Start with what you share, not where you differ. Your Baptist grandmother and your Pentecostal uncle and you all believe Jesus Christ is fully God and fully man. You all confess the Trinity. You all say the same Creed on Sunday morning (even if they don’t realize they’re saying the Nicene Creed when they recite it at their contemporary service). Begin there.
Here’s the thing about explaining Orthodoxy to Protestant family in Southeast Texas: they’re probably not worried you’ve joined a cult, but they might think you’ve gotten complicated about something that should be simple. They’ve heard “just Jesus and the Bible” their whole lives. Now you’re talking about saints and incense and fasting rules. It sounds like you’ve added a bunch of stuff.
So flip the script. We haven’t added anything. We’ve kept what was handed down.
The Bible Itself Points Beyond the Bible
This is where you start when someone brings up “the Bible alone.” And they will. Open to 2 Thessalonians 2:15, where Paul tells the church to “stand fast and hold the traditions which you were taught, whether by word or our epistle.” Paul’s saying it right there: some of what the apostles taught was written down, and some was spoken. Both matter.
The New Testament wasn’t compiled and agreed upon until the late fourth century. Christians before that had the Old Testament, some letters circulating between churches, and the apostolic teaching they’d received in person. That teaching, how to worship, how to baptize, how to celebrate the Eucharist, what the Scriptures mean, didn’t vanish when the apostles died. It continued in the Church. That’s what we mean by Holy Tradition. It’s not something added to Scripture. It’s the context Scripture was always meant to live in.
Your family might push back here. That’s fine. Ask them: who decided which books belong in the Bible? The answer is the Church, guided by the Holy Spirit, in the fourth and fifth centuries. If you trust the Bible’s table of contents, you’re already trusting the Church’s authority to recognize God’s word.
We’re Not Earning Our Salvation
This one comes up constantly. Your family sees you fasting on Wednesdays and Fridays, standing through Liturgy, venerating icons, and they think you’ve gone back under the law. They’ll quote Ephesians 2:8-9 at you.
Agree with them. We’re saved by grace through faith, not by works. Say it clearly. But then explain that salvation isn’t a one-time transaction. It’s healing. It’s union with God. It’s becoming by grace what Christ is by nature. We call it theosis. The thief on the cross was saved in a moment, yes, but most of us are being saved over a lifetime. Philippians 2:12 says “work out your own salvation with fear and trembling.” Paul wouldn’t say that if salvation was just a done deal the moment you prayed the sinner’s prayer.
Fasting and prayer rules aren’t about earning anything. They’re medicine. They’re tools the Church has used for two thousand years to heal our disordered desires and open us up to God’s grace. When your dad takes blood pressure medication, he’s not earning health. He’s cooperating with the treatment. Same idea.
The Saints Are Alive, Not Dead
When your mom hears you’ve asked St. Thekla to pray for you, she might panic. “We only pray to Jesus!” But you’re not praying to St. Thekla the way you pray to God. You’re asking her to pray for you, the same way your mom asks her Bible study group to pray for her.
The saints aren’t dead. They’re more alive than we are, because they’re fully alive in Christ. Hebrews 12 talks about being “surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses.” Revelation shows the saints in heaven offering up the prayers of the people on earth. If we can ask living Christians to pray for us, why wouldn’t we ask those who’ve already finished the race and are standing before God’s throne?
This isn’t worship. Worship belongs to God alone. But the Church has always honored the saints and asked their intercession. Your family does this too, in a way, they just limit it to people who are still breathing.
Icons Aren’t Idols
The icon thing is hard for Protestants. I get it. But here’s the key: when God became man in Jesus Christ, he made the invisible visible. The Incarnation changes everything. We’re not talking about graven images of a God nobody’s seen. We’re talking about images of the God who took flesh, walked in Galilee, and let Thomas touch his wounds.
When you kiss an icon of Christ, you’re not worshiping paint and wood any more than your uncle worships paper and ink when he kisses his wife’s photograph before he heads offshore for his two-week hitch. The honor goes to the person, not the object. The Seventh Ecumenical Council settled this in 787, defending icons precisely because Christ became human and therefore depictable.
If your family has a picture of Jesus in their Sunday School classroom (and they probably do), they’ve already accepted the basic principle. We’ve just kept the ancient practice that goes with it.
Give Them Time
Look, this is going to be weird for your family for a while. You’re changing something fundamental, and that’s scary for people who love you. They might think you’re rejecting them or the faith they raised you in. Be patient. Keep showing up for Christmas dinner. Don’t make every conversation about Orthodoxy. Let them see that you still love Jesus, still read your Bible, still care about holiness and mission and loving your neighbor.
When they ask questions, answer them honestly but without being defensive. If they don’t ask, don’t force it. Sometimes the best apologetic is just living a faithful Orthodox life and letting the fruit speak for itself.
Fr. Peter Gillquist’s book Becoming Orthodox might help you, it’s written by evangelicals who made this journey and had to explain it to their own Protestant communities. And if your family’s willing, invite them to Liturgy. Not to argue with them afterward, just to let them see what we do. Sometimes experiencing Orthodox worship answers questions that explanations can’t.
You’re not betraying your family or your roots. You’re coming home to the Church Christ founded. Help them see that this isn’t about rejecting what was good in your Protestant upbringing. It’s about finding the fullness of the faith that was always there, waiting.
