Greek Orthodox

For the first time I couldn't make it through to the end. I didn't even care if it was rude. I just could not take another chant and mindless male maladies. It was just SOOOOOOOOO boring. It was after we had been waiting for communion for about an hour after they announced it that I called it kaputz. I'm not alone in this feeling; most of the congregation is with me. At the beginning of the service the place was nearly empty, however, as time went by people began to pour in. What had been a void held more than a few neighborhoods in 1950's fashion, complete with heels and skirts on all the women and the occasional veil. In the front hallway you could either purchase the daily candle for a dollar or the weekly big red candle for $8. The price tags of salvation were written on a piece of faded construction paper, which obviously spared no expense. No one took the small candles; no one was coming back till next Friday.

Apparently the majority of the congregation waits until the end when confession happens to come to services. There is nothing more understandable. After all the church cites their righteous place as the best religion based upon the fact that "nothing has changed about us in the last 2000 years" and "Not even the communists could destroy us." Wow. We are talking about a thought pattern that evolved at the same time when people actually thought the world was flat and that leeches could cure, believed witches needed burning, a time when a woman said, probably in fear of being stoned or because she didn't understand how people got pregnant, that she had immaculately conceived, and people said thank god our saviour has arrived. Needless to say these believers don't really care about conforming to present interests.

I couldn't understand anything they said because it was in Greek (obviously). I don't think anyone else could either. The preacher men, who were all dressed like Pope posers, circled a table with various artifacts chanting, waving incense, kissing each other on the cheeks, chanting more, shaking clothes, opening books, circling more, bowing, tapping little boys, lighting candles, chanting..... you get the idea. At times the black men, in the corner, who were very Rasputinesque in my mind, would say something that sounded scary and due to the acoustics, I'm sure sounded like a whisper in some places and hellfire in others. There was also a choir above that I couldn't see but which seemed to sing the same chant over and over and over. I suppose it was different, but the type of variety it sponsored was probably on the order of a few notes circled in red ink so they didn't forget them.

Then the preacher came out and did this schpeil on what you should and should not do. There was no ambiguity in this. Don't do anything that would signify you are grown up or can think for yourself. Don't have sex, don't drink, don't be gay, don't not do what I say, don't let your kids play video games, don't give in to sin and these newfangled licentious ways (aka, watch out for internet porn), come to church, believe in church and in God. Why? Because it's old and it's pretty.

Seriously, in their brochure regarding the purpose of their iconoclast dome and handiwork, that's the number one reason they give for its importance: it looks nice. Now this I can identify with. It was extremely beautiful. I have always loved iconoclast art for its cartoonish nature, Jesus's huge head and hands which often dwarf Mary's even when he is still pictured as a babe. I have done several reproductions myself. It doesn't make up for almost two hours of my life in which I watched men bob around and have nothing to say that made any sense except "It's pretty."

It's All Greek to Them

We went because of its dome, an extremely large half a globe, covered in gold. On our way to services in Denver's Temple Emmanuel on a Friday evening, we spotted the dome; it isn't exactly subtle amid the large brick houses of the wealthy neighborhood. Nary another gold covered dome in sight, truth be told.

Inside, there is possibly less subtlety. The dome, inside, is covered with iconographic paintings, anchored, front and center, with a super-sized vision of someone called Theotokis and a baby with exceedingly large and adult-like hands on her lap. Jesus, as you may have guessed, and the Greek Orthodox version of Mary.

Theotokos, to the Greeks, is what Mary is to Roman Catholics, magnified tenfold. Judging by the iconography all above and all around us, she is probably more important than Jesus. Or perhaps it is just this cathedral, named for her: The Cathedral of the Assumption of Theotokos. We had a fair amount of time to browse the ceiling, as everyone was standing when we entered, the sounds of a well-tuned choir filling the domed environment without discrimination. Domes have amazing acoustical value. If I was designing a church, it would definitely be shaped like a dome. It made me think of how insane prophets of old must have felt when the Voice of God came at them out of the wilderness: "That you, God? Where are you?" Sound seemed to emanate from no particular place, yet to fill every place. Ben says it's much the same or maybe better, in India's Taj Mahal. Underlying the choir's melodious murmurings in Greek, I eventually discerned another vein of words, a deep and sonorous voice, chanting also in Greek.

Behind the tall gold pillars that separated what I can only call the "Holy of Holies" from the more public altar area, came clouds of gray and yellow smoke. Gold crosses on the backs of satiny ivory gowns were just about all we could see of the four priests gathered around the inner altar. They chanted and muttered and bowed to the ornately bejewelled and silvered book in front of them, kissing it and each other in a ritual that we in the pews stood silently to observe. To the right of the Holiest sanctum, looking for all the world like a collection of Heckle and Jeckle imitators, a varying collection of black-robed priests huddled, like magpies on a telephone wire. Like magpies, they whispered among themselves, as did the congregation.

The congregation in a Greek Orthodox cathedral apparently has very little to do. The liturgy invites few responses; there is no participatory singing. I suspect that Roman Catholic services were much like this not so very long ago, before the liberalization that pretty much did away with Latin in their churches. After experiencing two religious services within one week which each conducted their observances largely within the bounds of a foreign language, I have to admit I see the point of retaining unfamiliar language. I think the Catholics are pretty much doomedd, since they removed the incomprehensibility of Latin from their services, making the idea of God seem like something common sensical or rational, faith something we can understand and articulate to others and ourselves rather than ineffable, inscrutable, ineluctable. The Greeks still know how to guard the mystery, hence the unarguable nature of their belief. Even Mary pales beside Theotokos. When it comes to God, being distanced is good. How much easier to uphold the Divine Mystery if it is only analyzed and discussed with words that are unintelligible? In the domed church I would create, there would definitely be a foreign language spoken by the priests. Maybe I'd use Laura-Claire's made-up language. No one but Mady and LC and Mariel would understand any of it. Perfect for a religion!

Compromises

We drove deep into country club land. Into a geography where newly constructed houses were created individually with remodeled kitchens and entry foyers that spanned several floors. Where kids did chores, not because they actually needed doing (there were cleaner women for that), but to learn responsibility. There were speed bumps every block, but no children outside to avoid hitting. It was a place where swim teams and video game tournaments meant social lives.

That being said, we turned into the hedged parking lot and gazed up at the monstrous modern ode to Yahweh. These people who apparently have so much of everything for some reason still need a god. But what reason could they have?

People are so creative with their compromises. How does one become extremely rich and still feel generous? How does one wear brand names and look alike clothing and still feel like an individual? How does one become a doctor or scientist and still have a faith? How to reconcile the various forces in ones life? It is no wonder that strange crossroads such as this synagogue exist. Where bongo drums and dancing meet reformed Judaism. Where people sing for hours songs they haven’t an idea what they mean because they don’t actually understand the language. The rabbi spoke about the power of an email. Where has the divine gone, in these places?

It seems it has been compromised. The faith of the majority of these affluent attendees is more of a cultural familiarity and comfort than a profound sense of direction.
I would compare it to children’s chore list. It is not a necessity. It is expected to be mildly entertaining, and there is no problem if you talk through the entire service. Some might call it a waste of time, but there is definitely an affect, just as there is an affect of children going through the motions of doing chores. At least there is the learned familiarity with it. So you go. You try to have fun, learn some stories, sing some songs, it might be boring, but with a little ingenuity, you can figure out a way to deal. Then you can proudly check the religion box on scantrons; Jewish, and maybe even get a free plane ticket to be flown over to Israel, to view a people whose faith and daily life has so much more to do with necessity.

What was at once so strange to me now seems normal, and somewhat nauseating. The more churches I attend, the less I can stomach them. When I first arrive I remain interested by my surroundings, but this fades and I'm left a need for substance. These religions are all starting to become the same. Yet they claim there is a divide between them. They seem to be a comforting compromise of whatever different walk of life someone has always attended to. What do they have to offer in the way of difference except for jargon and history. None of the music is interesting. The thoughts they offer are not well thought out ideas on life and death and meaning, but rather odes to the familiar. It seems no wonder that religion often becomes reactionary. Its' distinctions are of the past, so how can it react to an evolving present, or even the future. The more I attend the less respect I incur.

Since it seems to have little to do with an actual need for belief, I begin to wonder what are its' social benefits? I am at a loss except to say that it is a comfort of alliance. I had so hoped to find something more to religion than I knew, not that I wanted to become religious, but at least to see that it did some good in the world and was not only rhetoric. But with each adventure we take I become more and more convinced that its' negative effects have all the more weight than the positive ones.

One could say that it is nice for people of similar background to come together and sing and dance and be nice to each other. However, it is not that simple. Along with that coming together is a superficiality about why they are there and what is important. What good can come from following along to a song or prayer you don't even understand? I was at first impressed with the spontaneity of their wedding dance. Then I learned it was requisite. What does this say besides perhaps we should get other people to do our thinking for us? I guess that is the basis of faith, yet I am left feeling worn out and empty. Perhaps this is why I did not know where to begin writing this week, I am left with nothing from these services. Not even an interesting anecdote.