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April 28, 2002.
An ode to high church.
One of the things you get to do when you have your own web page is to talk at length about things that are interesting perhaps only to you. You can cruelly prattle on about your passion for AAA baseball or Carl Sagan or Shostakovitch's War Symphonies (sorry, Rob! Just poking fun...). You don't have a captive audience, really, but you do have an open microphone.
Well, allow me to use this space to sing the praises of attending high church. After a surprising amount of soul-searching, we have decided to officially join the Orthodox Church on Saturday.
To me, joining the Orthodox Church is choosing a steep path. In making this decision we are embracing a path of discipline and sacrifice. I'm not saying that to make us sound like heroes; it's just the way things work in this church. None of the churches I've attended before really participate in fasting and confession, but they are basic ingredients in this church.
We were drawn to the Orthodox church a year ago and in that time it has grown on us just like ivy climbing up a brick wall. I don't exactly know why. It's like when you hear a piece of music that sounds familiar and perfect even when you're just hearing it for the first time.
Tom and I know that my parents are uncomfortable with the Orthodox church. Maybe they always will be. When your dad is a pastor of a very, very Protestant church, I guess that's to be expected. For that reason, joining the Orthodox church feels more like a break from them than it was when I got married.
We approached them on Tuesday night and explained our intentions to them. We wanted to invite them to the "chrismation" service on Saturday morning and share our excitement.
I didn't expect them to stand up and applaud, but even with my limited expectations, the conversation was a little disappointing. Probably the warmest thing my father said was, "I'm not upset with you, if that's what you want to know. You're adults and I'm not going to stop you. You can do whatever you want."
I will resist launching into another whole entry here about how my father, beloved man that he is, does not meet my emotional needs. I'll save that for another time and just say that I don't think my parents will be coming to the service.
My brother will be coming, and I'm really glad about that. Somehow it just makes sense for a member of my earthly family to be present when I make a commitment to a new spiritual family.
This weekend is the high point of the whole year for the Orthodox Church. Saturday night at midnight is the Pascha service — it's our equivalent to Easter. The service starts at midnight and runs until 3:00 or 3:30 in the morning. The church is filled with music and candles and incense and the sound of bells. It's a mad celebration and one that's completely unforgettable.
Somehow it just seems right to attend a church like this. When you walk into the church, you are in a place that feels holy and mysterious. And I think that's a fine kind of feeling to get when you're encountering God.
After the service we will shuffle into the meeting hall downstairs and there will be a lavish feast set out for everyone. I've never attended the feast before, but apparently it features quite a bit of meat. Everyone's been fasting from meat and dairy and poultry and wine for these past six weeks, and I think there will be all manner of animal products at the feast when the fast is broken. Beef brownies, anyone?
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Life belongs to the living, and he who lives must be prepared for changes. — Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
As we felled and burned the forests, so we burned, plowed, and overgrazed the prairies. We came with visions, but not with sight. We did not see or understand where we were or what was there, but destoyed what was there for the sake of what we desired. And the desire was always native to the place we left behind. — Wendell Berry
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I think if I had the chance to have dinner any famous musician in the world, Bryan Ferry or Leonard Cohen would be very close to the top of my list. Along with Peter Murphy, Morrissey, Moby, and PJ Harvey. — May 1, 2001
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