This post was written by Christina Douglas.
It’s a typical Saturday evening, and I have just arrived at my parish to read the 9th hour service before vespers. Since our liturgical day begins at sundown, vespers is the first service of the daily cycle, and 9th hour is the final nod to the day that is ending.
I open the double doors to enter the nave, our worship space. Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. There is a prayer for entering a church, but I haven’t memorized it yet, so I repeat the Jesus Prayer as I prepare. A few seconds pass as my eyes adjust to the dimmed lighting, and I look over the room to see what needs to be done. First things first, though. I bow and make the sign of the cross over myself, right to left, three times, then kiss the icons of both the parish and the Mother of God. The stand holding these icons is draped in red.
The icons and Mary were difficult for me at first, having grown up Baptist, but, like everything else, they’ve grown on me. The saints throughout history, from all over the world, surround me. They are our great cloud of witnesses, and though I spent twenty-nine years in the evangelical world, after four years, I find it jarring to walk into a church without icons.
Walking farther in, I notice the glass over the icon at the front of the nave has lip smudges all over it, so I clean it after adding my own. For Sunday, we need the icon of the Resurrection, but there are also two major saints being commemorated. I add their icons, straightening the red fabric as I do.
I light a taper from the flame of the vigil candle in front of the icon of Christ. Soon, the lamps over the icons of Christ, His Mother, John the Baptist, and the Apostle Peter, our patron, are lit, as is the lamp at the base of the cross. I check that the lamps in the candle boxes at the entrance have enough oil before I light them, so people can light candles for prayer as they come in during the service. I light one or two, myself, praying for whomever is on my mind.
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. I have my prayer rope, now, and each knot brings a repetition of the prayer. A dozen of these will be in use throughout the congregation tonight. The flowers for the icons at the front need to be cleared out, but I’ll leave them for now. Someone will bring fresh ones tomorrow morning.
All is ready. I take my place at the chanter’s stand, off to the side near the front, facing the center of the room. Father steps out of the altar. His vestments, like the others throughout the room, are red, the color of the Nativity season. He gives me the blessing, and we begin. Soon, this room will be filled, not only with the visual elements of Orthodox worship, such as icons, lamps, candles, and vestments, but also with the sounds of Byzantine chant, the voices of clergy, choir, and congregation, the bells and the scent of incense from the censer, the movements of bowing, crossing, venerating, and the constant, meticulous motion of those serving in the altar. Tomorrow, we will taste the Body and Blood as we receive Holy Communion, and after Liturgy is over, we’ll share a meal together.
All our senses are engaged; our bodies as well as our minds participate each time we gather. This reality was one of many things that struck a chord deep within me when I converted. From the moment we walk through those doors until we sing the final Amen, all is prayer, and very little of it allows the participant to be passive.
© Christina Douglas
Images © Mark Feliciano
Christina Douglas has a BA in linguistics which, lately, means she tinkers with websites, provides personal tech support, and occasionally house-sits, and she rarely turns down the offer of a free meal. She spent the last two years learning Byzantine chant and the various services of the Orthodox Church. Her current plans include either an assignment from the Peace Corps or grad school and hopefully many more free meals.





