The odd thing about my Protestant/Fundamentalist life is how I kept bumping into Orthodoxy since my childhood in Portland. If my life were a detective novel, a reader might admire how the main character was delicately led towards Orthodoxy by clues disclosed in a long series of seeming accidents and (as Bert would say) fortuitous circumstances—a Romanian Orthodox church in Portland, some outstanding Russian composers in Dad’s “Great Music of the World” collection, a certain well-placed Catholic church in Salem etc. While no one fact or incident was a game-changer, taken as a whole they persuaded me that I did not have a picture of salvation. Once I accepted this, I explored Protestantism and Catholicism in an attempt to find that picture. Although I had come across Orthodoxy, the very poverty of evidence for it spoke loudly against it. The Protestants and Catholics were simply leagues ahead of the Orthodox in marketing. It would be many years later that I would discover the lives of Orthodox saints, the writings of Orthodox fathers and the instructions of Orthodox elders—any considerable fraction of which would have revealed the spiritual desolation of Catholicism. There is no question in my mind that the life of a single Optina elder would have steered me straight to Orthodoxy, if not to monasticism. The abject state of Orthodox literature in English both then and now is most strikingly revealed by the fact that most Orthodox authors whom I have read seemed not to know or think it worth mentioning that Pope Honorius had been anathematized in 681 for monotheletism, that this condemnation was pronounced with the concurrence of his successor, Pope St. Agatho, and that his successors renewed his condemnation for about four centuries when they entered into their office. It is highly probable that if these bitter facts had been in my possession, I would not have become Catholic, since it was the popes themselves who renounced papal infallibility. However, since such an avalanche of historical and spiritual evidence for Orthodoxy would have prevented me from marrying the woman who is my wife, I may well be grateful that I joined the Catholic church for a five-year Roman holiday. After becoming interested in Oriental religions by a chance encounter overseas, I completed a degree in religious studies at the University of Oregon; my aim was to connect Oriental religions to Christianity through Gnosticism. There is no question that I graduated as one of the very few liberal Catholics who arrived at patristics via Buddhism and Hinduism. I then headed to the Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C., for graduate studies. I thought I would uncover all the evidence for papal infallibility which my brilliant Protestant professor had (I supposed) withheld from us. I spent a good deal of time using a wonderful Catholic library to find absolutely nothing to support that claim. At the same time, I was learning to my horror that most Catholic churches were renouncing centuries of tradition to champion weekly episodes of liturgical lunacy; perhaps my most poignant memory was the Jazz Pentecost mass. In those dark days, I became friends with an Orthodox acquaintance at school who accidentally joined the same program as myself in the same year on the same scholarship. I must thank my learned friend, Jeffrey MacDonald, for patiently reeling me in. When my wife, Caroline, and I finally decided to visit an Orthodox church, we settled on a Greek church which we could reach by bus. Fate struck again. I had made contacts in Eugene, Oregon, among the Orthodox—Richard and Melita Green. Through them I met Fr. Basil Summer when he was visiting them in Eugene. Although I teased him a good deal and horrified him with my inter-faith cynicism, I really liked him; we stayed in touch. His parish was in Bethesda, Maryland. It was of course a coincidence that Catholic University of America was in the general vicinity.When I told him of our plans to visit a church, he vigorously insisted that we visit his church. I replied that we did not have a car. He vowed he would hire a cab to drive us there and back if need be. In fact, he found a parishioner who lived near us who could shuttle us back and forth. Words cannot express how touched we were by his concern for our salvation and the fidelity and cheerfulness with which Marion Barber executed her Christian duty, for which God bless her richly. By the long-suffering benevolence of God, Caroline and I became Orthodox in 1988 at St. Mark’s Orthodox Church. I thought that our long adventure to the faith ended the story, but it turned out that everything was just a bit of prologue, for Orthodoxy is the unending story.