Orthodoxy is the original Church that Christ and the Apostles founded. Protestantism began in the 16th century as a reform movement within Western Christianity. That’s the simplest answer, but it opens up a world of differences worth understanding.
We’re Older Than the Split
When Martin Luther nailed his theses to the church door in Wittenberg in 1517, the Orthodox Church had already been celebrating the Divine Liturgy for fifteen centuries. We weren’t part of what Luther was protesting. The issues that sparked the Reformation, indulgences, papal authority, corruption in the medieval Western church, weren’t our issues. We’d already been separate from Rome for nearly five hundred years by then.
This matters because Orthodoxy isn’t a reaction to anything. We’re not “Catholic minus the pope” or “Protestant plus tradition.” We’re the continuation of what the Apostles handed down.
Scripture and Tradition, Not Scripture Alone
If you grew up Baptist or non-denominational here in Southeast Texas, you probably learned “the Bible alone” as your authority. Sola scriptura. It makes sense on the surface. But here’s the thing: the Bible didn’t fall from heaven as a bound book. The Church wrote it, recognized which books were inspired, and has been reading it in her worship for two thousand years.
We don’t say “Scripture alone” because Scripture itself doesn’t teach that. Where does the Bible give you a table of contents? It doesn’t. The Church did that at councils in the fourth century. So we hold Scripture and Tradition together. Not two different sources, but one faith handed down in two forms, written and lived.
This doesn’t mean we add to Scripture. It means we read Scripture the way the Church always has, guided by the Holy Spirit through the Fathers, the councils, and the continuous life of prayer and worship. When your Baptist uncle asks you a hard question about a Bible verse, he probably googles it or checks a commentary. We ask, “What did St. John Chrysostom say? What did the Church teach at Nicaea?” We’ve got two thousand years of family memory.
Salvation Is Healing, Not Just Forgiveness
Protestant theology often presents salvation as a courtroom transaction. You’re guilty, Christ pays your penalty, God declares you righteous. Done deal. We call that moment “getting saved,” and everything after is gratitude or sanctification, but the main event happened when you prayed the sinner’s prayer.
Orthodoxy sees salvation differently. We call it theosis, becoming united with God, participating in His divine nature. It starts with forgiveness, yes. But it doesn’t end there. Salvation is a process of healing. We’re sick, and Christ is the physician. Baptism isn’t just a symbolic washing, it’s the moment we’re united to Christ’s death and resurrection. The Eucharist isn’t a memorial snack, it’s receiving His actual Body and Blood, medicine for our souls.
You’re not just declared righteous while remaining unchanged. You’re being transformed, slowly, painfully sometimes, into the likeness of Christ. That’s why we don’t talk about being “saved” in the past tense. We’re being saved. It’s ongoing. And it involves our cooperation with God’s grace, not earning anything, but saying yes to the healing He offers.
The Mysteries Are Real
Most Protestant churches practice two ordinances: baptism and communion. And they’re usually understood as symbols or acts of obedience. The bread represents Christ’s body. Baptism represents your decision to follow Jesus.
We have seven Mysteries (what the West calls sacraments), and they’re not symbols. They’re real encounters with God’s grace. When we baptize an infant, that child is genuinely born again, united to Christ. When the priest says “This is My Body” over the bread and wine, it becomes Christ’s Body and Blood. Not symbolically. Actually.
This isn’t magic. It’s how God chose to work, through matter, through physical things, because He created the physical world and called it good. He became flesh. So He meets us in water, bread, wine, oil. Your body matters to God. The Mysteries take that seriously.
We Worship with Our Whole Bodies
If you visit St. Michael’s for Divine Liturgy, you’ll notice we stand (mostly). We make the sign of the cross. We bow. We kiss icons. There’s incense and chanting. It’s nothing like the contemporary worship service at First Baptist or the praise band at the non-denominational church on College Street.
This isn’t just aesthetic preference. Orthodox worship engages your whole person, body and soul. We’re not brains on sticks. The liturgy is the same one St. John Chrysostom wrote in the fourth century. When we sing “Holy, Holy, Holy,” we’re joining the angels around God’s throne and every Orthodox Christian who’s ever lived. It’s not a concert where we’re the audience. It’s the work of the people (that’s what “liturgy” means), and we’re all participating in something much bigger than ourselves.
It can feel overwhelming at first. That’s normal. You don’t have to understand everything on your first visit. Just show up and let it wash over you.
Mary and the Saints Are Family
We call Mary the Theotokos, the God-bearer, Mother of God. That title was defined at the Council of Ephesus in 431, not to exalt Mary but to protect the truth about Christ. If Mary is the mother of Jesus, and Jesus is God, then she’s the Mother of God. It’s Christology, not Mariology.
We honor her highly. We ask her prayers. But we don’t worship her. There’s a clear distinction in Orthodox theology and practice between worship (which belongs to God alone) and veneration (which we offer to the saints). When you ask your mom to pray for you, you’re not worshiping her. Same principle.
The saints aren’t dead. They’re more alive than we are, because they’re fully alive in Christ. The Church includes both the living and the departed. We’re all one family. So we ask St. Michael the Archangel (our parish patron) to pray for us just like we ask each other for prayers on Sunday morning.
What This Means for You
If you’re exploring Orthodoxy, you’re not leaving Christianity for something else. You’re coming home to the fullness of what Christianity has always been. The differences from Protestantism aren’t minor tweaks. They’re substantial. But they’re not arbitrary, they’re rooted in the faith once delivered to the saints.
Come visit us on a Sunday morning. Stand in the liturgy. Light a candle. Ask questions. Read Met. Kallistos Ware’s “The Orthodox Way” if you want a good introduction. Talk to Fr. Michael. This isn’t a sales pitch. It’s an invitation to taste and see.
