5. Objective and Existential Worship and Askesis (Part VI of IX)
My very first experience of worshipping at an Orthodox Church did not take place at my current local parish (All Saints in Chicago), but in Omaha, Nebraska, at St Mary's. Ironically enough St Mary's and All Saints are both part of the Antiochian jurisdiction. That worship at St Mary's was in October 1998, and I was an AngloCatholic Episcopalian. (In fact, during that same trip to Omaha, I attended an AC service of the Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament.)
My first dip into the Divine Liturgy was mostly observation mixed with confusion. There was little I understood about what happened during the Liturgy (the Hapgood prayerbook they had was tortuous to follow), and a lot I didn't understand about that which I could grasp about what was happening. I very much felt an outsider. Which is not to say that I wasn't welcomed by the parishioners. In fact, the gentleman I stood next to did all he could to offer explanations of what was going on in a sort of running commentary, including the proper way to make the sign of the Cross. I was invited to coffee afterwards. I was given all the room I needed to ask questions. But when it came to the worship service itself, I was an outsider.
The second time I worshipped at an Orthodox Church was during July 2000, and this time was at the parish where I now worship. This time, rather than merely being curious, I was primed by several weeks of study and reading, and an increasingly untenable crisis in the Episcopal Church, intensified at the seminary where I was then studying. This time I did recognize universal parts of the Liturgy: the Sursum Corda, the hymn "Blessed is He Who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the hightest," and so forth. But I crossed myself backwards. (I had forgotten the lesson at St Mary's.) I genuflected when everyone else bowed. I failed to cross myself often enough. The standing was interminable. And, of course, I could not commune with the congregation. I was an outsider.
I was given a taste of that aspect of Orthodox worship which had been lacking in my heritage churches, and, ironically enough, in the Episcopal Church: the objectivity of worship. No one bothered to ask me whether or not I was comfortable with the service. They didn't cut things out to shorten the service because my feet were tired. They didn't ask me whether I preferred a praise band to modified Byzantine chant. I wasn't consulted as to whether I might take offense at the doctrines and dogmas of the Church that would be proclaimed in the homily--and in the liturgy itself. No one asked me whether I found the constant references to God as Father offensive, or whether I would have like to eliminate the references to the Trinity out of deferrence to our Unitarian visitors. In fact, no one consulted me as to whether I felt it important that the Liturgy start at precisely nine o'clock and whether there should be a clear break between Matins and Liturgy so I could refill my mug at the congregation's in-house coffee bar.
No, I was left with a simple choice: accept it as is, or not at all. No one was going to bother about suiting my tastes. How rude!
Oh, but how necessary! For you see, worship is not about me or my tastes and preferrences. It is all about God. Orthodox don't ask whether or not they "got anything out of the service." Rather, the question is, "Did I worship God appropriately?" And if the answer to the question is to get anywhere close to yes, I have to turn my eyes away from myself and my own preoccupations toward God. There is no need to create a "mood" for worship. We don't need to start with a rousing and rocking series of hymns, then quiet down with more minor-key choruses, then get jazzed up with a "raising the roof" final song. It's not about my mood. It's about God.
And I have found this worship to be absolutely essential to all that I am, think, and do. It is precisely here that the existential part comes in. I do not change worship. Worship changes me. I come and am confronted by the majesty and holiness of God. I am made painfully aware of my sin. I am given the good news: repent and receive God's mercy and grace in Christ. And then, wonder of wonders, I am tangibly united to Christ, and through him to each and every worshipper there present and all the saints in attendance. (Well, in reality the last sentence is in anticipation of the day when that will become a reality for me. For now I can only anticipate.) I am likely not to feel a darn thing. And actually, that's a good thing. It keeps my attention on God and my cross-carrying.
By the same token, however, it is in the midst of this objective worship that I have been most moved. I was praying the Jesus prayer during Holy Communion one Sunday a few weeks ago, and was overcome with tears over the weight of my many sins. I did not seek such emotion. It found me. I have prayed intercessory prayers for friends and loved ones and have been unutterably moved by their need and God's love.
I am not obligated to feel anything. I am obligated to do that which the worship shows me I must do. Pray for others. Give alms. Fast. And serve my brother and sister.
It is only in Orthodoxy that I have found this kind of objective and existential worship. And it is what pulls me ever closer to the day when I will be one with the One Church of Christ.
[Please note: Speaking as I must about my previous and present church experiences in light of my attraction to Orthodoxy, I must necessarily and frequently take up a critical stance to many aspects of these experiences. But I have also tried to offer honest and heartfelt positive appraisals where I can.]
Next: 6. Historicity and Validity of the (Orthodox) Church's Claims
"I was an outsider."
Very, very true. Yes, there are nice people who answer questions, and do all that good stuff, but I can't shake the feeling. It was really bad at the beginning, but even now that I know most of the people at church, go to church a bunch, and hang out with them, I still can't get rid of that "outsider feeling;" I am just an "observer," someone who is there, but is not participating. I have the feeling it has to do with the whole Eucharist and sacrament thing, but I am not totally sure...
Erica:
I may have miscommunicated here.
My feelings of being an outsider does not have to do with my not participating. I feel very much a participation in the service, though missing out on the Sacrament at this time. I am not just an observer.
Rather, my outsider feelings have to do with the fact that I don't set the tone for worship. I don't create my worship service, nor can I expect to. I was being critical of the seeker orientation or the assumption that worship must somehow also be evangelistic, when evangelism and worship are two different things.