I come from a religiously diverse family. My father is Episcopalian, my mother is Presbyterian and I was baptised into the Southern Baptist church at age 11. My parents were never big church goers so I usually took the bus to church with friends. However, as I became older I was going to church less and less. By the time I joined the Navy I had given up on it all together. For the first 15 years or so in the Navy, I was the cliche of the drunken sailor. In 1995, I decided to crawl out of the gutter and start attending church again.
I started going to the protestant services onboard ship. (The first time in 15 years I had attended church!) One of the sermons was about the parable of the wheat and tares. After the service, as we were leaving the room, the pastor was standing by the door shaking hands. As he took my hand, he held it tight, looked into my eyes and asked, "Are you a tare?"
I couldn't find the answer in my heart.
Shortly after this, my ship pulled into Haifa Israel for some liberty. I took a tour to Jerusalem and Bethlehem. Inside the Church of the Nativity there were several men dressed in all black. Someone asked the tour guide who they were. "Orthodox priests, this is an Orthodox church." came the answer.
We were soon back at sea, and one day I found an old Readers Digest laying around. I opened it to an article about Fundamental Christians converting to Orthodoxy. What a coincidence I thought. Right after I visit an Orthodox church, I open a magazine right to an article about the Orthodox church. "Are you a tare?" popped into my head.
After returning to the USA, I went on leave to visit my mother. Down the street from my mom's house was a small Lutheran church, but it wasn't a Lutheran church anymore. It was an Orthodox church now. Another coincidence? "Are you a tare?" went through my mind again.
Through the years, I attended church every now and then, and participated in a prayer group occasionally until I retired. But I just could not get the question out of my mind. "Are you a tare?" When I retired, my mom asked me to move back home as she was getting up in age so I did. I attended the Presbyterian church with her, but to me it felt like I was in an audience instead of worship. And every time I drove by that little Orthodox church on my way to the Presbyterian church I heard that little voice "Are you a tare?"
Finally I just couldn't take it any more. I bought a couple of books on Orthodoxy and started reading up. But that wasn't enough. One Sunday it was as if a big hand reached down and grabbed my by the back of my collar, lifted me up off of my feet and and set me down at the Orthodox church door. I had no say in it. So I went in. And I stayed.
On December 11, 2005 I was christmated.
I can now answer the question with all my heart. I am not a tare.