Why has no one told me sooner to read G.K. Chesterton's Orthodoxy? I recently saw the Barnes and Noble edition available for seven dollars, and decided I needed to add it to my library, going off of little knowledge besides hearing the name thrown around here and there.

I sat down this morning--in the beautiful act of recuperation from the previous days' gluttony--and opened the book, reading both the introduction by Steven Schroeder and Chesterton's opening introduction. The author immediately became one of the most endearing personalities I have ever encountered, and the presented premise of the book seems so completely and utterly relevant to matters in the church today, definitely much moreso than any magazine that deems itself relevant only to meander about matters discussed much more eloquently and relevantly elsewhere.

Now, before I get too excited and assume too much, I realize I need to read more than just the introductions. But if a book's introductions are this enrapturing, how much more will be the actual content?

Admitting I am being a tad hyperbolic, allow me to expound, in hopes that I can make some sense to these elusive connections swimming around in my brain.

This past Friday, we had the pleasure of hosting a French-missionary-friend for dinner. At one point in the conversation, he asked if I could see myself as a pastor. As much as this tends to be a goal of mine somewhere in the back of my mind, I still have trouble seeing it or admitting it. So, my answer was, "Yes, but I think my role and my church will look different from what I see in my dad and his church." And this is not to say I disprove of my father or his church, because that is far from the case. And in saying this, I have no idea how it will look or even in which small details it will be different. In other words, I am not aiming to make some huge departure and run a radically different path, but I just tend to think it will look slightly different in some unknown ways.

He appreciated and understood what I meant, and this led to a discussion of this crazy emergent-post-modern-whatever-it's-supposed-to-be-called-these-days-type movement. I tried to insist I wasn't much of a proponent of the emergent church, but he tried to insist that my earlier statement (paraphrased as, "I don't know what it will look like, but it will be different") indicated I was whether I liked it or not. (I think I still disagree.)

This led to a discussion of reactions and changes and responses and evolution. He wants the older generation to be tolerant and embracing of the changes the younger generations are bringing along. And while I appreciate his graciousness in this matter, I tend to think we're too accepting and uncritical of some of the changes that are occurring.

And maybe my idealism rests in this: "It is good to grasp the one and not let go of the other. The man who fears God will avoid all extremes." Ecc. 7:18

If we keep reacting and reacting and reacting in one hundred eighty degrees each time, we're going to be just as deficient as the ones before us, only in the opposite direction. Now, I must submit my idealism to the reality that the church will never reach perfection on this sinful earth, and at the same time, I want to believe we can get closer than we've been getting if we don't react with such intensity for the opposite direction. I want to believe we can get closer than we've been getting if we can "Test everything. Hold on to the good." 1 Thess. 5:21 We can get closer than we've been getting if we don't run the other direction and try to reinvent the wheel each time.

But enough of all this, how in the world does this relate to G.K. Chesterton's introduction to Orthodoxy?

Chesterton seems to say that in his zealousness to run from the church and find something new, his discoveries led him right back to precisely what the church believed all along. He likens himself to a yachtsman who leaves England in pursuit of an undiscovered island in the south seas. When he arrives to his supposed destination and proudly sticks his flag in the ground, he eventually realizes he ended right back up in England.

And while this may look foolish and embarrassing to many, Chesterton gives several reasons why it's not, and why it can actually be quite comforting, liberating, and beautiful.

These emergent-post-modern types (of which I may actually be a part) are setting out to find something completely different than the church of the previous generation. They may be surprised to find that the place in which they arrive is quite similar to what has been all along. But this is nothing to fear, because there is beauty in the journey, and beauty in finding the newness and depth and truth of what has been called home all along.

"What could be more delightful than to have in the same few minutes all the fascinating terrors of going abroad combined with all the humane security of coming home again?" Chesterton asks. And then, delving into deeper thoughts, "How can we contrive to be at once astonished at the world and yet at home in it?"

And so, in our zealous idealism, let us not arrogantly think we are alone in finding truth.

"When I fancied that I stood alone, I was really in the ridiculous position of being backed up by all Christendom. It may be, Heaven forgive me, that I did try to be original; but I only succeeded in inventing all by myself an inferior copy of the existing traditions of civilized religion. The man from the yacht thought he was the first to find England; I thought I was the first to find Europe. I did try to found a heresy of my own; and when I had put the last touches to it, I discovered that it was orthodoxy."

Chesterton is serious without taking himself seriously. He is confident and bold, but is able to laugh at himself in humility. He is sharing an experience that could very likely be perceived as foolish and embarrassing, and while it is, it is also beautiful.

And this is just the introduction!