I don’t often visit D.’s Pub. Most people go there to drink beer, eat burgers, and watch football. But lately it had turned out to be a good place for serious conversations over lunch. Today there were only two or three patrons sitting at the bar, eating their food while watching ESPN reruns. Not many people come in at this time of day, so it was easy to find a small table in the dim lighting, tucked away from everyone else, where we could talk privately without being recognized. I’d been having a lot of lunches like that recently. But this was my first time meeting Pastor S. at one of those tables.

Pastor S.

I had known him for a long time. He was my pastor during two distinct periods of my life. He was there at the youth retreat in Pittsburgh when I first truly committed my life to Christ. And years later he was there again, when I returned to my hometown with a wife and four kids in tow. He was a true inspiration to me, to Maria, and to the other members of C. Church. Through his many years of consistent preaching, teaching, and service, he motivated me personally to be a better husband, father, and follower of Christ. And it wasn’t only Sundays or church events. He was there any time we needed him, whether in physical or spiritual need. You could say he was my spiritual father. There was a time when I imagined I would always be a member of his church.

But here we were. It was hard for me just to get here, let alone sit at the table with Pastor S. I had known for a few weeks that we needed to have this meeting, but I kept putting it off as long as I could. People talk, and rumors spread. I still don’t know how she found out, but one day in church the mom of one of my youth group students approached me and said, “So you guys are switching churches, huh?” I was stunned. My secret was no longer a secret. I stammered a vague response, something suggesting we didn’t really know what we were doing yet. But we did know. And I knew I couldn’t wait any longer to tell my pastor, or else he would hear it from a third party. In a way, I almost hoped that would happen. Then he could be the one to confront me, and I wouldn’t have to initiate the conversation. But I knew that wasn’t the right way to do this. He deserved to hear it from me. I couldn’t sleep the previous night, and I spent a lot of time repeating a prayer in my mind during the drive to D.’s Pub: Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. This style of praying was new for me, but I found it comforting today. Even so, I was sitting at the table with sweaty palms and my heart racing. I couldn’t focus on the menu. I didn’t really feel like eating anyway. As we waited for the waitress to come over, we made small talk, with Pastor S. seeming very relaxed. I could hear the shakiness in my own voice, and I could feel myself looking down toward my feet while we talked. When the waitress came to take our orders, I think I chose the first burger on the list and a half tea, half lemonade to drink.

As the waitress walked away from our table, Pastor S. turned to me. “So, Thomas, what did you want to talk about?” This was the moment I had been dreading. I knew what I had to say, but I also knew that once the words left my mouth, things would never be the same between us. Even so, I knew it was the right thing to do. I didn’t want to hurt any feelings or burn any bridges. But how could I tell my pastor, my spiritual father, the one who baptized me and trusted me to lead the youth of C. Church, that I was leaving? And not just leaving his church, but leaving Protestantism altogether.

I could barely hold my head up while I answered. “Well, I know that rumors about me are starting to go around at church. I thought it was only fair to meet you in person and tell you our family’s plans before somebody else does. When this current school year is over, Maria and I are going to end our time as youth leaders, and our family is going to become Orthodox Christians.” There. I said it. An almost unthinkable statement for someone with my upbringing. This wasn’t church hopping, like switching to the Baptist church across the river. For some, I feared that this could possibly call my very salvation—and the salvation of my wife and kids—into question. Not because they were unkind, but because it was such a huge jump. For those people, I feared it might be no different than if I had said I was walking away from the faith itself. I felt confident that Pastor S. would be a friendlier audience than most, but still I wondered, how would he react?

Pastor S. was silent for a moment. I knew it must not have been easy for him to hear this, especially from someone currently in a leadership position. But he didn’t seem too bothered. In fact, he seemed as comfortable now as he had been before, with just a hint of sadness. “Thomas,” he said, “I knew there was something going on with you. I was just waiting for you to tell me on your own, when you were ready. But I didn’t know it was Orthodox Christianity.”

I just nodded my head. I couldn’t add anything to the conversation at the moment. I simply waited for him to continue. “But I want you to know,” he said with a fatherly smile, “that I am trusting the Holy Spirit to lead you and your family to where you are supposed to be.” I breathed out. This was a good sign. He was taking it pretty well. And he didn’t seem to think we were walking away from the faith. But the fact that he had to trust the Holy Spirit on this one showed that he probably wasn’t thrilled by our decision. Still, I suppose it really was the best response I could have hoped for.

He continued. “So, tell me. Why Orthodoxy?” I tried to gather my thoughts. For days I had rehearsed all the things I would say in answer to this question, and now every one of those planned statements fled from my mind. It felt like I was thinking about the question for the very first time, and I didn’t quite know how to answer. I began to explain that Maria and I were not leaving because of anything negative at C. Church, but rather because we were adopting a new way of life centered on prayer and repentance. That we had discovered a fullness in Orthodoxy we had never experienced before. That we were looking for the historic Christian faith. That it wasn’t a decision based primarily on theology. I didn’t use the words “true faith” with Pastor S., even though inside, that’s how I saw it. After a few minutes, I sort of trailed off and stopped talking, giving him a chance to respond.

He looked at me in a piercing way, like a doctor about to examine his patient. Then he spoke. “Okay, you said this was not a decision made theologically, but do you mind if we discuss some theology now?” I said that it was fine, and he began to ask some questions. The questions were gentle, but they touched on all the most difficult issues I had wrestled with in secret—salvation and atonement, exclusivism, icons, saints, the Theotokos, and more. I perceived that he was not trying to debate me. Rather, it seemed like he genuinely wanted to understand my heart in this matter. It’s possible he was also probing to see whether I knew what I was talking about. Perhaps he wondered whether this was a spontaneous decision or whether I had really thought it through. I was a little nervous, because Pastor S. is an intelligent man, and he would know if I hadn’t put much thought into these things. But I had thought about them, probably more than I had thought about anything in my life. For two years I struggled through each of these issues as hard as I could, because I didn’t want to make the wrong decision. So, I felt well prepared for his questions, and I think I did a good job answering them. However, as the conversation went on, I felt like we were beginning to drift away from the point. After all, theology wasn’t the reason I was converting.

Eventually, time ran out on our conversation. I had to get back to work, and Pastor S. had things he needed to do as well. For a few minutes we engaged in some small talk. We spoke fondly of my grandparents. Pastor S. always loved them, despite their own quirkiness when it came to religion. He asked me how I thought they would have reacted to this news. I had to admit they would not be happy at all. As I paid for our food and we headed out to the parking lot, Pastor S. wrapped me in a big hug. “I love you, Thomas, and nothing is going to change that. We’re still good friends.” I returned the sentiment.

Before stepping into his car, Pastor S. spoke up again. “Oh, one last thing, Thomas. I will have to get together with the church elders and tell them this news, and we’ll have to talk about whether you can still teach the youth.” For the first time today, I was genuinely surprised. I hadn’t expected to hear this. Suddenly, the memory of another lunch meeting at D.’s Pub came rushing back. A simple statement: You may be with us sooner than you think. And my naïve response: You don’t understand the relationships I have with them. And now here it was. “Okay, I understand,” I said. We got into our cars and drove off in opposite directions.

As I headed for home, a wave of relief came over me. I was smiling. I felt like a burden had been lifted from my shoulders. Pastor S.’s reaction gave me hope that our relationship would not be over, something I had legitimately feared. But as I went over the conversation in my head, I wasn’t happy about the direction it took—how it turned so theological, as if we were analyzing differences at a philosophical level or doing a compare-and-contrast exercise. While I made true statements and answered questions correctly, I felt like we never got to the heart of the issue. To me, it didn’t feel like I was walking away from something, but rather that I was walking further down a path I had been on for years. I wasn’t sure Pastor S. saw it the same way. Also, I kept thinking about that comment he made about an elders meeting. I truly had not expected that. I knew this wasn’t some kind of punishment. Obviously, the elders had to know, and it made sense that they would have to discuss my status as a teacher. But how could I have known that by the time of our lunch meeting at D.’s Pub, I had already attended my final Sunday service at C. Church?

Why Orthodoxy? The question hung in my mind. At age forty, why would I uproot my family from everything we’ve ever known spiritually and make this difficult transition? There’s no quick or easy answer. We spent two hours discussing my conversion, and yet I felt like we had barely scratched the surface of the story. It’s hard to compress a lifelong journey into a lunch meeting. Pastor S. was just hearing about this now. For him, it was all new. For me, it had been at the front of my mind for a long time. In a way, it was like he was only hearing the end of the story. Pastor S. knew that I was leaving now, but he didn’t really know the whole story—a story that began many years ago, when I was a small child.