360 degrees of worship
MOSCOW — On Sunday, Gary Payton — the PC(USA)’s regional liaison for Russia, Ukraine, Belarus and Poland — and I went to church twice in this capital city. The experiences couldn’t have been more different.
And identical.
In the morning we attended a Russian Orthodox service at the quaint Kazan Cathedral (top, left), a tiny little house of worship nestled at the northwest corner of Red Square between the towering Resurrection Gate (destroyed by Stalin in 1931 and rebuilt in 1995) and the enormous GUM shopping complex.
Kazan Cathedral was burned to the ground in 1936 and rebuilt between 1994-1997. Sunday worship runs between two-and-a-half and three hours. The sanctuary will hold about 100 worshipers — all standing — and people come and go throughout the service. We waited in the narthex for about 15 minutes before there was room for us to enter the sanctuary.
The interior is marble-floored and the wood paneled walls are covered floor-to-ceiling with elaborately painted icons, with Jesus and Mary the most prominent. Though the weather was bitterly cold outside, the sanctuary was warm and cozy.
I have never in my life been so struck by the mystery of the Christian faith. To a U.S. Protestant largely unfamiliar with Orthodox worship, the combination of Russian language and highly-ritualized liturgy was in one sense disorienting.
But the intonations of the clergy, the Taize-like singing of the small choir and the familiar images — Christ, the apostles, biblical scenes — and the knowledge that this service has been replicated throughout the Orthodox world since time immemorial gave a remarkable sense of calm and comfort.
In the afternoon, we attended worship at the Moscow Protestant Chaplaincy (photo top right of the Rev. Bob Bronkema and Gary Payton serving communion). Here the liturgical structure, language (English) and hymns and praise songs were so familiar I didn’t need a hymnbook. The pastor, the Rev. Bob Bronkema, is a PC(USA) pastor who served in St. Augustine Presbytery before coming here 18 months ago, and all felt utterly familiar. I could just have easily been at Crescent Hill Presbyterian Church in Louisville, my home congregation.
Two services — utterly and completely different in style and feel. But utterly identical in their spiritual and emotional impact.
How can this be?
The Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper. Celebrated in both houses of worship. Again utterly different in style and feel. And both complete affirmations of the central mystery of the Christian faith — in Christ we are one because we are one in Christ.
At Kazan Cathedral, the priest spoon-fed a small amount of the eucharistic elements into the mouths of worshipers as they came forward — infants and children first. Then each moved to a side table where women offered small cups of hot tea and chunks of plain bread — a light meal served on the Orthodox presumption that worshipers had fasted since the day before. This was a true break-fast.
At Moscow Protestant Chaplaincy, worshipers, too, came forward to receive the eucharistic elements by intinction, before returning to their seats. Far less ritualized, less formal, but every bit as theologically mysterious as the Orthodox communion liturgy.
In those two services, I realized as never before what Jesus meant when he prayed that “they all may be one.” Two worship services. One ancient and inscrutable, the other contemporary famiar. They couldn’t have been more different.
But in the breaking of the bread and the sharing of the cup, the promise of unity in Jesus Christ was so palpable as to almost be real, despite the scandalous divisions in the PC(USA) and between Christians throughout the world.
MOSCOW — On Sunday, Gary Payton — the PC(USA)’s regional liaison for Russia, Ukraine, Belarus and Poland — and I went to church twice in this capital city. The experiences couldn’t have been more different.
And identical.
In the morning we attended a Russian Orthodox service at the quaint Kazan Cathedral (top, left), a tiny little house of worship nestled at the northwest corner of Red Square between the towering Resurrection Gate (destroyed by Stalin in 1931 and rebuilt in 1995) and the enormous GUM shopping complex.
Kazan Cathedral was burned to the ground in 1936 and rebuilt between 1994-1997. Sunday worship runs between two-and-a-half and three hours. The sanctuary will hold about 100 worshipers — all standing — and people come and go throughout the service. We waited in the narthex for about 15 minutes before there was room for us to enter the sanctuary.
The interior is marble-floored and the wood paneled walls are covered floor-to-ceiling with elaborately painted icons, with Jesus and Mary the most prominent. Though the weather was bitterly cold outside, the sanctuary was warm and cozy.
I have never in my life been so struck by the mystery of the Christian faith. To a U.S. Protestant largely unfamiliar with Orthodox worship, the combination of Russian language and highly-ritualized liturgy was in one sense disorienting.
But the intonations of the clergy, the Taize-like singing of the small choir and the familiar images — Christ, the apostles, biblical scenes — and the knowledge that this service has been replicated throughout the Orthodox world since time immemorial gave a remarkable sense of calm and comfort.
In the afternoon, we attended worship at the Moscow Protestant Chaplaincy (photo top right of the Rev. Bob Bronkema and Gary Payton serving communion). Here the liturgical structure, language (English) and hymns and praise songs were so familiar I didn’t need a hymnbook. The pastor, the Rev. Bob Bronkema, is a PC(USA) pastor who served in St. Augustine Presbytery before coming here 18 months ago, and all felt utterly familiar. I could just have easily been at Crescent Hill Presbyterian Church in Louisville, my home congregation.
Two services — utterly and completely different in style and feel. But utterly identical in their spiritual and emotional impact.
How can this be?
The Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper. Celebrated in both houses of worship. Again utterly different in style and feel. And both complete affirmations of the central mystery of the Christian faith — in Christ we are one because we are one in Christ.
At Kazan Cathedral, the priest spoon-fed a small amount of the eucharistic elements into the mouths of worshipers as they came forward — infants and children first. Then each moved to a side table where women offered small cups of hot tea and chunks of plain bread — a light meal served on the Orthodox presumption that worshipers had fasted since the day before. This was a true break-fast.
At Moscow Protestant Chaplaincy, worshipers, too, came forward to receive the eucharistic elements by intinction, before returning to their seats. Far less ritualized, less formal, but every bit as theologically mysterious as the Orthodox communion liturgy.
In those two services, I realized as never before what Jesus meant when he prayed that “they all may be one.” Two worship services. One ancient and inscrutable, the other contemporary famiar. They couldn’t have been more different.
But in the breaking of the bread and the sharing of the cup, the promise of unity in Jesus Christ was so palpable as to almost be real, despite the scandalous divisions in the PC(USA) and between Christians throughout the world.
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