First Visit to an Orthodox Church:
Twelve Things I Wish I'd Known
by Frederica Mathewes-Green
http://www.frederica.com/orthodox/o12th-mrb.html
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 continuous
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 awhile 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 First name."
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 capella 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
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
Currently the largest
American jurisdictions are the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese, The Orthodox Church
in
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.
An edited version of the following is available as a
brochure from Conciliar Press (800) 967-7377
© Frederica Mathewes-Green