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."