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As a convert to the Orthodox faith, and having been raised in the Evangelical church, my views on icons have evolved over the years.
When I first started attending an Orthodox church, I loved how the icons transported me into another world when I entered the building, but I was skeptical of the way the church spoke about the icons. In the evangelical church you will find a gray- or white-walled sanctuary because the focus is on the stage. That felt familiar, and therefore, it was the most comfortable for me.
Ice covers everything today. The grass, the air, the trees, all of it is frozen and tinged blue. Powdery snow crunches under me, my breath a vapor as I cross the campus full of brick buildings and now-bare hickory trees to my first day of work as a library aide as a college freshman, a dream come true. Although I am looking forward it, my soul is downcast. Where are you, Lord? I wonder.
My icon story started in 1970 on the island of Mykonos, Greece, when my husband and I were on our honeymoon. We were strolling through a maze of narrow cobblestoned lanes lined with whitewashed churches, outdoor cafes, and shops. We spied it! There was a triptych (three-paneled) icon in a shop window. The brilliant gold background almost seemed to glow in the sunlight. We entered the shop to have a look. On closer inspection, we saw that this icon was very different from the many other icons appearing in the shops of Athens. Something about this icon called out to us.
Sensitive content: Please be aware that this story contains themes of miscarriage and loss.
I wasn’t Orthodox yet when this happened. I’d retired after years of teaching and school leadership, spending quiet time contemplating my next step and discerning a call from God, unsure what that would mean and what it would look like. I visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art one afternoon with my adult son to see the exhibition Byzantium: Faith and Power. I wanted to see the beautiful material culture of Eastern Christianity, more for the art than for any spiritual awakening.
The image struck me with full force as I sat one day at my desktop computer. I was staring at a copy of an icon from St. Catherine’s monastery in Sinai, Egypt. In vivid color, the Theotokos was holding Christ from within a mantle of glowing flames. Known as “The Virgin of the Burning Bush,” or “The Mother of God, Unburnt Bush,” this icon was my first introduction to theology about the Theotokos, while still a fairly new Anglican convert curious about church history.
