Orthodox
worship is different! Some of these differences are apparent, if perplexing,
from the first moment you walk in a church. Others become noticeable only over
time. Here is some information that may help you feel more at home in Orthodox
worship—twelve things I wish I’d known before my first visit to an Orthodox
church.
1. What’s all this commotion?
During
the early part of the service the church may seem to be in a hubbub, with
people walking up to the front of the church, praying in front of the iconostasis
(the standing icons in front of the altar), kissing things and lighting
candles, even though the service is already going on. In fact, when you came in
the service was already going on, although the sign outside clearly said
“Divine Liturgy, 9:30.” You felt embarrassed to apparently be late, but these
people are even later, and they’re walking all around inside the church. What’s
going on here?
In an
Orthodox church there is only one Eucharistic service (Divine Liturgy) per
Sunday, and it is preceded by an hour-long service of Matins (or Orthros) and
several short preparatory services before that. There is no break between these
services—one begins as soon as the previous ends, and posted starting times are
just educated guesses. Altogether, the priest will be at the altar on Sunday
morning for over three hours, “standing in the flame,” as one Orthodox priest
put it.
As a
result of this state of continous flow, there is no point at which everyone is
sitting quietly in a pew waiting for the entrance hymn to start, glancing at
their watches approaching 9:30. Orthodox worshippers arrive at any point from
the beginning of Matins through the early part of the Liturgy, a span of well
over an hour. No matter when they arrive, something is sure to be already going
on, so Orthodox don’t let this hamper them from going through the private
prayers appropriate to just entering a church. This is distracting to
newcomers, and may even seem disrespectful, but soon you begin to recognize it
as an expression of a faith that is not merely formal but very personal. Of
course, there is still no good excuse for showing up after 9:30, but
punctuality is unfortunately one of the few virtues many Orthodox lack.
2. Stand up, stand up for Jesus.
In the
Orthodox tradition, the faithful stand up for nearly the entire service.
Really. In some Orthodox churches, there won’t even be any chairs, except a few
scattered at the edges of the room for those who need them. Expect variation in
practice: some churches, especially those that bought already-existing church
buildings, will have well-used pews. In any case, if you find the amount of
standing too challenging you’re welcome to take a seat. No one minds or
probably even notices. Long-term standing gets easier with practice.
3. In this sign.
To say
that we make the sign of the cross frequently would be an understatement. We
sign ourselves whenever the Trinity is invoked, whenever we venerate the cross
or an icon, and on many other occasions in the course of the Liturgy. But people
aren’t expected to do everything the same way. Some people cross themselves
three times in a row, and some finish by sweeping their right hand to the
floor. On first entering a church people may come up to an icon, make a
“metania”—crossing themselves and bowing with right hand to the floor—twice,
then kiss the icon, then make one more metania. This becomes familiar with
time, but at first it can seem like secret-handshake stuff that you are sure to
get wrong. Don’t worry, you don’t have to follow suit.
We cross
with our right hands from right to left (push, not pull), the opposite of Roman
Catholics and high-church Protestants. We hold our hands in a prescribed way:
thumb and first two fingertips pressed together, last two fingers pressed down
to the palm. Here as elsewhere, the Orthodox impulse is to make everything we
do reinforce the Faith. Can you figure out the symbolism? (Three fingers
together for the Trinity; two fingers brought down to the palm for the two
natures of Christ, and his coming down to earth.) This, too, takes practice. A
beginner’s imprecise arrangement of fingers won’t get you denounced as a
heretic.
4. What, no kneelers?
Generally,
we don’t kneel. We do sometimes prostrate. This is not like prostration in the
Roman Catholic tradition, lying out flat on the floor. To make a prostration we
kneel, place our hands on the floor and touch our foreheads down between our
hands. It’s just like those photos of middle-eastern worship, which look to
Westerners like a sea of behinds. At first prostration feels embarrassing, but
no one else is embarrassed, so after a while it feels OK. Ladies will learn
that full skirts are best for prostrations, as flat shoes are best for
standing.
Sometimes
we do this and get right back up again, as during the prayer of St. Ephraim the
Syrian, which is used frequently during Lent. Other times we get down and stay
there awhile, as some congregations do during part of the Eucharistic prayer.
Not
everyone prostrates. Some kneel, some stand with head bowed; in a pew they
might slide forward and sit crouched over. Standing there feeling awkward is
all right too. No one will notice if you don’t prostrate. In Orthodoxy there is
a wider acceptance of individualized expressions of piety, rather than a sense
that people are watching you and getting offended if you do it wrong.
One
former Episcopal priest said that seeing people prostrate themselves was one of
the things that made him most eager to become Orthodox. He thought, “That’s how
we should be before God.”
5. With Love and Kisses
We kiss
stuff. When we first come into the church, we kiss the icons (Jesus on the feet
and other saints on the hands, ideally). You’ll also notice that some kiss the
chalice, some kiss the edge of the priest’s vestment as he passes by, the
acolytes kiss his hand when they give him the censer, and we all line up to
kiss the cross at the end of the service. When we talk about “venerating”
something we usually mean crossing ourselves and kissing it.
We kiss
each other before we take communion (“Greet one another with a kiss of love,” 1
Peter 5:14). When Roman Catholics or high-church Protestants “pass the peace,”
they give a hug, handshake, or peck on the cheek; that’s how Westerners greet
each other. In Orthodoxy different cultures are at play: Greeks and Arabs kiss
on two cheeks, and Slavs come back again for a third. Follow the lead of those
around you and try not to bump your nose.
The usual
greeting is “Christ is in our midst” and response, “He is and shall be.” Don’t
worry if you forget what to say. The greeting is not the one familiar to
Episcopalians, “The peace of the Lord be with you.” Nor is it “Hi, nice church
you have here.” Exchanging the kiss of peace is a liturgical act, a sign of
mystical unity. Chatting and fellowship is for later.
6. Blessed bread and consecrated bread.
Only
Orthodox may take communion, but anyone may have some of the blessed bread.
Here’s how it works: the round communion loaf, baked by a parishioner, is
imprinted with a seal. In the preparation service before the Liturgy, the
priest cuts out a section of the seal and sets it aside; it is called the
“Lamb”. The rest of the bread is cut up and placed in a large basket, and
blessed by the priest.
During
the eucharistic prayer, the Lamb is consecrated to be the Body of Christ, and
the chalice of wine is consecrated as His Blood. Here’s the surprising part:
the priest places the “Lamb” in the chalice with the wine. When we receive
communion, we file up to the priest, standing and opening our mouths wide while
he gives us a fragment of the wine-soaked bread from a golden spoon. He also
prays over us, calling us by our first name or the saint-name which we chose
when we were baptized or chrismated (received into the church by anointing with
blessed oil).
As we
file past the priest, we come to an altar boy holding the basket of blessed
bread. People will take portions for themselves and for visitors and
non-Orthodox friends around them. If someone hands you a piece of blessed
bread, do not panic; it is not the eucharistic Body. It is a sign of
fellowship.
Visitors
are sometimes offended that they are not allowed to receive communion. Orthodox
believe that receiving communion is broader than me-and-Jesus; it acknowledges
faith in historic Orthodox doctrine, obedience to a particular Orthodox bishop,
and a commitment to a particular Orthodox worshipping community. There’s
nothing exclusive about this; everyone is invited to make this commitment to
the Orthodox Church. But the Eucharist is the Church’s treasure, and it is
reserved for those who have united themselves with the Church. An analogy could
be to reserving marital relations until after the wedding.
We also
handle the Eucharist with more gravity than many denominations do, further
explaining why we guard it from common access. We believe it is truly the Body
and Blood of Christ. We ourselves do not receive communion unless we are making
regular confession of our sins to a priest and are at peace with other
communicants. We fast from all food and drink—yes, even a morning cup of
coffee—from midnight the night before communion.
This
leads to the general topic of fasting. When newcomers learn of the Orthodox
practice, their usual reaction is, “You must be kidding.” We fast from meat,
fish, dairy products, wine and olive oil nearly every Wednesday and Friday, and
during four other periods during the year, the longest being Great Lent before
Pascha (Easter). Altogether this adds up to nearly half the year. Here, as
elsewhere, expect great variation. With the counsel of their priest, people
decide to what extent they can keep these fasts, both physically and
spiritually—attempting too much rigor too soon breeds frustration and defeat.
Nobody’s fast is anyone else’s business. As St. John Chrysostom says in his
beloved Paschal sermon, everyone is welcomed to the feast whether they fasted
or not: “You sober and you heedless, honor the day…Rejoice today, both you who
have fasted and you who have disregarded the fast.”
The
important point is that the fast is not rigid rules that you break at grave
risk, nor is it a punishment for sin. Fasting is exercise to stretch and
strengthen us, medicine for our souls’ health. In consultation with your priest
as your spiritual doctor, you can arrive at a fasting schedule that will
stretch but not break you. Next year you may be ready for more. In fact, as
time goes by, and as they experience the camaraderie of fasting together with a
loving community, most people discover they start relishing the challenge.
7. Where’s the General Confession?
In our
experience, we don’t have any general sins; they’re all quite specific. There
is no complete confession-prayer in the Liturgy. Orthodox are expected to be
making regular, private confession to their priest.
The role
of the pastor is much more that of a spiritual father than it is in other
denominations. He is not called by his first name alone, but referred to as
“Father Firstname.” His wife also holds a special role as parish mother, and
she gets a title too, though it varies from one culture to another: either
“Khouria” (Arabic), or “Presbytera” (Greek), both of which mean “priest’s
wife;” or “Matushka” (Russian), which means “Mama.”
Another
difference you may notice is in the Nicene Creed, which may be said or sung,
depending on the parish. If we are saying that the Holy Spirit proceeds from
the Father, and you from force of habit add, “and the Son,” you will be alone.
The “filioque” was added to the Creed some six hundred years after it was
written, and we adhere to the original. High-church visitors will also notice
that we don’t bow or genuflect during the “and was incarnate.” Nor do we
restrict our use of “Alleluia” during Lent (when the sisters at one Episcopal
convent are referring to it as “the ‘A’ word”); in fact, during Matins in Lent,
the Alleluias are more plentiful than ever.
8. Music, music, music.
About
seventy-five percent of the service is congregational singing. Traditionally,
Orthodox use no instruments, although some churches will have organs. Usually a
small choir leads the people in a cappella harmony, with the level of
congregational response varying from parish to parish. The style of music
varies as well, from very Oriental-sounding solo chant in an Arabic church to
more Western-sounding four-part harmony in a Russian church, with lots of
variation in between.
This
constant singing is a little overwhelming at first; it feels like getting on
the first step of an escalator and being carried along in a rush until you step
off ninety minutes later. It has been fairly said that the liturgy is one
continuous song.
What
keeps this from being exhausting is that it’s pretty much the *same* song every
week. Relatively little changes from Sunday to Sunday; the same prayers and
hymns appear in the same places, and before long you know it by heart. Then you
fall into the presence of God in a way you never can when flipping from prayer
book to bulletin to hymnal.
9. Making editors squirm.
Is there
a concise way to say something? Can extra adjectives be deleted? Can the
briskest, most pointed prose be boiled down one more time to a more refined
level? Then it’s not Orthodox worship. If there’s a longer way to say
something, the Orthodox will find it. In Orthodox worship, more is always more,
in every area including prayer. When the priest or deacon intones, “Let us
complete our prayer to the Lord,” expect to still be standing there fifteen
minutes later.
The
original liturgy lasted something over five hours; those people must have been
on fire for God. The Liturgy of St. Basil edited this down to about two and a
half, and later (around 400 A.D.) the Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom further
reduced it to about one and a half. Most Sundays we use the St. John Chrysostom
liturgy, although for some services (e.g., Sundays in Lent, Christmas Eve) we
use the longer Liturgy of St. Basil.
10. Our Champion Leader
A
constant feature of Orthodox worship is veneration of the Virgin Mary, the
“champion leader” of all Christians. We often address her as “Theotokos,” which
means “Mother of God.” In providing the physical means for God to become man,
she made possible our salvation.
But
though we honor her, as Scripture foretold (“All generations will call me
blessed,” Luke 1:48), this doesn’t mean that we think she or any of the other
saints have magical powers or are demi-gods. When we sing “Holy Theotokos, save
us,” we don’t mean that she grants us eternal salvation, but that we seek her
prayers for our protection and growth in faith. Just as we ask for each other’s
prayers, we ask for the prayers of Mary and other saints as well. They’re not
dead, after all, just departed to the other side. Icons surround us to remind
us of all the saints who are joining us invisibly in worship.
11. The three doors.
Every
Orthodox church will have an iconostasis before its altar. “Iconostasis” means
“icon-stand”, and it can be as simple as a large image of Christ on the right
and a corresponding image of the Virgin and Child on the left. In a more
established church, the iconostasis may be a literal wall, adorned with icons.
Some versions shield the altar from view, except when the central doors stand
open.
The basic
set-up of two large icons creates, if you use your imagination, three doors.
The central one, in front of the altar itself, is called the “Holy Doors” or
“Royal Doors,” because there the King of Glory comes out to the congregation in
the Eucharist. Only the priest and deacons, who bear the Eucharist, use the
Holy Doors.
The
openings on the other sides of the icons, if there is a complete iconostasis,
have doors with icons of angels; they are termed the “Deacon’s Doors.” Altar
boys and others with business behind the altar use these, although no one is to
go through any of the doors without an appropriate reason. Altar
service—priests, deacons, altar boys—is restricted to males. Females are
invited to participate in every other area of church life. Their contribution
has been honored equally with men’s since the days of the martyrs; you can’t
look at an Orthodox altar without seeing Mary and other holy women. In most
Orthodox churches, women do everything else men do: lead congregational
singing, paint icons, teach classes, read the epistle, and serve on the parish
council.
12. Where does an American fit in?
Flipping
through the Yellow Pages in a large city you might see a multiplicity of
Orthodox churches: Greek, Romanian, Carpatho-Russian, Antiochian, Serbian, and
on and on. Is Orthodoxy really so tribal? Do these divisions represent
theological squabbles and schisms?
Not at
all. All these Orthodox churches are one church. The ethnic designation refers
to what is called the parish’s “jurisdiction” and identifies which bishops hold
authority there. There are about 6 million Orthodox in North America and 250
million in the world, making Orthodoxy the second-largest Christian communion.
The
astonishing thing about this ethnic multiplicity is its theological and moral
unity. Orthodox throughout the world hold unanimously to the fundamental
Christian doctrines taught by the Apostles and handed down by their successors,
the bishops, throughout the centuries. One could attribute this unity to
historical accident. We would attribute it to the Holy Spirit.
Why then
the multiplicity of ethnic churches? These national designations obviously
represent geographic realities. Since North America is also a geographic unity,
one day we will likewise have a unified national church—an American Orthodox
Church. This was the original plan, but due to a number of complicated historical
factors, it didn’t happen that way. Instead, each ethnic group of Orthodox
immigrating to this country developed its own church structure. This
multiplication of Orthodox jurisdictions is a temporary aberration and much
prayer and planning is going into breaking through those unnecessary walls.
Currently
the largest American jurisdictions are the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese, The
Orthodox Church in America (Russian roots), and the Antiochian Archdiocese
(Arabic roots). The liturgy is substantially the same in all, though there may
be variation in language used and type of music.
I wish it
could be said that every local parish eagerly welcomes newcomers, but some are
still so close to their immigrant experience that they are mystified as to why
outsiders would be interested. Visiting several Orthodox parishes will help you
learn where you’re most comfortable. You will probably be looking for one that
uses plenty of English in its services. Many parishes with high proportions of
converts will have services entirely in English.
Orthodoxy
seems startlingly different at first, but as the weeks go by it gets to be less
so. It will begin to feel more and more like home, and will gradually draw you
into your true home, the Kingdom of God. I hope that your first visit to an
Orthodox church will be enjoyable, and that it won’t be your last.
Source: http://frederica.com/12-things/
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