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.
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...
Something a bit different today than my normal reflections. I thought I would delve a little bit more into a topic that is not necessarily theological in nature. I am a real person, and not some ethereal doctor in an ivory tower who gets to smoke a pipe and contemplate the infinite mysteries all day. So, today, I thought I would delve into one of my personal hobbies: board gaming. Now, do not tune me out because you hear "board gaming" and immediately default in your brain to your brother overturning a table with Monopoly money flying everywhere because the game has gone on for hours and overturning the table was the only option left other than murder. Most people, including myself at one time, thought of board games as those boring or frustrating games that seem stuck in 1952. You know the usual suspects: Clue!, Monopoly, Scrabble, Chess, maybe even more saccharine games like Life or Candy Land, i.e. those games that everyone owned at some p...
NCAA.com put out an interesting editorial about the evolution of the football helmet that can be found here . This is in part due in my estimation to the current buzz (one might go so far as to describe it as hysteria) about concussions in contact sports, particularly football. I have always found this an interesting evolution. Long gone are the days of strapping on your leather helmet: In the 50's and 60's, the helmet evolved into, basically becoming a metal then hard plastic version of the leather helmet with the addition of a rudimentary face mask (which was really just a bar at first): Gradually, the helmet's face mask itself began to evolve: Combines with new space age style lightweight plastics and foams, the helmet mask ultimately became a type of full, goalie style face mask (This little number costs just under $1000 to purchase new): Ironically, being a military history major, the football helmet evolution followed the pattern of design that helmets worn...
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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.