April 11, 2004

April 11, 2004
Bright Week

So now it's really spring again. I'm so glad. Already it's after 8:00 pm, but the last light from today's sun is still lingering in the sky while birds are chirping merrily out in the yard.

One of the birds is actually building an errant nest in the eaves of our house. It's a bad place for her to settle; some time this week when we have a bit more light we'll try to convince her to relocate.

Everything feels somehow lighter and more relaxed in spring, and I don't think this is just my own neurosis speaking.

So tonight I'm surfing the web, checking on schedules for my favorite concert venues and museums in New York City; my lovely sister-in-law and I will rendezvous there at the end of this month for four days of touristy goodness.

Nikolle recommended Lady Mendl's, so I've made reservations for a proper high tea there one day at 3:00. If you're a reader in NY, feel free to write with touristy recommendations. I've visited the city a few times, but I am always eager to discover a new favorite destination.

For us, Easter weekend started on Friday morning; the Orthodox have an unmistakable affection for elaborate church services during Holy Week. Our church held no less than three long, intense services on Friday, another four services on Saturday, and another long one today, which we judiciously skipped in honor of burgers and beer on the patio of one of my favorite Atlanta pubs.

The highlight of Pascha at our church involves a gorgeous matins service that starts at midnight on Saturday. The matins service we practice is full of ancient customs which to any sensible modern person probably seems very strange. The most bizarre part of the service is probably the part when we walk outside the church, carrying candles, and circle the church building three times while singing of the Resurrection. This tradition has endured since the early days of the Orthodox church, centuries ago.

I always feel a little torn over this old tradition. It's so ancient and beautiful that I can't help but love it. Yet I also wonder about what it looks like to people driving down the busy residential road by the church at 1:00 in the morning. They drive by and we're circling the church, bells ringing in the steeple as we sing lustily of Christ's resurrection. I'm sure that drivers think they've stumbled upon a secret underground cult performing one of its kooky rituals in the middle of the night. Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, we sing, over and over again.

This year as I walked around the church with my candle, I remembered something funny that happened during our first matins service in 2000. We had circled the church for the first time when I noticed a silver car cruising past the church. It was a car full of revelers, out on the town on a Saturday night. Loud music was pouring out of the open windows. I briefly caught the eye of the driver as I walked down the sidewalk singing; he gave me a surly look and sped off.

I walked around the church building with the rest of the congregation again. When I came back to the sidewalk, the silver car was driving by again, this time headed in the opposite direction, a little more slowly. The people in the car were staring at the procession.

After I circled the church one last time and came back to the sidewalk, the car was back again, pointed in the original direction. This time the car had stopped completely, and the radio was off so all they could hear through the open windows was the sounds of our chanting.

I remembered that silver car this weekend as we walked and sang, and how well I understand the reaction of the people inside — first scorn, then a cool interest, then an urgent wonder: what is this all about, and why does it seem to be calling my name?