I remember how entranced I was as a college student listening for the first time to Orthodox music, recorded on the Nonesuch label, from an album called Music from the Russian Cathedral. I don't think this piece was included, but the music was very much like it, awesome in its slow-moving grandeur. I was an eclectic New Age seeker back then.
I never forgot that encounter, and the subject came up again when, as a newly-married still non-Christian I witnessed for the first time an Orthodox liturgy, Ukrainian, in a rural octagonal church, Holy Apostles, in Bellis, Alberta. Watching Father Ihor, who was just a few years my senior, carry the holy gifts through the small flock of kneeling and prostrating peasants, while softly singing in unintelligible Slavonic, I said to myself, "If Christianity is true, then this is it." The iconostasis in that little church was made of whitewashed garden trellis, the icons were primitive paint-by-number style pastel holy cards in jumbo size, the antidoron (I didn't know what it was called then, but the edibles that are distributed to all after the liturgy) was a basket of mixed country fruit (apples and pears) and off-the-shelf candy bars (kit-kats were the ones I remember), and folks just reached in and grabbed a treat as they passed Father Ihor and kissed his hand.
Starting from Russian music, then discovering ikons, then enjoying the Greek Festival after we moved to Portland, Oregon, I found myself drawing closer and closer to home.
You never know where following a song will lead you.
A bit of history… http://cost-of-discipleship.blogspot.com/2008/04/albert-and-helen.html
I have a soft spot in my heart for the Ukrainian Orthodox church. There was one near where my wife and I lived in Lincoln that had a Wednesday night Compline service that we went to on occasion. Not because there were big crowds or it was a grandiose liturgy. In fact, if 6 people showed up, it was a good night and not a one of us could sing exactly on key.
Exodus 2 traces the emergence of God’s deliverer from the depths of helplessness to the quiet wilderness of preparation. The chapter moves through three decisive movements. Under Pharaoh’s decree of death for Hebrew baby boys, salvation begins not with an army, but with the quiet courage of women—Moses’ mother Jochebed, his sister Miriam, and Pharaoh’s own daughter. Placed in a small reed basket (*tevah*, the same word used for Noah’s ark), Moses is pulled from the water by the household of the very oppressor seeking his destruction. God works beneath the surface of empire, turning an instrument of slaughter (the Nile) into the cradle of redemption. Moses, grown and aware of his heritage, steps forward to intervene on behalf of his people. Yet he attempts to bring justice through violence, striking down an Egyptian in secret. The result is neither liberation nor unity; his own brethren reject his authority, and Moses flees into the wilderness of Midian as a fugitive. Zeal without ...
I feel like I need to respond to a bit of a blowup I had in the comments section of my previous blog entry (see below.) My only comment here would be that I stress being faithful to your historical liturgical roots. I tend to shy away from ecumenism if ecumenism tends to create one big incongruent blob of christian liturgy, or as I call it Naziturgy. I think in most branches of Christianity, there is an element of uniqueness in worshipping style that should be celebrated. If you are Anglo-catholic, say your high church mass with pride because its who you are. If you are a "warm your heart by the altar" Methodist, sing Rock of Ages to beat the band. If you are a Lutheran, boogie with A Mighty Fortress is Our God. If you are a happy, clappy evangelical, then go for it. For me, liturgy is the work of the people. If its what people want, then I am cool with it, for the most part (I draw the line at snake handling and "this little light of mine." I guess what this brings...
For some weeks, I have had several friends (mostly non-Episcopalians surprisingly) wanting me to voice an opinion on this Connecticut 6 (sounds like a fleabag motel) business. If you are unfamiliar with this fiasco, for lack of a better term, let me describe it as best as I understand it. There is so much spin going on (from both sides I might add) that I have been having trouble discerning fact from fiction. As I understand the situation, the Rt. Rev. Andrew Smith is the Bishop of Connecticut. Well, at least he has a pointy hat, I do not think he is particularly acting like one. Likewise, as I understand, there are Six rectors of churches (at least they have collars, but likewise are not acting like it) that have applied for DEPO oversight (i.e. another Bishop to oversee them.) The best way I know how to describe the hoohah is as follows: The Feloniously Rev. Smith is trying to defrock the Superciliously Reverend Rectors. Darth Smith claims they have abandoned communion and has shadil...
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I never forgot that encounter, and the subject came up again when, as a newly-married still non-Christian I witnessed for the first time an Orthodox liturgy, Ukrainian, in a rural octagonal church, Holy Apostles, in Bellis, Alberta. Watching Father Ihor, who was just a few years my senior, carry the holy gifts through the small flock of kneeling and prostrating peasants, while softly singing in unintelligible Slavonic, I said to myself, "If Christianity is true, then this is it." The iconostasis in that little church was made of whitewashed garden trellis, the icons were primitive paint-by-number style pastel holy cards in jumbo size, the antidoron (I didn't know what it was called then, but the edibles that are distributed to all after the liturgy) was a basket of mixed country fruit (apples and pears) and off-the-shelf candy bars (kit-kats were the ones I remember), and folks just reached in and grabbed a treat as they passed Father Ihor and kissed his hand.
All this was very bizarre but unrelentingly beautiful in its modesty, simplicity and naïveté. As we left the church building and headed over to the parish hall, I said to myself again, "If Christ is real, this must be his church."
Starting from Russian music, then discovering ikons, then enjoying the Greek Festival after we moved to Portland, Oregon, I found myself drawing closer and closer to home.
You never know where following a song will lead you.
A bit of history…
http://cost-of-discipleship.blogspot.com/2008/04/albert-and-helen.html
But we went often because of exactly what you said, "unrelentingly beautiful in its modesty, simplicity and naïveté." Just down to earth folks who went out to dinner afterward. Those were some of the best memories we had of Lincoln.