something quieter—a symbol of the inner mountain, the place where the soul ascends through prayer, humility, and surrender.

To be accepted into seminary on this feast is, for me, a signpost from God and from Mary that my journey is not about prestige or titles, but about transformation. It is not about becoming someone “holy” in the eyes of the world, but about becoming empty enough to carry the love of Christ to others.

I am not climbing this mountain to be seen.

I am climbing because I’ve been called.

Beneath Her Mantle

Our Lady of Mount Carmel is often depicted handing the scapular to Saint Simon Stock—a symbol of protection and grace. For me, this image now feels personal. I picture Mary gently placing that mantle over my shoulders, saying, “Go into the world. Be a sign of love that does not exclude. Be a priest not of power, but of presence. Be a voice for those the Church has forgotten.”

Her mantle is not armor. It is not a badge. It is a cloak of compassion, woven from her own “yes” to God. And it is under that mantle that I will study, pray, and grow. It is under that mantle that I will offer the sacraments. And it is under that mantle that I hope to shelter others who are weary, wandering, or wounded.

A Ministry of Love

My seminary formation is not merely about theology. It is about learning how to serve. It is about becoming more fully human, more fully surrendered, more fully aligned with Christ, the wounded healer. The One who breaks bread with outcasts, touches the untouchable, and whispers hope to those whose hope has died.

I feel called to build bridges—between faith and doubt, tradition and renewal, heaven and earth. I feel called to an inclusive sacramental ministry rooted in ancient wisdom and open arms.

And on this mountain of formation, I will not walk alone. Mary walks with me. So do the saints. So do all of you who believe in the power of love to transfigure the world.

Conclusion

So yes, I was accepted into seminary on the Feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel.

But more than that, I was claimed by a mystery greater than myself.

To those discerning your own calling, I offer this: Pay attention to the feast days of your life. God writes in liturgical rhythms. Mary appears in timing and tenderness. Your vocation is not a ladder to climb—it is a mountain to surrender to.

And sometimes, at the top of that mountain, there is no thunder. There is no fire.

There is just a mother’s voice saying, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

24 July 2025