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  • Theosis as the Fulfillment of the Gospel

    Joseph Martinka — Spiritual Hub

    The Salvific Function of the Church in the Eastern Patristic Tradition: Theosis as the Fulfillment of the Gospel

    Introduction: The Church as the Living Extension of the Incarnation

    In the theology of the Early Church, salvation is not an external transaction nor a mere pardon for sin, but an ontological transformation of the human person and creation itself. The Eastern Fathers understood the Church as the living continuation of the Incarnation—the Body of Christ through which the Spirit extends divine life to the world. As St. Irenaeus of Lyons wrote in the second century, “Where the Church is, there is the Spirit of God; and where the Spirit of God is, there is the Church and all grace.”1

    This grace is nothing less than participation in the divine life itself—what later theology would call theosis, or deification. The Church is the locus where this participation becomes real: in her worship, sacraments, asceticism, and communal life, humanity is united to God through Christ and the Holy Spirit. The central conviction of Eastern Christianity is summarized by St. Athanasius: “For the Son of God became man so that we might become god.”2 This article traces the foundations of this theology of salvation in the writings of the Eastern Fathers, showing that theosis represents not only the heart of their soteriology but also the fullest realization of Christ’s mission, integrating theology, Christology, anthropology, and sacramentology into one salvific vision.

    I. Christology and Theosis: The Incarnation as Salvation

    For the Eastern Fathers, the Incarnation itself is the beginning and guarantee of human salvation. Athanasius’ On the Incarnation stands as the cornerstone of this understanding. Against Arianism, he insisted that only one who is truly God could save humanity: “He became what we are that He might make us what He is.”3 The Incarnation is not merely an event in history but the eternal will of God manifesting divine condescension and union. In assuming human nature, Christ heals it, restores it, and opens it to participation in divine life.

    St. Gregory of Nazianzus extends this soteriological logic in his famous dictum: “That which He has not assumed He has not healed.”4 Salvation depends on the total assumption of human nature by the Word. Thus, Christology and soteriology are inseparable: to know who Christ is, is to know what salvation is. The Church, as the mystical Body of Christ, continues this incarnational reality, uniting divinity and humanity in sacramental and communal life.

    St. Gregory of Nyssa likewise envisions salvation as the gradual ascent of the soul into divine likeness: “The goal of a virtuous life is to become like God.”5 His theology of epektasis—the perpetual progress of the soul toward infinite perfection—reveals that theosis is not a static state but an eternal movement into divine communion. In Christ, the human being enters into this infinite ascent through the Church, the “extension of the Incarnation through all time.”

    II. Ecclesiology and Sacramentology: The Church as the Means of Deification

    The Church, in the mind of the Fathers, is both the mystical Body of Christ and the temple of the Holy Spirit—the divine-human organism through which salvation unfolds. St. Cyril of Jerusalem, in his Mystagogical Catecheses, describes baptism and Eucharist as the twin sacraments of deification: “Through the Holy Spirit you are called ‘christs’ and sons of God, for you have been made conformable to the image of the Son of God.”6

    Baptism is death and resurrection with Christ, a rebirth into divine life; the Eucharist is communion with the deified humanity of Christ. St. John Chrysostom wrote, “He has given us His own body to eat, and through this union He makes us one with Himself.”7 Thus, sacramentology is not symbolic but ontological: the sacraments effect union with God.

    St. Basil the Great further articulates the role of the Holy Spirit in this process: “Through the Spirit we are restored to paradise, we ascend to the kingdom of heaven, and we are made adopted sons of God.”8 In his On the Holy Spirit, Basil presents the Spirit as the agent of theosis, who incorporates the faithful into the life of the Trinity through the Church’s sacramental economy.

    In the liturgical life, especially the Divine Liturgy, the Church not only remembers Christ’s saving work but participates in it. St. Maximus the Confessor would later call the liturgy “a cosmic mystery” wherein heaven and earth, divine and human, time and eternity converge.9 For Maximus, the Church is the microcosm and mediator of the universe’s deification: “The Word of God wills always and in all things to accomplish the mystery of His embodiment.”10

    III. Anthropology and Pneumatology: The Human Person as Icon of God

    The anthropology of the Eastern Fathers is deeply relational and dynamic. Humanity is created in the imago Dei not merely as rational creature but as potential participant in divine life. St. Gregory Nazianzen insists, “I am a creature of God, but I also bear a portion of God and have become divine.”11 For him, the human person is a theophoros—a bearer of God—destined by nature for communion.

    Athanasius argues that sin is not merely moral disobedience but ontological corruption—the decay of the divine image. Salvation, then, is the restoration of incorruption through union with the Word. “He took our flesh that He might quicken it by His divinity.”12

    St. Maximus deepens this anthropology by describing the human person as the “mediator” of creation, uniting material and spiritual realms. Through the Logos, the human vocation is to bring creation into harmony with God—a priestly role realized in Christ and extended through the Church.13 Theosis, therefore, is both personal and cosmic: the restoration of the entire created order through human participation in divine energies.

    Pneumatology completes this picture. The Holy Spirit, as St. Symeon the New Theologian emphasizes, is the personal presence of deification in the believer: “He who is filled with the Holy Spirit himself becomes all eye, all light, all face, and all radiance.”14 The Spirit actualizes theosis within the Church, transforming the believer from within, not by coercion but by illumination and synergy.

    IV. Mystical and Cosmic Dimensions of Theosis

    The mystical tradition of the East, culminating in the hesychast theology of St. Gregory Palamas (14th century), affirms the possibility of true participation in God through His uncreated energies. Palamas distinguishes between God’s essence (unknowable) and energies (communicable), maintaining that the saints “become by grace what God is by nature.”15

    This distinction preserves divine transcendence while affirming genuine communion. Palamas’ theology of the uncreated light—experienced in the transfiguration of Christ and in the lives of the saints—demonstrates that theosis is experiential, transformative, and eschatological. “In the age to come, the righteous will forever increase in participation in God, without end.”16

    St. Maximus had already anticipated this in his vision of the cosmos as a liturgy of divine glory, where Christ “recapitulates all things in Himself” (Eph 1:10). For him, every level of being is drawn upward in Christ: “The Word of God, wishing to make all created things participate in Himself, truly became a man.”17

    Thus, the Church’s salvific function cannot be separated from the cosmic restoration inaugurated by Christ. In her liturgy and ascetic life, heaven and earth meet; the faithful become “partakers of the divine nature” (2 Pet 1:4). Theosis is therefore the comprehensive end of creation: the communion of all things in the triune God.

    V. Integration of the “Ologies”: Theology as Deification

    The Eastern Fathers never separated the branches of theology as later scholasticism would. For them, Christology, pneumatology, anthropology, sacramentology, and ecclesiology are facets of one reality: the deification of humanity in Christ through the Spirit.

    • Theology (the knowledge of God) is participation in divine life, not mere intellectual speculation. “A theologian is one who prays truly,” writes Evagrius Ponticus.18
    • Christology is soteriology—the union of God and humanity. “In Christ, God has united Himself to our nature without confusion, that we might be united to Him without division.”19
    • Pneumatology reveals that the Holy Spirit actualizes this union in each believer, integrating the community into the life of the Trinity.
    • Sacramentology embodies the same mystery: visible signs that communicate invisible grace, rendering the Church the “continuing Incarnation.”
    • Ecclesiology holds all of these together: the Church is not a mere institution but the divine-human communion in which creation is reconciled to God.

    Thus, the entire theological vision of the East converges upon theosis—the telos of human existence and the purpose of the Church’s being.

    Conclusion: Theosis as the Fulfillment of Christ’s Gospel

    For the Eastern Fathers, salvation is nothing less than the life of God shared with creation. The Church exists to actualize this communion. As St. Irenaeus proclaimed, “The glory of God is the living human being, and the life of man is the vision of God.”20 Theosis is not an esoteric doctrine but the essence of the Gospel—the restoration of the divine image in humanity and the transfiguration of all creation in Christ.

    Through the Incarnation, Cross, and Resurrection, Christ unites heaven and earth; through the Church and the Spirit, this union becomes our own. The sacraments are not mere rites, but the arteries of divine life. The Fathers call us not to belief alone but to participation—to become by grace what God is by nature.

    In this vision, the salvific function of the Church is not secondary but essential: it is the very continuation of the saving work of Christ. The Church is not simply the instrument of salvation; she is salvation manifest—the living communion of God with humanity. To embrace this theotic vision is to return to the heart of Christ’s Gospel and the authentic understanding of the early Christian Church.

    Notes

    1. Irenaeus, Against Heresies, III.24.1. ↩
    2. Athanasius of Alexandria, On the Incarnation, 54. ↩
    3. Ibid., 8. ↩
    4. Gregory of Nazianzus, “Epistle 101,” 5. ↩
    5. Gregory of Nyssa, The Life of Moses, II.225. ↩
    6. Cyril of Jerusalem, Mystagogical Catecheses 3.1. ↩
    7. John Chrysostom, “Homily 46 on John.” ↩
    8. Basil the Great, On the Holy Spirit 15.36. ↩
    9. Maximus the Confessor, Mystagogy 1. ↩
    10. Maximus the Confessor, Ambigua 7. ↩
    11. Gregory of Nazianzus, Oration 14, 27. ↩
    12. Athanasius, Contra Arianos II.70. ↩
    13. Maximus, Ambigua 41. ↩
    14. Symeon the New Theologian, Hymns of Divine Love I. ↩
    15. Gregory Palamas, The Triads I.3.23. ↩
    16. Ibid., III.1.28. ↩
    17. Maximus, Ambigua 7. ↩
    18. Evagrius Ponticus, Chapters on Prayer 60. ↩
    19. Maximus, Ambigua 5. ↩
    20. Irenaeus, Against Heresies IV.20.7. ↩

    Bibliography

    • Athanasius of Alexandria. On the Incarnation. Translated and edited by John Behr. Yonkers, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2011.
    • Basil the Great. On the Holy Spirit. Translated by Stephen M. Hildebrand. Yonkers, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2011.
    • Cyril of Jerusalem. Catechetical Lectures. In Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Second Series, Vol. 7. Edited by Philip Schaff and Henry Wace. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 1994.
    • Evagrius Ponticus. Chapters on Prayer. In The Philokalia, Vol. 1. Translated by G. E. H. Palmer, Philip Sherrard, and Kallistos Ware. London: Faber and Faber, 1979.
    • Gregory of Nazianzus. Orations. In Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Second Series, Vol. 7. Edited by Philip Schaff and Henry Wace.
    • Gregory of Nazianzus. “Epistle 101.” In Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Second Series, Vol. 7.
    • Gregory of Nyssa. The Life of Moses. Translated by Abraham J. Malherbe and Everett Ferguson. New York: Paulist Press, 1978.
    • John Chrysostom. Homilies on the Gospel of John. In Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, First Series, Vol. 14. Edited by Philip Schaff.
    • Maximus the Confessor. Ambigua. Translated by Nicholas Constas. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2014.
    • Maximus the Confessor. Mystagogy. In various translations.
    • Palamas, Gregory. The Triads. Translated by Nicholas Gendle. Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1983.
    • Symeon the New Theologian. The Discourses. Translated by C. J. deCatanzaro. Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1980.
    • Ware, Kallistos. The Orthodox Way. Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1995.
    • Irenaeus of Lyons. Against Heresies. In various translations.
    © Joseph Martinka
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  • Marian Dogmas & Titles Comparison Chart

    Marian Dogmas & Titles Comparison Chart

    Doctrine / TitleRoman CatholicEastern OrthodoxIndependent Catholic (e.g. Old Catholic, CACA, OSST)
    1. Divine Motherhood (Theotokos)✅ Defined at Council of Ephesus (431)✅ Affirmed at Ephesus; central to Orthodox theology✅ Affirmed; considered foundational
    2. Perpetual Virginity✅ Dogma: Virgin before, during, and after Christ’s birth✅ Strongly affirmed in liturgy and theology✅ Widely affirmed, though some communities may not require strict assent
    3. Immaculate Conception✅ Dogma (Ineffabilis Deus, 1854)❌ Not dogma; many affirm her purification at the Annunciation✅ Often affirmed spiritually, but not always held as dogma
    4. Assumption of Mary✅ Dogma (Munificentissimus Deus, 1950)✅ Celebrated as Dormition; bodily assumption is affirmed in tradition✅ Widely affirmed; often celebrated liturgically
    5. Co-Redemptrix / Mediatrix / Advocate☑️ Promoted in popular devotion; not dogma❌ Rejected as overly scholastic; Mary intercedes but not as “co-redeemer”☑️ Varies: CACA/OSST may affirm as devotional titles without making dogmatic claims
    6. Immaculate Heart of Mary✅ Promoted in liturgy and private devotion❌ Not a formal devotion; emphasis is on her role in Christ’s life✅ Affirmed in many Independent traditions influenced by RC spirituality
    7. Mary as Queen of Heaven✅ Feast of the Queenship of Mary (Aug 22); biblical & theological basis✅ Honored as Queen in icons/hymns (e.g., “More honorable than
  • A Concise Primer on Apostolic Succession & Sacramental Life Beyond Rome

    A Concise Primer on Apostolic Succession & Sacramental Life Beyond Rome

    1. What Is Apostolic Succession?

    Apostolic succession is the historic-theological claim that the authority Christ entrusted to the Twelve Apostles—especially to teach, sanctify, and govern the Church—is transmitted by the laying-on of hands (ordination) from bishop to bishop in an unbroken line.
    Key elements

    ElementMeaning
    Physical signImposition of hands with an ordination prayer calling on the Holy Spirit (cf. 1 Tim 4:14).
    IntentionTo ordain as the Church intends (service of Word, sacrament, and pastoral oversight).
    ContinuityThe new bishop must be consecrated by at least one (normally three) bishops already validly in the line.

    2. Churches Claiming Valid Succession Apart from Rome

    CommunionSuccession SourceRome’s Current AssessmentNotable Features of Sacramental Life
    Eastern OrthodoxFrom early patriarchates (Constantinople, Alexandria, Antioch, Jerusalem)Valid orders & sacraments (Unitatis redintegratio 15)Identical seven sacraments; leavened Eucharistic bread; chrismation for infants.
    Oriental Orthodox (Coptic, Armenian, Syriac, Ethiopian, Eritrean, Malankara)Ancient patriarchal lines that separated after Chalcedon (451)Valid (Joint statements since 1980s acknowledge real priesthood)Use of anaphoras such as St Basil or Addai & Mari; miaphysite Christology.
    Assyrian Church of the EastFrom Seleucia-Ctesiphon (traditionally St Thomas)Valid; 2001 Vatican guidelines permit intercommunion in some circumstancesCelebrates the Eucharist without the Words of Institution in the anaphora of Addai & Mari.
    Old Catholic Union of Utrecht
    (post-1870)    		Roman-Catholic bishops (notably Archbishop Küng of Utrecht)Valid orders but illicit; ordination of women since 1990s breaks communion with some partnersSeven sacraments; vernacular liturgies; open communion.
    Anglican CommunionMedieval English succession; break in 16th c.Invalid (Apostolicae curae 1896) – Rome judged intention/form defective; dialogues continue (ARCIC)Two main sacraments (“dominical”); women bishops in many provinces; diverse Eucharistic theologies.
    Independent/
    Continuing Anglican & Independent Catholic Groups    		Lines from Old Catholic, Duarte-Costa, or vagante bishopsCase-by-case; technically valid if rooted in a valid line and proper form/intention retainedWide variation: some maintain Catholic sacramental praxis; others innovate substantially.

    3. Sacramental Theology Outside Roman Jurisdiction

    TopicOrthodox & OrientalOld CatholicAnglican (High Church)
    EucharistReal change of the Gifts after epiklesis; usually termed metabole, mystery rather than “transubstantiation.”Accept Trent’s substance-language but stress Eastern emphases; open communion policy.Anglo-Catholics affirm Real Presence; others hold receptionism or memorial views.
    Confirmation/
    Chrismation    		Administered with Baptism (infants) by priest using Myron consecrated by a bishop.Usually post-baptism by priest or bishop; retains Western sequence.In most provinces it remains a bishop’s act; theology varies.
    PenanceIntegral to pastoral life; formula of absolution parallels Roman form.Private confession optional but encouraged.Ranges from obligatory (Anglo-Catholic) to rarely practiced.
    Marriage & Holy OrdersMarriage is a sacrament only when consummated; ordination open to married men (not after episcopal consecration).Allow remarriage after divorce in some cases; ordains women (since 1996).Many provinces ordain women and allow same-sex marriage; others do not.

    4. Recognition, Communion & Practical Pastoral Issues

    • Catholic Use of Non-Roman Sacraments
      • Emergency/need: Catholics may receive Penance, Eucharist, and Anointing from valid Eastern priests when access to a Catholic priest is impossible (CIC §844).
    • Orthodox Reception of Roman Faithful
      • Some jurisdictions require (re)chrismation; others accept Catholic baptism/confirmation outright.
    • Intercommunion
      • Limited “Eucharistic hospitality” agreements exist with Old Catholics (e.g., between Utrecht and German RC dioceses for mixed marriages).
    • Ecumenical Dialogues
      • Orthodox–Catholic: Joint International Commission (since 1979) affirms essential commonalities (e.g., Ravenna 2007).
      • Catholic–Oriental: Christological agreements (e.g., Common Declaration with Coptic Pope Shenouda III, 1988).
      • ARCIC: Anglican–Roman statements recognize a “substantial agreement” in Eucharist and Ministry though differences remain.

    5. Key Take-Aways

    1. Validity ≠ Communion – Rome acknowledges many non-Roman ordinations as valid while still considering them illicit or incomplete.
    2. Diversity in Practice – Sacramental life is shaped by different canonical, liturgical, and cultural contexts, yet rooted in shared apostolic faith.
    3. Ecumenical Momentum – Formal dialogues increasingly bridge gaps, especially with Eastern Churches, offering practical pathways for shared sacramental participation in special circumstances.

    Selected References for Further Study

    1. Unitatis Redintegratio (Vatican II Decree on Ecumenism), 1964
    2. Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, Dominus Iesus, 2000
    3. Orientale Lumen (John Paul II), 1995
    4. ARCIC: Agreed Statement on Ministry and Ordination, 1973; Clarifications, 1994
    5. E. Lanne, “Validity of Orthodox Orders”, Irenikon 50 (1977): 426–447
    6. W. Henn, “Old Catholic Theology”, in Handbook of Christian Theology, ed. Migliore, 2015
    7. A. Denysenko, The Orthodox Church in Ukraine: A Century of Separation, NIU Press, 2018 (succession in national Churches)
    8. Joint International Commission for Theological Dialogue between the Roman Catholic Church and the Orthodox Church, Ravenna Document, 2007
    9. R. Williams & W. Kasper, “Mary: Grace and Hope in Christ” (ARCIC) 2005 – ministry & communion implications
    10. J. T. O’Connor, The Hidden Manna: A Theology of the Eucharist, Ignatius Press, 2005 (chap. 12 on Eastern perspectives)

    These works provide solid entry points for anyone wishing to delve more deeply into apostolic succession and sacramental life beyond the Roman Catholic orbit.

  • A Manifesto for Sacred Leadership

    A Manifesto for Sacred Leadership

    Introduction

    There is a revolution stirring—not in the streets, but in the souls of those who can no longer lead from systems that suppress the sacred. We are the ones who have walked through fire, not to be consumed, but to be clarified. We’ve tasted religion’s beauty and its shadow. We’ve been burned by false authority and yet still feel the pulse of something holy calling us deeper.

    This post is my personal manifesto—born not in theory, but through lived experience. Through fatherhood and formation, heartbreak and healing, I’ve come to understand that true leadership does not begin with titles or traditions. It begins with sovereignty—the inner alignment with God’s voice within us that no institution can grant or revoke.

    What follows is not a set of rules, but a flame.
    May it ignite something ancient in you.
    May it remind you of the sacred leader you already are.

    I will lead from my essence, not my ego.

    There was a time when I thought leadership meant being strong, certain, and in control—qualities that had been modeled for me in both church and society. But life, with its unexpected initiations—divorce, grief, the vulnerability of fatherhood—stripped away those illusions. I came to understand that true strength comes from essence, not ego. My essence knows how to listen, how to serve, how to stand in truth without needing validation. Every time I let go of the need to impress or prove something, I come back into alignment with who I really am—and people respond to that presence more than any polished performance.

    I will honor my humanity as a vessel of the holy.

    There was a long stretch of my life where I thought holiness meant perfection. I tried to live up to unrealistic ideals—spiritually, emotionally, even physically. But perfectionism led me only to burnout and shame. It was during one of the darkest seasons of my life, after the collapse of a marriage and the loss of a dear friend, that I realized God was not asking me to be perfect. God was asking me to be real. Now, when I make mistakes, I reflect and repair—but I don’t self-abandon. I see that my tears, my laughter, my flaws, and my healing journey are the holy things. My humanity is not in the way—it is the way.

    I will not shrink to keep others comfortable or puff myself up to be taken seriously.

    For most of my life, I oscillated between playing small so I wouldn’t be judged, and inflating myself so I could be seen. As a teacher, a spiritual seeker, and a man on the path, I often felt I had to choose between authenticity and acceptance. But neither shrinking nor posturing gave me peace. What did? Speaking the truth of who I am—even when it made others uncomfortable. Saying yes to priesthood formation, even when I feared I didn’t “fit the mold.” Owning my intuitive gifts, my sound healing, my sacred sexuality, and my calling, all at once. Now, I stand in the middle: grounded, not grasping—anchored, not apologizing.

    I will cultivate my inner flame through prayer, ritual, embodiment, and truth-telling.

    This isn’t just poetic language—it’s the path I walk every day. My inner flame dims when I neglect the sacred rhythms: breathwork, silence, movement, ritual. It reignites when I sit at my altar, when I play the singing bowls and feel vibration clear my chest, when I speak honestly in spiritual direction or pour my thoughts into a journal. Cultivating this flame is non-negotiable now. It’s what allows me to father from presence, to serve with clarity, and to stay resilient amid the chaos of the world. Truth-telling, especially to myself, is the spark that keeps that fire alive.

    I will create safe, sovereign spaces for others to remember who they are.

    This is the heart of my calling. Whether I’m guiding a sound meditation, mentoring a seeker, or simply sitting in sacred conversation, I want people to feel safe enough to unfold. I’ve known what it feels like to be in spaces where you have to hide parts of yourself to belong—especially in rigid religious settings. That’s why I’ve redefined leadership to mean sanctuary. I am building communities, offerings, and containers where all of you is welcome—your grief and glory, your confusion and clarity. You are safe here. And not just safe—you are sovereign. My work is to reflect that back to you.

    I will serve the Mystery, not the machine.

    When I first considered re-entering formal spiritual life through the Church, I feared the return of the “machine”—systems that grind down the soul in favor of appearances and dogma. But in discovering the Catholic Apostolic Church of Antioch, and in walking the path of independent spirituality, I have come to see that I can still serve something sacred without surrendering to soulless systems. I serve the Mystery now—the Living God, the Breath, the Sophia, the Christ within. My rituals are intimate. My prayers are raw. My theology is open-handed. I no longer serve out of fear or obligation. I serve out of awe.

    I will live as a priest of the everyday, blessing the sacred in all things.

    I used to think priesthood happened only at the altar—during Eucharist, or in formal robes. But now I see priesthood as a way of being. I am a priest when I hold my son close and whisper encouragement into his ear. I am a priest when I bring cacao into the room and open a circle in reverence. I am a priest when I sweep the floor in silence, feeling Spirit move through the mundane. This is not about titles or ordination alone—it’s about how I show up in the world. My life is the liturgy. My love is the blessing. Every breath, a holy act.

    Moving forward

    The Flame of Sovereignty is not a destination—it is a daily devotion. It is the quiet courage to live from the inside out, to let your life become the altar upon which love is offered, truth is spoken, and presence is made holy. I did not come to this way of being through ease or certainty, but through fire, failure, and fierce grace. And in that fire, I found not just myself—I found God again. The kind of God who lives in laughter and silence, in children’s eyes and sacred rituals, in the aching beauty of becoming. If this flame burns in you too, tend it. Share it. Let it light the way—not just for yourself, but for the world that is waiting to remember how sacred it truly is.

  • The Mystical Traditions That Shape My Journey

    The Mystical Traditions That Shape My Journey

    Some of us are born into religion. Others are born with the ache for God that no religion can fully contain.
    I am both.

    My journey has been anything but linear. I have walked through churches, classrooms, deserts of doubt, and sanctuaries of silence. I have studied scripture and screamed into the void. I have raised children, grieved best friends, lost myself in the search for meaning—and slowly, found my way back through the mystical path of direct encounter with the sacred.

    Each of these traditions offered me not a new label, but a key. Together, they unlocked something ancient in me: a deeper knowing of God, self, and purpose. And through them all, I have been reshaped—not into someone new, but into someone whole.

    1. Christian Mysticism: Union, Not Just Belief

    I was raised in the Christian tradition. I knew the creeds, the prayers, the posture of faith. But something always felt… incomplete. I followed the rules, went through the motions, and tried hard to be “good enough”—even as a child. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that the God I longed for lived somewhere beyond the church walls.

    My early adult years were marked by striving—through seminary, through ministry, through trying to earn love by doing all the right things. But when my first marriage ended, when the illusion of a perfect life cracked wide open, I realized I didn’t need a God of rules—I needed a God who knew me. Who could sit with my heartbreak without judgment.

    That’s when the mystics found me.

    Julian of Norwich’s words—“All shall be well”—began to echo in my heart. The dark nights of John of the Cross felt more honest than any Sunday sermon. And the Gospel of Thomas? It broke me open. It spoke of a Christ who lived inside me. Not above me. Not beyond me. In me.

    Christian mysticism became my re-entry point—not into religion, but into relationship. And not just with God, but with myself.

    2. Gnostic Wisdom: The Flame Within

    When I first read the Gnostic texts, I wept.

    Here were voices I had never been told I was allowed to hear—Mary Magdalene speaking with authority, Jesus teaching through parable and paradox, the Divine Feminine showing up in wisdom, not wrath.

    For most of my life, I’d been trained to distrust my inner knowing. I was taught that obedience was safer than intuition. But in the aftermath of my second divorce and the grief of losing a best friend, I could no longer live disconnected from my own soul.

    Gnosticism didn’t just validate my inner voice—it called it holy. It told me that the Kingdom is not coming from the sky—it is already within me. I started seeing the Divine in the cracks, in the questions, in the chaos.

    The more I trusted that flame within, the more alive I became. And the more I healed.

    3. Earth-Based Spirituality: God in the Ground

    Moving to Oregon in 2014 was, in many ways, a return to the body. The forests, the rain, the rhythm of the earth—it was like I could finally breathe again. After so many years of mental overthinking and theological debate, I started to feel something ancient rise in me. I began to listen to the land.

    Earth-based spirituality taught me to slow down. To pay attention. To greet the sun, to bless the moon, to honor the turning of the seasons not just as calendar events, but as soul markers.

    It was in nature that I began to rebuild my faith—not through doctrine, but through dew on morning grass and the howl of wind through pine. I held cacao for the first time and wept without knowing why. I sat in ceremony and felt the presence of ancestors I couldn’t name.

    This was the God I had been missing—the one who lives in dirt and trees and tears. The one who didn’t need me to be fixed. Just present.

    4. Sound, Breath, and Energy Traditions: Healing As Sacred Alignment

    I always knew sound was part of my calling—I just didn’t know how. From singing as a child to performing at Carnegie Hall, music had always been a thread in my life. But it wasn’t until I picked up crystal singing bowls in 2025 that I felt something awaken.

    The tones didn’t just fill the room. They rearranged me. They cleared grief I hadn’t spoken aloud. They opened me to a kind of healing that words couldn’t reach.

    As I trained in sound healing, explored breathwork, and studied the chakra system, I realized something radical: my body had been speaking the language of God all along. I just hadn’t learned how to listen.

    I used to think healing meant fixing. Now I know it means realigning—body, spirit, heart, and soul. And through sound, breath, and energy work, I’ve found a way to bring the sacred back into the body… not as a temple to be feared, but as a sanctuary to be loved.

    5. Esoteric Catholicism and the Independent Sacramental Path

    There was a time I thought I could never return to Church. The shame, the rigidity, the feeling that I had to choose between spiritual depth and personal truth—it kept me away.

    But then, I found the Catholic Apostolic Church of Antioch.

    It was like being welcomed back to the table—but this time, with my whole self intact. Here was a tradition that honored both the mystical and the liturgical. That saw priesthood not as hierarchy, but as service. That allowed space for divorced men, seekers, mystics, and healers to belong.

    When I began discerning priesthood again, I knew this was the only path that made sense. Not because it was perfect—but because it left room for mystery. Here, I can pray the rosary and chant with bowls. I can speak of Christ and Sophia in the same breath. I can offer sacraments and hold ceremony under the stars.

    This path isn’t about reclaiming the Church of the past. It’s about becoming the Church I needed all along.

    Becoming the Bridge

    I am not a purist. I am a pilgrim.

    I do not walk just one road—I walk between them. I have sat at many fires. Prayed in many tongues. Loved God in many forms. And each tradition has stripped me, shaped me, and set me free in its own way.

    I used to fear that I didn’t belong anywhere.
    Now, I know: I belong everywhere Spirit is welcome.

    I am the bridge between ancient and new, masculine and feminine, Catholic and cosmic. I am a father, a mystic, a sound healer, a priest-in-formation, a lover of beauty and a bearer of truth.

    And if you, too, are walking a path that doesn’t fit in a box, let this be your permission slip:
    You are not scattered. You are braided together by Spirit.

    Closing: The Journey Continues

    I don’t have it all figured out. I don’t need to.

    The mystical path has taught me to surrender to the unfolding, to honor both the ache and the awe. To let my questions be prayers and my presence be enough.

    These traditions—the ones that have held me, broken me, and called me home—are not my answers. They are my companions.

    And as long as I keep listening, the journey will keep teaching.

  • The Role of Community in Spiritual Growth

    The Role of Community in Spiritual Growth

    There is a myth—one I clung to for a long time—that spiritual awakening must happen alone. That the path to God is a solitary mountain trail, marked only by personal revelation, private pain, and internal surrender. For much of my journey, I believed that the deeper I went into Spirit, the further I had to retreat from people.

    And to some degree, solitude was part of my path. I’ve known what it is to weep alone on a floor, to question everything I was taught, to pray for a voice that would guide me through the fog. But if I’m honest, some of that isolation wasn’t mystical—it was protective. It was a way to avoid the vulnerability of being seen.

    Because I had been hurt in community before. And yet… it was also community that healed me.

    When I Walked Alone

    After my first marriage ended, I felt like a spiritual failure. I had gone through seminary. I had been on fire for ministry. But now I was divorced, ashamed, unsure if I even had a place in the Church anymore. I began to withdraw—not only from people, but from the parts of myself that still longed to lead, to teach, to serve.

    Then I moved. Started over. Again. My second marriage came with its own complexities, and for a while, I tried to build a spiritual life behind closed doors—just me, a few books, and God. I thought if I could just get strong enough on my own, maybe I’d be ready to re-enter community.

    But healing doesn’t happen in theory. It happens in relationship.

    The turning point came after the end of that second marriage—and then, shortly after, the death of one of my best friends. My world cracked open. And in that raw grief, I could no longer pretend I was meant to do this alone.

    Community as Mirror

    It was around this time that I started attending cacao ceremonies and sound meditations. Not as a leader, but as a participant. I needed to be held. To be in spaces where I didn’t have to explain myself, or defend my past. Just show up. And in those circles, something unexpected happened: I was seen.

    I remember one moment vividly: during a sound bath, I felt a surge of grief rise in me—grief I had buried for years. I wanted to get up and leave, to hide. But the facilitator met my eyes, placed a hand on my shoulder, and simply nodded. That moment of silent permission cracked something open. It said, “You don’t have to be perfect to be here. Just be real.”

    That was the mirror.

    Others began reflecting back to me the parts of myself I had forgotten—the wisdom, the resilience, the capacity to hold space. And in doing so, they invited me to remember not only who I was, but who I was becoming.

    The Messy Beauty of Spiritual Community

    Community hasn’t always been easy for me. As someone who once felt like an outsider in both traditional church and New Age spaces, I often wrestled with belonging. I questioned: Do I fit here? Is it okay to bring both Christ and the chakras into this space?

    And the truth is, sometimes people didn’t understand. I’ve been judged for being too spiritual, too Catholic, too mystical, too emotional, too open. But I’ve also found people who said, “Thank you for naming what I thought no one else felt.”

    Through forming relationships in the spiritual community—especially within the Shrine of Holy Wisdom and the Solaya Fellowship I’ve begun to nurture—I’ve come to see that what makes us different is often what makes us most necessary. The real community doesn’t need you to conform. It wants you to contribute—from the depth of your truth.

    Spirituality Must Be Embodied, and Embodiment Happens in Relationship

    One of the most transformational moments of the last few years didn’t happen during a retreat or ritual. It happened in my garage, with my daughter and son nearby, singing bowls surrounding us, the smell of incense in the air.

    We weren’t doing anything elaborate—just breathing together, laughing, connecting. And in that moment, I felt the presence of God as strongly as I ever have.

    This is what community can be: not just sacred spaces set apart, but sacred moments shared.

    Being with others—vulnerable, real, open—teaches us to love in practice, not just in theory. It reveals the parts of us that still seek healing. It demands humility, compassion, and presence. And in that messiness, something holy happens.

    What I’ve Learned About Sacred Leadership Through Community

    I’ve learned that I’m not called to lead from above—but from within. Sacred leadership isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about being willing to hold the space while others discover theirs.

    When I gather people for ceremony, for prayer, for spiritual reflection, I don’t come as a guru. I come as a witness. A father. A brother. A soul on the path with them.

    What matters most isn’t how polished the ritual is. What matters is whether people feel seen. Whether they leave feeling more connected to their own truth. Whether they remember that they are sacred.

    And the only way I could learn that was by first allowing others to do that for me.

    Closing: We Are the Sanctuary

    If you’ve been hurt by community, I want you to know—I have too.
    If you’ve longed to belong but feared judgment or rejection, I get it.
    If your heart still aches for real connection, for a place where your spirituality and your humanity are both welcome—you are not alone.

    The role of community in spiritual growth isn’t about performance or perfection.
    It’s about presence.

    We need each other—not to fix one another, but to witness each other back into wholeness.

    And that is why I create spaces now.
    That is why I open my home, my heart, my practice—to those who are seeking what I once desperately needed.

    Because I believe we can build something beautiful.
    Something real.
    Something sacred.

    Not a church in the old sense—but a sanctuary of souls.
    A fellowship of becoming.

    Together, we grow.
    Together, we remember.
    Together, we rise.