It’s Difficult Being in Church

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A short while ago I began going to church. A woman told me, "Go to church and attend the services." So I went. Although I didn’t especially want to go, and was a bit afraid and nervous, I went all the same.

I went into the church, and I had just crossed the threshold (the service had already started) when something inside me burst and I broke down crying. I don’t know, and can’t explain why - I myself don’t understand it - but I just stood there and cried. I can’t say that I understood or was aware at that time that this was exactly what I was searching for. No, actually it was just the opposite. I wasn’t thinking anything. I just stood there and cried, not noticing anyone or anything around me.

That was the first time. About a week later I went to church again, then again towards the end of the service, and then I started going at the beginning. Then the most interesting thing started happening.

I’m going to make a slight digression. Our city is not very big and has only one active church, which is generally visited by old grandmothers.

In general, I love grandmothers, and I always imagined them being kind and welcoming. And how my soul yearned to see such kindness after having just crossed the threshold of the Orthodox Church. But the opposite was the case: one old grandmother rudely pushed me when I went to light a candle "not at the right time," another told me off because I was standing on "her" spot, a third responded to my "hello" by saying that that is not how people great each other talk in church. And lots of little things like that which literally poured down on me.

There, where I expected only warmth and greetings, especially towards young people - since practically no young people go there - I received completely the opposite. Then arose the eternal question: "What to do?" Many people say: "How wonderful it is in church. As soon as I enter my soul begins to breathe." And I can in no way say the same thing for myself. How can my soul breathe when I spend my whole time wondering how to do everything right - where to stand, when to cross myself! And not to mention my tired feet after standing for three hours since sitting down would not have been proper.

You will probably say what everyone else says: I shouldn’t pay attention to such trifles, but should listen to what is read, pay attention to the singing, etc. But what if what they read is incomprehensible? What if they sing and then turn around and argue? What if I’m simply afraid to go up to the priest? What if all around me there are these "what if’s" and I can’t do anything about it? I really suffer from all of this.

Once I made up my mind and thought O.K. that’s it, today I’m not going to church. But I went all the same. And now I am thinking, perhaps I just have to go through all of this, as they say. I just don’t know.

Galina, Kazakhstan

Don’t Leave!

Many people ask why there are no benches in Orthodox churches like there are in Roman Catholic churches. In fact, sometimes there are: in America and other western countries for instance. But this is not the rule.

I believe that benches are not placed in order to underline the special character of the relationship of Orthodox Christians with God and with each other. It’s not for nothing that the main Orthodox service is called Liturgy - a word coming from the ancient Greek word meaning "common work". "To go to Liturgy" used to mean to come together "as one" to build a boat, erect a wall, etc.

In the 19th-century lexicon there appeared the phrase "to hear" a moleben, a mass, etc. But it disappeared soon afterwards, because we don’t come to hear or even to stand through the service (by the way, anyone who is very tired or sick can find a stool or little bench in practically any church - only not in the center of the church, but along the walls or in the entrance).

We don’t come just to stand through the service. We come in order to work together, so that by our participation in the Divine services our church will somehow be transformed into a huge ship, sailing towards God. But for this we don’t need "orchestra seats" - we need deck seats. We pray when the priest walks around the church with the incensor - we all move in a special way, bow, cross ourselves, listen to the priest’s supplications, we wait in line to kiss the Cross and to partake of Holy Communion, gather to venerate the icons or to chant the funeral service, and we chant "The Creed" and "The Lord’s Prayer".

I had the joy of being in the sanctuary several times during Divine Liturgy and this feeling of being in a ship was confirmed in my soul.

Sometimes a deceptive feeling would interfere with this association: it was as if I were in another place completely separate from the rest of the church. Such a quiet place with the choir singing faintly in the distance.

But suddenly you look at the priest. Even if he stands facing the altar (that means with his back to the congregation), he remains intensely concentrated on the general progression of the Liturgy.

You suddenly notice how he reacts to the flat notes sung by the choir or to someone’s inappropriate conversation on the other side of the iconostasis. And you start to understand how worried the captain of ship must get when standing on a bridge or next to the helm his crew raises the wrong sails!

Then you understand that our church and our boat are one and the same - and everyone fulfills his own duties, wherever he finds himself - whether on the deck or at the helm.

Do we find it easy to serve as sailors? Is it easy to be on deck? Is it easy to stand watch? We complain like sailors when we complain about the heaviness of church services.

But is it easy to enter into the Kingdom of Heaven? Remember the Gospel? Did Christ say that it would be easy? On the contrary: He warned us about difficulties and even about dangers. Even about a possible catastrophe.

At one time or another, the thought comes to each one of us: "I’m getting off this ship. I am no longer going to go to services where there is no guarantee of reward, where they only try to reassure you." And someone - perhaps your closest friend or relative - ends up leaving.

You glance at the spot where he went under - and you see only waves, only dark, heavy waves, as far as the horizon. "Where is he?" And you feel your eyes swelling up with tears. But suddenly you see a bird flying in the sky above the ship’s masts. A bird! That means that somewhere near - very near - there’s land! "Come back, come back, there’s land up ahead!!!"

A new crew takes over. People, pushing and hurrying to take their places. The sails fill up with wind and the boat sets off.

I beg you - please don’t leave.

Vladimir GURBOLIKOV