In Orthodoxy, nothing is rushed.
Everything unfolds through prayer, silence, and quiet invitation.
My entrance into the Church didn’t happen all at once.
It was an answer to the Presence that had been gently surrounding me for years.
One day, I was chrismated—received into the Orthodox Church.
And I was given a new name:
Symeon.
The name is connected to my birthday, February 13.
It’s the feast day of Saint Symeon the Myrrh-Streaming,
a 12th-century mystic whose relics were said to pour forth healing oil.
I’ve never felt worthy of such a name.
But I understood this:
It wasn’t a replacement. It was a fulfillment.
Stephen didn’t disappear.
Stephen deepened—inside the name Symeon.
Symeon was also once Stephen.
Stephen was a speaker.
Symeon has learned silence.
Stephen was a debater.
Symeon has chosen to listen.
Stephen served.
Symeon now waits—with others—for the last sinner to come home.