Holy Week In The Eastern Orthodox Tradition

Contemporary worship renewalists in the West have become increasingly interested in the worship content and style of the Eastern Orthodox church. The article below suggests what Western Christians may learn from Eastern worship.

Perhaps more than any other Christian church at the present moment, Orthodox Christians celebrate the crown of the liturgical cycle, Pascha, the day of Resurrection, with intensive participation and joy, coupled with an awesome sense of the holiness of God. So it seemed to me when, for the first time, at about thirty years of age, I experienced Holy Week in an Orthodox church. I brought to the service a background of varied Christian experience, both liturgical and nonliturgical as regards the frequent celebration of the Eucharist. The dean of the cathedral was a mature and radiant Christian, Fr. Sergei Glagolev, also a conservatory-trained composer and seminary teacher of liturgical music. His singing, combined with that of the talented deacon, had blessed us throughout Lent. In the morning of the Saturday that starts Holy Week we had celebrated the raising of Lazarus, and that evening we began the experience of Palm Sunday with the blessing and procession with the palms. It was a church of Slavic background, so "palms" meant boughs of willow, gaily tied bundles with pussy-willows that could be kept from year to year. (Willow branches are an ancient and charming adaptation to the unavailability of palm branches in northern climes.) During the course of the service, there was physical congregational participation in the movement of the procession, in the frequent use of the sign of the cross, in different levels of posture, in the singing, and in the reading of the epistle. The small, rounded building radiated coziness, the domed architecture suggesting both universality and intimacy. Frescoed walls were alive with saints and angels. The theme of Lent for Orthodox Christians is the prayer of St. Ephraim, said communally with prostrations (kneeling and bowing one's head to the ground): O Lord and Master of my life! Take from me the spirit of sloth, despair, lust of power, and idle talk. (Bow) Rather, give the spirit of chastity, humility, patience, and love to Your servant. (Bow) Yes, O Lord and King, grant that I may see my own transgressions, and not those of my brother: For You are Blessed unto ages of ages. Amen. (Bow) This had been the daily prayer, the aim of our lives in a special, intense way, for the days of Great Lent. The services, far from being severe and stark, had been rich and personal. The reception of Holy Communion had been more frequent than at other times, with the biweekly use of the Liturgy of the Presanctified Gifts. Conveyed to our understanding was God's tenderness, his mercy, even in the recognition of his holiness and of our weakness. Special services called "Bridegroom Services" reminded us that it was the eleventh hour: "Behold, the Bridegroom cometh!" Now, standing on the brink of Easter, we were both weary with our Lenten efforts and yet sad that this particular season of personal and corporate reflection and effort Godward was drawing to a close. The services of Holy Thursday and Good Friday were long, but very moving. Indeed, from Thursday on, the choir (of which I was a member) seemingly lived in church, going home only to sleep. Thursday we commemorated Jesus' Last Supper with his disciples. We spent Good Friday morning at the foot of the cross, recalling once again the victory which began that day with the descent by the Savior into the realms of death. Flowers filled the church and were lovingly arranged about the "shroud of Christ," his icon woven into a large cloth, which was later venerated by all with prostrations and kisses—and by many with tears. But since the day of Resurrection was about to dawn we were filled with joy and anticipation. In the kitchens at home, special foods were being prepared for the Easter feast. When possible, meat and dairy products had not been used during the fast, and the meals had been a powerful reminder of the solemnity of the season. With the trees outside, our very souls had seemed to bud in the Lenten spring. Now our homes were filled with the good smells of baking, and we filled wooden molds with the special "cheese Pascha" decorated with the words "Jesus Christ is Victor!" Eggs were dyed, some to eat and some pysanky, to exchange. Many of Russian or Ukrainian descent prepared the traditional food baskets, to be blessed together after the paschal liturgy, and shared in the potluck breakfast following. Due to the length of the services and in anticipation of the reception of converts, it is traditional to serve the first Saturday liturgy, with the reception of the catechumens, in the afternoon. Baptisms are traditionally (and ideally) held at this Liturgy of St. Basil, since baptism is the great paschal mystery, proclaiming our dying and rising with Christ. Each baptized, after a triple immersion, is carried or walks with the clergy and sponsors around the font to the singing of St. Paul's hymn: "As many as have been baptized into Christ have put on Christ! Alleluia!" Together with the faithful, the newly baptized receives his or her first taste of the "fountain of immortality." I watched that afternoon as each member received Holy Communion with the words: "The servant of God, N, receives the Body and Blood of Christ, for the remission of his/her sins, and unto life everlasting." How special it is, I thought, to be called by name to the Lord's Table. The paschal liturgy began with Matins around 11:30 p.m. in absolute darkness. And then, with all of the drama of its liturgy, the church celebrated the eternal Pascha. Invited to "Come, receive the light!" from the Paschal candle, we processed around the outside of the church three times while solemnly intoning a hymn which seemed to bridge the gap between penitence and jubilation: Thy resurrection, O Christ our Savior the angels in heaven sing! Enable us on earth to glorify Thee in purity of heart. The procession stopped before the church door. There we stood, with the myrrh bearers, at the tomb of Christ, expecting—but longing—for the words "He is not here, He is risen!" With the clergy and choir, we took our places before the throne (as the altar is called) and continued the song of victory. Now we sang loudly and allegro: Christ is risen front he dead, trampling down death by death And upon those in th etomb bestowing life! In the Orthodox liturgy, virtually everything is sung, except for the sermon. But now the orderliness, the solemn integrity of the service with its measured movement toward Holy Communion, was joyously disrupted again and again by the shout of the celebrants, "Christ is risen!" and the roared response of the people, "Indeed He is risen!" in the several languages of those present. The sermon, as always, was simply the reading of the short homily of St. John Chrysostom with its wonderful invitation to the feast extended to all the faithful. The Paschal Canon was sung, with its great theme, "This is the day the Lord has made," taken from Psalm 118, the last Psalm of Passover, believed to be the hymn Jesus last sang with his disciples. The Orthodox temple is considered the meeting place of heaven and earth, and the icons (holy pictures which are "written" in strict canonical language) are windows of heaven, their perspective reversed so that we might see in whose presence we stand. The faces glowed merrily with candlelight. Now that the light of Christ had again entered the temple, all was alight. Everyone who could, remained standing. Children made themselves comfortable on the floor, in the arms of whoever picked them up, or on the chairs reserved for the weary or infirm. Some were overcome by sleep; indeed, more than once the procession had to detour around a sleeping boy of about four, but the children's anticipation was keen and their participation, when possible at that hour, was eager. When the faithful approached the chalice for Holy Communion, the babies and little children came first, in accordance with the wishes of the Savior: "Let the children come to me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of God." After the community's participation in the Holy Gifts, the bishop stood with the clergy in the front of the church, and all walked by to greet him and one another with three kisses and the words, "Christ is risen!" "Indeed He is risen!" Each received a bright red egg from the bishop, as a sign that Lent is past, the Lord is risen, and together we are about to enjoy the family feast which also proclaims the good things he has won for us by his victory over death. It was an unforgettable meal. I was won to Orthodoxy by the joy of God's people—by the warmth of their homes, their music, their icons, their liturgical life. Something was given to me that night which cannot be taken away, and I understand it to be a participation in the kingdom of God. I believe that explains why, when an "official" atheist propagandist of the Soviet state, years ago, was berating a crowd of Russians, he was silenced simply by the cry of one old man, "Christ is risen!" and the unanimous, jubilant reply, "Indeed, He is risen!" For going to an Orthodox paschal service is like visiting a great cathedral in Europe; it is not only rich with the prayers of those present, but its very walls, as it were, are overlaid with the prayers of the centuries. It is an anticipation of that which is to come and, at the same time, a family feast for those living in Christ or "asleep in the Lord" to enjoy together with Him. As the reckoning of the Orthodox Pascha includes the stipulation that its celebration be after the Jewish Passover, it usually falls on quite a different date than that observed in the Western churches. Consider a second celebration of the same great feast one year!