In my previous post, I relayed a story about a Baptist blogger who recently accused a distinguished Orthodox Christian scholar of not being a Christian. The ensuing "dialogue" between the two was distinctly one-sided, the Orthodox Christian asking his accuser to dialogue with him, and the accuser refusing to do so on the assumption that he already understood enough about Orthodoxy. I don't think I've ever been quite as cocky as that blogger, but I do know what it's like to encounter people of differing views online, realize I'm not equipped to dialogue with them, then panic. And there's really no better word than panic for when people take the time to accuse strangers, but walk away when those accused presume to defend themselves.

In early 2015, twenty-one Coptic Christians were forced to their knees and beheaded on a Libyan beach by members of ISIS. The event was captured on video by the killers and released on the internet. Rightly, there was a worldwide groan from Christians of many differing traditions about the evil of ISIS's barbaric act. Not only that, but there was also an equally ecumenical reverence for the martyrdom of those men, many of whom could be heard crying out, "Lord Jesus Christ!" at the final moment before their heads were severed from their bodies.

Not everyone was impressed.

With the onset of Lenten abstentions barely nine days hence, I recently got to reminiscing about my first Paschal liturgy. It's an experience I've always envisioned telling as one event along the lengthy timeline of my Orthodox conversion, but as a working, married father of four, writing that complete history seems to become less feasible as time elapses. Given the nearness of the Paschal season and the fact that I haven't written anything in months, I felt this a worthy exercise.