I used to think that being religious was about following the truth. In a sense, it is, but not the way I previously thought. I thought that the dogma, practices, and traditions of the church were what was "true" about it. In fact, the truth is that which arises in our hearts and minds when we allow ourselves to feel the presence of God. The liturgy of the church is meant to help us feel God's presence. It is by no means the only place where we can do so.
In the same way, I no longer think that one "must" be religious in order to "please" God. That view of God is based on God being made in our human image, not the other way around. God simply is. God simply loves. God simply forgives and moves on. God simply allows natural consequences of our actions and the actions of others. God simply is. There is nothing we can do to get away from God. But there are things we can do to become more aware of God's presence.
To that end, I am now reframing my understanding of the purpose of religion. I thrive spiritually when I am around other people who take their spirituality seriously. I thrive spiritually when I witness others demonstrating their awareness of God's presence. I thrive spiritually when I am encouraged to do the same, in public, without drawing undue attention to myself. What better place to do so than in the Divine Liturgy? Everyone gathered there is there to pray and worship God, and each is focused on their own relationship with God. So no one will look at me side-eyed that I am praising God with my body's posture, or with gestures; it is expected. In that regard, I am free. At the same time, the ongoing vocal and otherwise material worship rituals that surround me for an extended period of time serve to continuously bring my focus back to God.
I have shown my hand a little already by using the phrase "Divine Liturgy", as this is Eastern Orthodox terminology. So I'll cut right to it. Today, my family and I attended our first Divine Liturgy, and it was magnificent. It was like balm on my weary heart. I wanted to personify God again. I wanted to follow Jesus again. I wanted to forget all the logic and reasoning and just allow myself, my spirit, to be embraced by the Spirit of God.
The sanctuary was small, with minimal natural light peeking in through a few stained glass inserts here and there. Otherwise, we were sort of closed off from the outside world. It was like a little portal to the other side. The walls were a golden yellow, and a large chandelier and recess lighting throughout kept the space bright. The large icons all around us gave my daughter something to focus on so she wouldn't be bored, as I found out afterwards.
The cantors were prominently situated at the front near the altar, and the beauty of their voices was like listening to angel choirs. It was amazing to have the entire hour and a half set to the soundtrack of their alternating female/male voices, Greek/English lyrics, at times overlapping with the vocal prayers of the priest. There was never a dull moment throughout the liturgy. If we didn't hear the priest, we heard the cantors. It was truly sacred music, as if they were giving us a glimpse of what we'll hear in heaven.
And the iconoclast that set the altar apart was a piece of art. The detailed engraving designs that surrounded the icons drew my sight to it over and over again. Such depth, the shadows of the light hiding in the little nooks and crannies of the design. Four hanging votive candle holders hung above the icons, and two secret doors (as my daughter called them) were opened and closed several times as people privy to access to the altar went in and out. One of the main icons at the front was creepy as it was holding a severed head (I later found out it was an icon of John the Baptist holding his own head, though not sure why he was portrayed as an angel, with wings). But even as I retreated from it visually, I immediately made a spiritual association with it. I thought of husbands as "the head of the family" and Christ as "the head of the Church" and how those heads without the bodies they represent are grotesque, incomplete, and not "the whole person" (for lack of a better term). I thought of how this translates to God not being something, or even someone, "out there", severed from God's creation, but rather merely that which crowns creation, which brought it into being and rules over it for its own good but which does not exist without it. But I digress.
As holy communion begun, the priest paraded the elements down one aisle (luckily for us, it was the aisle where we were seated) and up the main aisle back to the altar. People made various gestures of veneration towards the elements, much like Catholics do in Eucharistic Adoration. But there was no Tabernacle where "Jesus lives". Jesus lives outside of place and time. Jesus appears to us in the elements during Divine Liturgy, is consumed by the faithful, and goes out into the world through us. The lack of a Tabernacle was actually a good thing, in that the focus was on the real meaning of the Real Presence of Jesus, and not on creating an idol out of the physical elements themselves.
The procession of the eucharistic elements and the prominent role of the cantors were two of the ways that the experience was also reminiscent of our visit to a Conservative Jewish synagogue service. There, the Torah is paraded around the sanctuary and the faithful reach out to touch it. There, it is the cantor who leads the service, while the rabbi actually seems to take a much less prominent role by comparison, and certainly not the role of a Catholic priest or Protestant pastor.
The Orthodox priest and the cantors (for there were two, sometimes three) seem to share in collaborating the smooth choreography of the Divine Liturgy. What's more, at the end when the priest addressed those of us gathered in the short (though bilingual) sermon, the cantors finally sat down, and I noticed the female cantor was sitting on a throne, while the male cantor was seated next to her on a much less elaborate chair. It was then that I also realized the priest had not sat down once during the entire Divine Liturgy. He had been busy with one ritual act or another for the entirety of the service, and from what I read, he was already doing so before we arrived for the posted 10:15 Divine Liturgy, which lasted an hour and a half.
I liked pretty much everything about the experience. I shed tears on several occasions. I knew I wanted to go back pretty early on in the service, and I only prayed that the Spirit was working in the rest of my family, especially my husband, so that they too would be happy to return again.
While I am not a fan of the manner in which Communion is received, especially during a global pandemic (with a spoon, the same spoon for everyone), looking past that, there were other elements of Communion that gave me positive pause. As people came up to receive the elements, they told the priest their name, so the priest could present the Real Presence to them by name. They adjusted their height and brought the red cloth (which the priest was holding with the cup of wine and bread) to their chin so as not to spill any of the sacred elements. They then grabbed a piece of decent sized bread and brought it back to the pews. (We had pews as apparently this used to be a Protestant church - no kneelers, and the book racks had little holes for storing Protestant-style communion cups.)
Furthermore, at the end, after the sermon, we were all invited to come up and partake of a piece of the blessed bread, from which the consecrated morsels were placed in the consecrated wine for communion earlier. Real bread! And if you follow the pious tradition of fasting from midnight, what a meaningful and welcome way to break your fast! What's more, not everyone went up for communion. (Maybe because of the COVID/shared spoon situation, but still.)
I could go on but I'll stop here. The point is that I know the Orthodox church doesn't check off all of my boxes for what I wish a church would teach. I don't know how literal most Orthodox are about Biblical figures, heaven and hell, and similar Christian markers. But for the first time, that doesn't matter. I know I am not looking for "a perfect fit". There is no such thing. I am looking for a place where I can easily feel God's presence. Where, interestingly as the priest talked about in his sermon, I can be inspired to do God's will. He said to remember these words: inspiration, comprehension, transformation, and action. We come to church to be inspired, to comprehend the Word of God (Bible, but I also believe the words written on our heart (Romans 2:18)), to allow ourselves to be transformed by this inspiration and comprehension, so that we may act in the world, be God's hands and feet, do the work of the Gospel.
I want to go to church. I want to go not because I have to, but because it feeds my spirit. I want to go to be inspired, to learn, to be transformed, and to leave ready to live in accordance with the faith of Jesus (not to be confused with the faith "about" Jesus). I want to surround myself with beauty. I want to go to a place that feels sacred and special, where I know others will respect my desire to be in uninterrupted prayer. Where fellowship will not take over worship. Where we are there to reconnect with God, not with each other. (Reconnecting with others apparently happens afterward during "coffee hour" downstairs.)
Let me not jump to conclusions here. I do not need to convert. Not right now, anyway. And without conversion, I do not have to worry about receiving communion with a shared spoon or without fasting, nor do I need to worry about missing Divine Liturgy on some Sundays (though I can't imagine not wanting to do so of my own free will and joyfully!). With time, if God wills it, I can see that I may indeed convert someday. Maybe my whole little family of four will. But not now. Now, I just want to marvel in this jewel we found and I look forward to our next visit.
Perhaps it won't be Divine Liturgy, as my son begins Sunday School at our Catholic church next week, and I want him to have that experience as it is a very good opportunity to be around other kids, especially since this time it will be without his sister, and I love the Montessori approach to the lessons. After that, he will begin his two years of preparation for his First Communion in the Catholic church - something I feel the need to do for him because 1) his sister just received her First Communion this year, and I want them to have similar experiences and she does not like the idea of him being allowed to receive communion at a younger age than she was allowed (as Orthodox, they could both receive right after reception into the church), and 2) because First Communion is one of the last Polish/Catholic traditions that we will be keeping in our family, and it allows us time to think about where we will make our permanent spiritual home in three years' time.
To conclude, I suppose I can say this: Eastern Orthodoxy may not be everything I wanted, but perhaps it can be everything I need at this time on my spiritual journey. I do miss a personified God, and maybe Orthodoxy can help me reclaim Him once again, but without the baggage of my "obligatory religion". To God be the glory, whatever that means to a Taoist cultivator! (also me!)
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