You can’t entirely, and you shouldn’t try to kill your enthusiasm. But you can learn to channel it into humility, patience, and service instead of judgment and rigidity.
Convert zeal is real. It’s that fire you feel when you’ve discovered something true and beautiful after years of searching or settling. You want to read every book, attend every service, correct every theological error you see online, and maybe fix your parish’s coffee hour setup while you’re at it. That energy isn’t bad. But it can curdle into something that hurts you and others if you’re not careful.
The danger is turning Orthodoxy into an ideology instead of a lived experience. When you treat the faith like a system you’ve mastered rather than a relationship you’re growing into, you become rigid. You start judging cradle Orthodox for not fasting as strictly as you do. You argue with your Baptist mom about icons at Thanksgiving. You correct the choir director about a liturgical detail you read about last week. You know more than people who’ve been Orthodox for forty years, or so you think.
This isn’t humility. And Orthodoxy is supposed to make us humble.
Here’s what helps. First, find a spiritual father and actually listen to him. Not just once at chrismation, but regularly. Confession isn’t just for listing sins. It’s where your priest helps you see your blind spots, including the ones that come from too much zeal. He’ll tell you to slow down. He might tell you to read less theology and pray more. He might tell you that fasting from judgment is more important right now than fasting from oil.
Second, remember that this is a process. The Orthodox phronema, that way of thinking and seeing that’s distinctively Orthodox, doesn’t download into your brain at the baptismal font. It grows over years of standing in services, receiving communion, confessing, praying, failing, and trying again. You’re not going to master it by reading five books and listening to Ancient Faith Radio during your commute to the plant. That stuff helps, but it’s not the same as time.
Third, stay in your lane. You’re new. That’s not an insult. It’s just true. The grandmother who’s been coming to this parish since 1987 and doesn’t know the word “theosis” might understand more about actually living the faith than you do with your stack of Schmemann books. Humility means assuming you have more to learn than to teach, especially in the first few years.
Your family is watching you. If you become harsh, critical, and weird, they’re going to think Orthodoxy made you that way. And maybe it did, but not in the way the Church intends. Your Baptist relatives don’t need a lecture about the filioque. They need to see that you’ve become kinder, more patient, quicker to listen. That’s the witness that matters. When your mom asks why you’re not eating meat, you can say “I’m fasting” without explaining the entire theology of asceticism or implying she’s a heretic for having a burger.
The difference between healthy enthusiasm and problematic zeal is pretty simple. Healthy enthusiasm makes you eager to serve, to learn, to pray, to participate. You show up. You help. You ask questions. You’re grateful. Problematic zeal makes you critical, superior, and exhausting to be around. You argue. You correct. You judge. You create division.
One practical test: if you find yourself thinking “I can’t believe they don’t…” or “Why doesn’t this parish…” more than once a week, you’re probably veering into trouble. Bring those thoughts to confession instead of the parish council or the internet.
Channel that fire into something useful. Volunteer in the kitchen. Help set up for feast days. Offer to drive someone to church. Read to your kids. Pray for people. The Church doesn’t need more critics. It needs more people willing to wash dishes after Pascha.
You’ll probably still mess up. Most converts do. You’ll say something stupid at coffee hour, or get into an argument online, or alienate someone with your intensity. When that happens, apologize and adjust. That’s also part of the process. The goal isn’t perfect behavior from day one. It’s gradual transformation into the image of Christ, and that takes a lifetime.
Keep coming to services. Keep going to confession. Keep asking your priest for guidance. Let the Church shape you slowly, the way it’s shaped millions of others. Your enthusiasm is a gift, but it needs the Church’s wisdom to mature into something that actually looks like Jesus.
