Liturgy of the Based

Orthodoxy's appeal for men

Several of my Orthodox mutuals (“moots” in Twitter/X parlance) are reporting huge numbers of new catechumens in their parishes. In some cases, catechumens outnumber actual parishioners by significant margins. According to everything I’m reading and hearing, young men make up the vast majority of inquirers.

No, this is not going to be a rah-rah Orthodoxy victory lap. Most of my readers are Catholic, and I want to re-emphasize that I’m the least anti-Catholic Orthodox convert there is or has possibly ever been. And anyway, it seems that Catholic churches are seeing a big surge as well. I consider anyone who is seeking the true apostolic connection to Christ himself to be a friend and ally.

And besides—I bet the number of Orthodox converts will be a little bit like the population of Montana. I once read that the number of new residents surged after its gorgeous summer months, but declined by 200,000 or more after a normal (read: punishing) Montana winter. I lived there for about five years—I can verify.

It will be similar for converts to Orthodoxy: Initially, the beauty will crumble your walls like Jericho. But even the “do-it-at-your-own-pace” praxis of Orthodoxy will try your resolve, to put it mildly.

Then again…

That is what attracts a lot of these men. They’re turned off by guitar Masses, fog machines, and worship service spectacles. Far too often, the fundamentals of their respective “faith traditions,” (itself a mealy-mouthed phrase) are determined by celebrity priests and pastors rather than an ancient and well-defined Way. For a generation or three, men have been told that their inclinations toward strength, discipline, and sacrifice are wrong, impractical, or just plain weird. Sometimes its called “works-based religion.” (I’ve even been told by some on the Protestant side that “repentance is a work.”)

Orthodoxy is rigorous, even outside of the monastery. That’s what men love about it.

I remember the first time I made the connection between the unexpected beauty of the Divine Liturgy and its physicality. It was soon after we first started attending a Melkite Greek-Catholic church in McLean, VA. (Yes, I would die on the hill of calling Melkite Greek-Catholicism “Orthodox.”) The first thing you realize (after the beauty) is that this was a standing liturgy. You stand for hours, depending on the liturgy and where you’re at on the liturgical calendar. There were chairs, and nobody was going to smack you with a yardstick if you sat, but boy, you better be old or pregnant if you do.

Then there were all the prostrations, metanies, and signs of the cross. It kept you moving. Behind the iconastasis was a whirlwind of activity—priests, deacons, sub-deacons, readers, altar boys circled the altar, hoisted shiny liturgical implements, and made processions around the church.

One doesn’t just sit an passively receive at a Divine Liturgy—you participate.

The theology attracts men, too. It’s ancient, clear, and blunt. This isn’t about “finding your truth,” it’s about the Truth. It’s about sin, death, resurrection, and transformation. “Transformation” is perhaps the biggest attraction for men, although not the most obvious at first. When converts come into the Church, they’re certainly looking for something, a better way—THE Way—but in the west we tend to think of it as a way of fostering lasting moral improvement. “Being a better man” in the sense of controlling ourselves. What finally dawns on us is that it’s about far more than external behavioral changes—it’s an ontological change that doesn’t just make us act holy, but truly makes us become holy.

You might say it’s the same impulse that makes gym bros spend so much time working to transform themselves from flabby, uncoordinated flesh units into killers chiseled from granite.

The brotherhood aspect appeals, too. As a fairly social guy, I’ve always been part of a community of some kind or another. After-hours work crowds, Catholic men’s groups, the inner circle of my own company… But these days, men feel isolated. Alone. Particularly young men. I was fortunate enough to grow up before social media, so I still retain some sense of what normal human community looks like. Guys 30 years or younger? They’ve never been more cut-off and alone.

So, when they find an Orthodox parish with a lively community (that isn’t still comprised of the ethnic inner circle vs. everybody else), it’s like finding a piece of Heaven on Earth. They might struggle to “break in” to it, but they’ll keep coming back again and again, even if to just sit silently on the periphery.

I see it here at the monastery all the time. The awkward loners, the earnest-but-weird guys who wear holsters with crucifixes in them (maybe that’s an Oklahoma thing…) I make it a point to find the most quiet of them and start a conversation. I know exactly what they’re thinking and what’s holding them back…

As I said in the beginning, it’s tough, though. While the appeal of Orthodoxy attracts men for various reasons, its rigors will seem insurmountable to many. Even with the patriarchal (in the good way) application of the practice of the Faith. In other words, the bar is set very high: it’s holiness. Transfiguration. Theosis. Divinization—literally becoming small-g gods. The word to the noobs is, “You are called to this great, holy, impossible mission…but take it at your own pace.” They’re guided, ideally by experienced spiritual fathers who often become more father-like than anything they’ve ever known.

They’re encouraged to reach high, with God’s help, but not to expect to become a ghost repeater of divine light in their first week.For some, that’s a challenge they can embrace. For others…Well, maybe they were just here for the falafels.

It says a lot about our culture that this rigorous, fasting-for-half-the-year way of life has such broad appeal. My unscientific, in-the-trenches read is that we’re still on the upward-trending side of the bell curve.

Is this where I insert a call-to-action? I suppose it’s the natural spot, but that’s another thing about Orthodoxy that seems counter-cultural (and perhaps therefore appealing?) to inquirers: we’re not very evangelical. It’s not a numbers game for us. If there’s any celebrating to do regarding the sudden surge in membership, it’s only because so many have found some light in the darkness.

Nonetheless, I’ll say this: If you have questions—about the veracity of your own “faith tradition,” your lack of faith, or even just what this weird religion with insanely bold claims is all about, then “come and see.” Lent begins now. It’s a fantastic time—THE time—to check it out.

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