As I approached the entry to St. George’s parking lot, waiting my turn to make my left-hand turn, I felt my blood pressure rise along with the nerves in my system. I was a bit scared; somewhat intimidated by the idea of visiting someone else’s place of worship—a place and tradition of worship that was much different from anything else I’ve known.
I parked my car and entered the main entrance with hesitation in my step, uncertain of where I needed to go, what I have to say or do, and whether or not I’d get thrown out because I didn’t belong. But right as I entered, two nice older ladies greeted me, handed me a bulletin, and asked me if I wanted to hang up my jacket, instructing me where to find the coat rack. So I hung up my things and made my way into the sanctuary.
The sanctuary was filled with activity—sounds, smell, and sights. People were either getting settled in or standing, periodically making the sign of the cross with their hand. Six guys were in the front-left corner, surrounding a three-sided podium of sorts, chanting something in Arabic. The priest could be seen in front of the alter, praying or making preparations for the service.
Most of the service was very confusing for me. Although in English, the liturgy was barely discernible and I had no clue as to what I should be reading, saying, singing, or doing. We stood and sat a lot, made the sign of the cross dozens of times, genuflected now and then, knelt for preparation/prayers for communion (which I was not allowed to participate in), and stood some more. Perhaps the most involving moment in the entire service for me was going up towards the end of the service (after communion) and venerating the cross and partaking of the Antidoron—the Holy Bread.
I was really confused, admittedly bored, and felt like I was missing something here.
As people started filing out, genuflecting the cross, and kissing the icons at the rear of the sanctuary, I got up and grabbed my jacket, intending not to visit St. George’s again. Why? I just didn’t understand anything and I couldn’t see anything but tradition—no vibrant life, enthusiasm or zeal for Christ (visible to me), and a routine that has been tirelessly carried down through centuries.
But just as I was almost out the door, an older lady grabbed my arm and asked, “What? Aren’t you going to stick around for coffee? Here, George will go with you.” And before I knew it, I was being escorted by George—a retired gentleman that lives in the area—into their fellowship hall and having coffee and some sort of middle-Eastern herb bread with tomatoes on top.
We talked a bit, exchanging small talk about what I do, where I went to school, what made me decide to visit, etc. George was retired from state government, worked with Department of Education for a long time, and has attended St. George all his life. He’s known nothing but Orthodox.
George was kind enough to introduce me to Pastor Thomas Begley, the Very Reverend Archpriest (literally his title), and we sat and talked over more herbal bread with tomato topping, and coffee. We talked about Orthodox, my curiosities, my disenchantment with the “evangelical” church, what caused him to consider the Orthodox Church, and what makes St. George a family.
Pastor Begley was kind enough to explain some of the over-arching factors that makes the Orthodox different. He spoke about the veritable unchanging tradition of Orthodoxy and how very little of their tradition has given into church trends, cultural movements, and the whims of fads and favors. But he also emphasized how St. George is a community—a family. Because of the rich, diverse heritage they have—many of them from Arabic nations like Pakistan—hospitality is huge with them. They frequently have picnics or bar-b-que’s, will have each other at their homes, and well, clearly welcome the stranger…even if that stranger only lives four blocks from them.
After Pastor Begley introduced me to a few more people who welcomed me very warmly and were genuinely enthusiastic about my visiting them, he recommended a book to me, “The Orthodox Church” by Timothy Ware, which I purchased for $16.00. But I could barely get out of the tiny bookstore without having been greeted by one of the deacons and talking about my visit and the Orthodox tradition.
He emphasized to me, “you can’t just visit once. Orthodox is about experience, not about reading. It’s really about loving and experiencing, not about the book. We’re all about loving and living out this faith.” He further encouraged me to come and come often, to experience the Orthodox faith, not just read about it.
I can’t help but to be apprehensive about returning—I had no clue what was going on throughout the service. Well that was clarified by another gentleman that I met there, who explained that their liturgical book is in the process of being refined and recompiled, so there’s a lot of page flipping going around. He further offered for me to come and sit up by him, and he’d gladly help me follow along and explain what is taking place. Maybe if I return, I’ll take him up on his offer.
But regardless of my bewilderment about their liturgy and the worship service itself, I was amazed as to how many people I met and was introduced to after the service. Amazed, because most every other church I’ve attended had no sense of vibrant community…so vibrant that visitors cannot escape being greeted and doted upon. And to some extent, that’s what I’m looking for.
The traditions are near completely foreign to me, but a little reading might help with that issue. But with the dozen people that I met this morning, it was very clear that they love their visitors and will ensure that you feel welcomed.
I can’t say that Natalie would necessarily find St. George compelling enough to go to—maybe on the basis of seeing what it’s like—but it’s not church as usual. It’s church that allegedly isn’t that different from what it was nearly two thousand years ago.
But I think I may go back and visit again.
March 4, 2007, 1:07 pm
Filed under: Awareness, General
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