THE PRAYER OF LITURGY IN THE

ORTHODOX CHURCH
JOHN CHRYSSAVGIS

ENTRY INTO ANOTHER WORLD

The Notion of Tradition

I
n the Orthodox Church, devotional forms and gestures have been
meticulously and continuously preserved, without any major change,
for centuries. I have, therefore, every reason to believe that, at least
to some degree, my family shares today the tradition that Byzantines
experienced in churches of Constantinople during the tenth century. The
Byzantines were a deeply liturgical people. And the Orthodox liturgy
continues to be a remembrance of particular acts and persons in the time
of Jesus of Nazareth. Yet, the Orthodox liturgy is a timeless reenactment,
not solely—indeed, not even primarily—of past events, but rather of a
living presence. It is a celebration of the heavenly kingdom, a promise and
a pledge in the here and now.
The strong aroma of antiquity and continuity generated by the ceremo-
nial expression usually impresses western Christians attending the divine
liturgy of the Orthodox. For Orthodoxy typically presents—and is even
frequently so presented by the Orthodox—as a seamless robe, as a totality,
in which every part adheres in the whole in primordial and perfect
harmony. In actual fact, the attachment to tradition does not imply im-
mobility or stagnation. In reality, there has always been growth and
development in Orthodox liturgy. This change is slow, almost impercep-
tible, because it is a natural process, not a programmed reform from above
or even from below. This is why we like to call it a living tradition. To
quote the Roman Catholic liturgist Robert F. Taft: "Of course it results in
any number of loose ends, hard to reconcile practices, customs that

John Chryssavgis is Professor of Theology at Holy Cross School of Theology. His recent
books include Beyond the Shattered Image: Orthodox Perspectives on the Environment
(1999) and Soul Mending: The Art of Spiritual Direction (2000).
412
 Liturgy in the Orthodox Church 413

overlap or even contradict one another—but they are loose ends of the
living, rather than the well ordered immobility of the dead."1
The question, of course, is how Orthodox liturgy will be retrieved and
presented, not as merely emotional, but as deeply essential, not as exter-
nally attractive, but as essentially logical and theological. It must be admitted
that Orthodoxy is often successful on the wrong grounds: because it is
exotic, escapist, or sufficiently different. People are attracted—or ultimately
distracted—by the orientalism (the music, the icons, the mysticism).
Orthodox themselves are often enticed by the luggage that they carry
around, by the symbolic explanation of every detail and gesture. Yet,
liturgy is essentially symbolic of only one thing, "the one thing that alone
is necessary" (Luke 10:42). Its ultimate meaning is the entrance into the
kingdom of heaven. And heaven is where Christ is. To quote John
Chrysostom, whose fourth-century liturgy the Orthodox Church celebrates
to this day each Sunday: "What do I care about heaven, when I myself
have become heaven?"
The liturgy is neither primarily ceremonial nor mystical. It is the
celebration of a single mystery, namely, the conviction that "Christ is in
our midst." That is the central focus. The hymns and music translate this
very certainty, mirroring the evolution of this reality expressed in doctrinal
ideas.2 Verse and voice intimately link with theological vision. Unfortu-
nately, today there is less expression of individual emotion and imagina-
tion than in the first millennium. Nevertheless, the element of the "other-
worldliness" is definitely preserved.
Tradition, then, is more than the mere remembrance of certain acts of
Christ and of some of his words. It is understood in terms of living with
Christ and in Christ "through the fellowship of the Holy Spirit." By
analogy, the liturgy is more than a mere remembrance of acts and words
of the Lord. It is the act of the Word; it is the act of self-sacrifice and love.
Nicholas Cabasilas, a fourteenth-century liturgical commentator, notes,
"The rite is not a mere figure or symbol, but a true sacrifice."3
Precisely during the liturgy Christ is transmitted, handed down to us
(trado, paradidò). In fact, what occurs is a mutual handing over: "Thine
own of thine own." Orthodox spirituality would affirm Irenaeus's words
that "our whole life should conform to the Eucharist, and the Eucharist
should confirm our whole life."4 There is, in the context of liturgy, a virtual
identity between Christ and tradition, between Christ as past, present, and
future (compare Rev 4:8), between the One who has already come and
who is yet to come. This constitutes the heart and center of the Christian
faith.

1 r
Beyond East and West: Problems in Liturgical Understanding (Washington, DC: Pas-
toral Press, 1984), 116. f
2
See Egon Wellesz, A History of Byzantine Music and Hymnography (Oxford: Claren- Í
f
don, 1961).
3
Commentary on the Divine Liturgy (New York: St. Vladimir's Seminary Press, 1997), ¡
81. ι
Λ
Against Heresies IV.5.18, in Patrologiae cursus completos, series graeca (hereafter,
PG), 162 vols., ed. J.-P. Migne (Paris: Migne, 1857-1886), 6:1028.
414 Theology Today

Tradition, Liturgy, and Doctrine

The reference to faith raises a further dimension of the importance and
influence of doctrinal development on the liturgy. Imperial patronage in the
early fourth century had immediate and profound consequences for the church
generally, and for its worship especially. The emperor's influence was, of
course, also felt in the domain of doctrine. Fierce doctrinal conflict and unprec-
edented theological creativity for the churchfilledthe fourth century. "Homoou-
sian" and "hypostasiac" terminology, christological and trinitarian theology—
these discussions inevitably left their mark also on eastern liturgy. There is an
added prominence, prestige, and privilege in liturgical matters that is gradually
concentrated on the imperial city of New Rome, Constantinople, whose typikon
(orritual)becomes "typ-ical" for the whole of the Eastern Church.

"Contemporary Orthodoxy just like their Byzantine

forefathers and foremothers used to, behave inside the
church much as they behave outside. There exists, for them,
no sharp division between sacred and secular."

No wonder, then, that liturgy is respected like doctrine, that the lex
orandi (rule of prayer) is so closely connected to the lex credendi (rule of
belief). It is not difficult to appreciate why Byzantines of old and Orthodox
today feel that "truly, till heaven and earth pass away, not an iota, not a dot,
will pass from the law" (Matt 5:18) of liturgy. Like John of Damascus, the
eighth-century champion of icons, wrote about tradition, "We do not change the
everlasting boundaries which our fathers have set, but we keep the tradition,
just as we received it,"5 so Nicholas Cabasilas would say of the liturgy,
"Beyond this it is not possible to go, nor can anything be added to it."6
There are certain doctrines, never formally defined, that are nonetheless
maintained with as much inner conviction by the Orthodox Church as any
explicit dogmatic formulation. St. Basil of Caesarea wrote as early as in
the fourth century, "Some things we have from written teaching, while
others we have received from the apostolic tradition handed down to us in
a mystery; and both these things have the same force for piety."7
Certainly, for the Orthodox, the liturgy belongs to one of those powerful
traditions "handed down to us in a mystery." This is precisely why no one
will so much as blink an eye during the divine liturgy when the deacon—
apparently out of nowhere, but certainly out of apostolic tradition and

5
On the Holy Images 11, 12 (PG 94:1297).
6
On the Life in Christ, IV. 1 (PG 150:584). See the English translation (New York: St.
Vladimir's Seminary Press, 1974), 114.
7
On the Holy Spirit 27, in A Select Library of Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the
Christian Church, series 2, 14 vols., ed. Philip Schaff and Henry Wace (Grand Rapids:
Eerdmans, 1952-1957), 8:41 (author's translation).
 Liturgy in the Orthodox Church 415

conviction—still cries out, immediately preceding the recital of the

Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed ("the symbol of faith"), "The doors! The
doors! Wisdom! Let us be attentive!"
This recalls the early days when the church's entrance was jealously
guarded—out of fear for persecution in the first Christian period, out of
fear for profanation in later centuries. Only the initiated members—those
baptized and able to recite the common principles of belief—could remain
in the church. No one moves today; certainly no one leaves. Ironically,
John Chrysostom complained that, in his day, people seized this opportu-
nity to leave with the catechumens. Nevertheless, the powerful reminder
of the link between credal formulation and liturgical adoration remains.
Some Contrasts and Comparisons: "My World and Your World"
Attending an Orthodox liturgy, for many non-Orthodox, is like entering
a different world, a world governed by a tradition that goes back many
centuries: a different architecture, a peculiar iconography, the remote altar
space. Ritual and richness abound here. The faithful do not even see the
full altar; the prothesis where the gifts are prepared—without any obvious
participation by the laity—is entirely out of sight.
Where western liturgy is characterized by simplicity, the keynote of the
eastern eucharist is solemnity. The same may be said of liturgical space,
movement, and dress. Solemnity is the key, not simplicity. The distinction
in the west between clergy and laity is less apparent, while the service is
clearly visible and audible. All those present at a Catholic or Protestant
service are normally expected to receive communion.
By contrast, in the Orthodox Liturgy, there is an air of reverence, as well
as an atmosphere of informality. The congregation is in fact fairly silent—
people will worship with their eyes and ears. They will also worship with
their body—moving about, lighting candles, standing, kneeling, making
the sign of the cross at any time and many times, bowing or fully
prostrating. They worship even with their sense of smell—incense, bread,
oil, candles. Surprisingly, not all—indeed few—will approach for com-
munion. Everyone, however, lines up for the antidoron, the blessed bread,
at the conclusion of the service.
There are some further details that may puzzle a western Christian.
While the basic liturgical structure may be similar, many other differences
will not be familiar. There is less emphasis on the Ministry of the Word.
There are lengthy litanies, two central processions—the "Little" and
"Great" Entrances (the latter of which attracts the fervent reverence and
devotion of the people to the unconsecrated gifts). The readings are sung,
the sermon is not crucial, the kiss of peace is not exchanged except among
the clergy, significant prayers are read "silently" (or "mystically"—in fact,
the "anaphora" may be as inaudible as the priest saying it is invisible), and
communion is given with a spoon to adults and babies alike.
There is almost a sense in which two services are going on at the same
time—one in the sanctuary and the other more visibly. The two coincide
at some points, but in many ways the people in the congregation seem to
be only passive attendants. This idea of two liturgies, or rather two levels
416 Theology Today

of liturgy, is significant, not so much in itself, but as a unique symbol of

another twofold reality. It is, as will be seen in the next section, a reminder
that, in the liturgy, heaven and earth somehow come together, and in some
very real way concelebrate.
Furthermore, there is a strong symbolic eletnent. Actions and words
have a symbolic dimension. Gestures made in the present recall events in
the past (the birth of Christ [the prothesis signifies Bethlehem or Naz-
areth], the entry to Jerusalem [symbolized by the Great Entrance], the
burial of Christ [recalled by the placing of the gifts on the altar]). Let us
turn our attention to the nature of this profound symbolism.

"BLESSED IS THE KINGDOM"

The Liturgy as Heaven
When the liturgy as text appears in the east toward the end of the
fourth century, the eucharist is seen to be offered by a church that still
is as mindful of Christ's second coming as of his passion and resur-
rection. The sense of eager expectation was always heightened for the
early Christians when they gathered for the eucharistie meal. The
eucharist was an image of the heavenly banquet, of the divine kingdom.
So, the early Christians looked two ways: forward and backward, or
upward and downward; there was a keen sense of anamnesis (remem-
bering of the past) and anaphora (referring to the future). Here then,
already adumbrated, is the double emphasis on heaven and home, or on
home as heaven. The future kingdom was a present reality, not a distant
hope but an experienced joy: "Where two or three are gathered in my
name, there I am also" (Matt 18:20). "And lo, I am with you always,
to the end of the age" (Matt 28:20). The eucharist was a foretaste of
that kingdom. On the bishop's chair, according to Ignatius of Antioch,
Christ himself was seated.
The paradox of "homeliness" and "mysteriousness" is already apparent
in the second-century theological descriptions, and the west seems early
on to prefer images of sacrifice to models of thanksgiving. Thus, while
Irenaeus of Lyons (who came from Asia Minor to the west) emphasized
the eucharist as an offering of thanks, as a sharing of the firstfruits of
creation, the view that became predominant was that of Cyprian, who
emphasized that the sacrifice offered in the rite was the passion of Christ.
We must, of course, be wary of simplistic distinctions: Cyril of Jerusalem
(mid-fourth century) underlines, in the east also, the propitiatory charac-
ter.8 In fact, it is Cyril who introduces a pious element to liturgy (devotions
preceding or during communion, decline in frequency of communion),
coupled with a language of fear with regard to the sacrament. This
dimension appears again in the teaching of John Chrysostom (therefore in
Antioch and, subsequently, in Constantinople).
In the east, furthermore, practical movements gradually assume sym-
bolic value. The third-century Syrian document Didascalia Apostolorum

l
Mystagogical Catechesis 5-6 and On Faith and the Symbol (PG 33:505-24).
 Liturgy in the Orthodox Church 417
describes the deacons' ministerial role as simply practical. In the same
century, however, the great Alexandrian thinker Origen develops a theol-
ogy of Christian mystery and symbol. This teaching is developed into a
tradition of rich liturgical interpretation and imitation by Dionysius the
Areopagite in the fifth century, Maximus the Confessor in the seventh,
Germanos of Constantinople in the eighth, Theodore the Studite in the
ninth, Nicholas and Theodore of Andida in the eleventh, Nicholas Cabasi-
las in the fourteenth, and Symeon of Thessalonika in the fifteenth. Simple,
practical gestures assume solemn, profound significance:
It is the deacons who bring out this oblation . . . which they arrange and place
on the awe-inspiring altar, a vision . . . awe-inspiring even to the onlookers.
By means of the symbols we must see Christ, who is now being led out and
going forth to his passion, and who, in another moment, is laid out for us on
the altar And when the offering that is about to be presented is brought
out in the sacred vessels, the patens and chalices, you must think that Christ
the Lord is coming out, led to his passion... by the invisible host of
ministers . . . who were also present when the passion of salvation was being
accomplished. [The deacons] stand around and wave their fans . . . because
the Body lying there is truly Lord by its union with the divine nature. It is
with great fear that it must be laid out, viewed and guarded. These things take
place in complete silence because, although the Liturgy has not yet begun,
still it is fitting to watch the bringing out and depositing of such a great and
wonderful object in recollection and fear and a silent and quiet prayer,
without saying anything.10
The Liturgy as Home
When one enters the liturgy in the Orthodox Church, one is conscious
of entering the familiar surroundings of one's home. There is, then, also a
sense of homeyness and informality. Contemporary Orthodox, just as their
Byzantine forefathers and foremothers used to, behave inside the church
much as they behave outside. There exists, for them, no sharp division
between sacred and secular. There is much movement: people drifting in
and out, lighting candles, venerating icons, even talking. In the fourth
century, John Chrysostom complained, "Here in church, there is great
disturbance and confusion, and it is as bad as a tavern. There is so much
laughing and chattering."11
To the outsider, it would perhaps appear "as bad as a tavern." However,
physicality and materiality are an important part of Orthodox worship. The
bread is always real bread, the wine is bright and red (and it signifies not
just death and sacrifice, but life and joy). Baptism is full immersion, and
confession involves physical contact in the laying on of the hand. There is
bread and oil and boiled wheat. The patristic principle that "what is not
assumed is not healed" is very real here. 12 The liturgy becomes the ground
on which all things meet and make sense, and outside of which all things
are unrecognizable and isolated.

9
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1909), 120.
10
Robert F. Taft, The Great Entrance (Rome: Orientalia Christiana Periodica, 1978), 35.
n
On the First Epistle to the Corinthians XXXVI (PG 61:313).
12
Gregory the Theologian, Epistle I to Cleidonius (PG 37:181).
418 Theology Today

There is a powerful and pervading sense of homey-ness and famili-arity:

Orthodox bring to church the food and drink prepared at home. They are
"participants at a festive meal," sharers of a banquet. Yet, they are not
consumers; they are worshipers. Prior to and in preparation for commun-
ion, the following prayer is recited: "The lamb of God is broken and
distributed; broken yet not divided; forever eaten yet never consumed;
sanctifying those who partake."
There is an important message here for a consumer society like ours,
where people are always eating or drinking while they walk. The liturgical
ethos reverses the social norm: We are not called to be aggressive, to
consume and struggle in a world where "only the fittest survive." We are
to share, to be vulnerable, to repeat the words of Christ at the Lord's
Supper, not merely as the institution of a sacrament, but as the inspiration
of a new way of life: "Take, eat of this my body; drink of this, all of you,
this is my blood."
In the liturgy, we breathe the clean, unpolluted air of the resurrection.
When the witness of Revelation writes, "I, John, was in the Spirit on the
Lord's day . . . and I saw a new heaven and a new earth" (Rev 1:10), he is
telling us, "I took part in the liturgy." St. John is, at this point, the
forerunner of Eastern/Byzantine liturgical commentators. He is saying that
everything makes sense and assumes full meaning in the liturgy. We feel
at home and speak our mother tongue—the language of reconciliation and
love. We know that God exists, because we are embraced warmly and
accepted unconditionally. We care for others because we discover them
and discern their needs. We grow more sensitive to the "groans and pains"
of creation (Rom 8:22) because everything is valued and inspired. The
only response is gratitude and grace. The only note of dissonance is that
of disconnection, or ingratitude. We learn to share and to thank: for the sun
and the stars, for the pain and the tears, for the trees and the flowers, for
the trials and the failures, for life and for death, for life's realities. This is
why the liturgy actually begins from the moment when we leave our
homes, when we are on our way to constitute the church. There is no single
"moment" when it commences, or any particular "time" when it con-
cludes. This is perhaps why Orthodox feel free to arrive late, or to come
and go.

Heaven on Earth
This is the depth of the liturgy, "the final mystery beyond which it is not
possible to go."13 This is the meaning of the liturgy as "heaven on
earth"—as the presence of the angels, the archangels, the kingdom of
heaven, the earth, the people, the whole of creation, and the Creator God
as well. It is far more than the "here and now." It is an all-embracing
drama, a meeting place of the earthly and the heavenly. This is made clear
in the Orthodox liturgy with the two "entrances," when the prayer is

13
Nicholas Cabasilas, The Life in Christ IV.l (PG 150:584).
 Liturgy in the Orthodox Church 419

recited, "Make with our entry an entry of your holy angels, celebrating the
liturgy with us."
"In this mystery," the liturgy continues, "we are icons of the cherubim."
Again John Chrysostom affirms, "Those in heaven and those on earth form
a single festival, a shared thanksgiving, one choir."14 Now, to the outsider,
perhaps one of the most striking qualities of Orthodox liturgy is the
opulent ritualism, at least in contrast to the apparent verbalism of other
liturgies. Everything is always sung. Orthodox Christians do not come to
church simply to pray. Nor do they go to church to be alone. Something
is believed to be "happening" there, the kingdom of heaven is present
there. There is an epiphany and a theophany, and the faithful are called to
"join in," invited to participate. Sometimes people wonder whether Or-
thodox are aware of this liturgical depth in their tradition. Yet, how many
of those who join in a cultural or popular dance realize the historical
origins of that dance, or even are aware of its sociological significance.
Such ignorance hardly detracts from the power or profundity of the
experience. Just before each liturgy, Sunday by Sunday, Orthodox Chris-
tians pray, "God, our God, who sent your heavenly bread, the food of the
whole world, to bless us, bless also the offering." For centuries, Christians
have been scandalized that we come together in liturgy to eat, and not just
to see and hear and feel the Word of God.15
The question, however, that needs to be raised in Orthodox circles is how this
"otherworldliness" will spill over and into this world. As a window to heaven,
the liturgy is not responsible for disconnecting the two worlds but for holding
them together in a single reality and order. But what is the Orthodox Church
doing to make the spilt blood and broken body of Christ relevant and life-giving
to a young child starving for bread in Africa, to a young man dying of ADDS in
the United States, or to a young mother suffering in the Balkans? There is no
condition, no tragedy, no experience, no pain left outside of the chalice. So what
are we doing to share the body of Christ, which is "broken, but never di-
vided ... for the life of the world"?

"LET US GIVE THANKS TO THE LORD"

The Liturgy as Communion
The communal aspect of worship is central to the understanding of the
Orthodox liturgical mind. There is a sense of belonging and devotion,
within which one preserves one's personal rhythm. Upon entering the
church building, one does not pray alone. Rather, one lights a candle
before an icon—an image of the heavenly "cloud of witnesses"—and
places it alongside the other candles that have been lit.
The liturgy, therefore, is never merely the sum of the gathered individ-
uals. It is not a loose collection of people with some restricted parish plan,

14
Homily Li on Order in the Liturgy (PG 56:97).
15
Cf. Origen of Alexandria (in PG 13:1734). The notion of "hearing" the Word under-
scores the significance of silence in liturgy. Orthodox Christians pray that they "may be
made worthy to hear the Holy Gospel."
420 Theology Today

diocesan program, church policy, or religious vision. It is the freedom and

space of heaven, where each journeys freely, sails at will, thinks and
chooses personally. The liturgy does not check but confirms our hopes and
dreams. Of course, this does not happen at the expense or exclusion of
others. The liturgy broadens our horizons and interests. There is always
ample room—every new presence is never stifling, every new person is
not discomforting. In fact, it seems as if everyone is present, crowding
around the altar: "hosts of archangels, tens of thousands of angels, the
many-eyed cherubim and the six-winged seraphim . . . the prophets, apos-
tles, preachers, martyrs, confessors, ascetics," the living and the dead, the
young and old, male and female, conservatives and liberals, sane and
insane, healthy and unhealthy, rich and poor, educated and illiterate,
religious and agnostic. They are all there! They all fit. In fact, this is
precisely the significance of the Greek term for reconciliation or forgive-
ness: Synchronies implies being together in one and the same space. We
are never alone in liturgy but always in the company of angels, in the
communion of saints, and in the comfort of all creation.
What does not feed them all—is not for the life and joy of all—is not
food and joy for us, either. In liturgy, we learn to love. We are not
mechanical pieces of a political njachine, individuals in an anonymous
society. We have a personal ministry in the mystery of life, valued for who
and what we are. In the encounter with another person, Christ is formed in
us. "God makes of us a home" (John 14:23). How can such a liturgy grow
old or stagnate? Upon leaving the liturgy, we are a grain of mustard seed,
a kind of leaven, enthusiastic witnesses to the kingdom in the world.
The Liturgy as Mission
We may "depart in peace," or rather "go out (the literal meaning of the
term proelthomen) in peace." We move out once again to the same routine,
daily schedule, to our respective work. Yet, we now know otherwise; we
now see differently; we now work at another pace, as a dynamic presence
in the world: "We declare to you what was from the beginning, what we
have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and
touched with our hands, concerning the word of life . . . the eternal life that
was with the Father and was revealed to us . . . so that you also may have
fellowship with us . . . so that our joy may be complete" (1 John 1:1-4).
The goodness of God is celebrated and results in the godliness of
creation. At the Little Entrance, the Orthodox liturgy prays, "O Master and
Lord . . . grant us to glorify your goodness." In this experience of reality,
in this beginning and fulfillment of everything, there is nothing to add,
nothing else to say or explain. The deacon, in mind-blowing words that are
often missed, sings, "Let us stand in goodness." This is not merely a call
to be upstanding or awake. It is a reminder of the radical reversal of
secular values brought about in the liturgy. The deacon is basically saying,
"Don't just do something; stand there!" Again in the Orthodox liturgy,
those gathered sing, "Standing in the temple of your glory, we think we are
in heaven." This recalls the apostolic sentiment on the Mountain of
Transfiguration: "Lord, it is good for us to be here" (Matt 17:4).
 Liturgy in the Orthodox Church 421

The music serves to underline the same communal dimension of wor-

ship that unites heaven and earth, though it may sometimes appear to be
undermined in Orthodox churches where the music is very intricate. In
early Christian times, the term choir {choros), communion (koindnia), and
church (ekklësia) are used almost synonymously.
The crucial question, then, is not what happens to the elements or what
happens to the individuals in attendance, but what happens to the entire
church. The liturgy is never for inner consumption. This, however, means
that Orthodox Christians need to find a vivid language and recover the
liturgy from its reputation of traditionalism and stagnation, to communi-
cate its treasures. For example, what is the Orthodox Church doing to
relate its liturgy to the younger generation and to other people in the
English language? And so far as concerns the music, a compelling ques-
tion is whether today we can use the same Byzantine criteria for English- ,
speaking congregations.
I

The Liturgy as Prayer

The prayer of the Orthodox Church was not formed primarily in the
hearts of individual saints or within the walls of historical monasteries.
It was formed in the liturgy of the community. It was the liturgy that
provided the regular and rhythmical pattern for adoration and inter-
cession. The cycle of weekly liturgies, the daily routine of morning
prayer and evening song, and the unceasing invocation of the name of
Jesus were intimately connected and interactively life-giving as blood
cells in a body. Morning praise, evening thanksgiving, and Sunday "
eucharist—together, these marked the hours of human activity and
sealed the presence of God in the life of the community. Every ι
instant of time and of the world was rejuvenated by contact with the ι
B
fire of such prayer. All the services collectively, and each office
uniquely, prophetically preached and tangibly revealed the signs of the
kingdom.
Indeed, the liturgy consumes everything in the time of the kingdom,
guiding each worshiper beyond individual concerns and embracing
every soul, every city, and every century. When I pray, therefore, *
during liturgy, I hear and echo the voice of the Apostles, the Martyrs,
the Fathers and Mothers, the theologians, the poets, the teachers, the
missionaries, and the ascetics. And together with the prayer of each of
these, my own personal prayer is called to join spontaneously in a
joyful act of at-one-ment and oneness. Others can pray for me. How- |
ever, no one else can pray in my place. In liturgy, then, my prayer
brings into synthesis the prayer of the world. In my soul, a synthesis is
brought about with the soul of the world.
All this, of course, comes about with much toil and struggle. My body
and soul serve to condition this effort with manual, physical, and spiritual
attunement, not unlike the tuning of a musical instrument.
422 Theology Today

" N E W HEAVEN AND N E W EARTH"

The Liturgy as Cosmic
The emphasis, mentioned earlier, on "goodness" gives rise to a final
point about the liturgy, and is reminiscent of another passage in Scripture:
"God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good"
(Gen 1:31).
It is so easy to misinterpret the liturgy as being an escape from this
world, as comprising a divine ecstasy. However, if I have mentioned
tradition and preservation in the Orthodox Church, I need now to elaborate
on the liturgy as transforming the whole world to the last speck of dust, the
liturgy as realizing what "conservatives" and "preservatives" claim to do.
We all know that the world should not be regarded as mere or useful
necessity; we say that we should live in modest harmony with nature and

"Whenever we narrow religious life to our own concerns, we

overlook the calling of the church in the liturgy to implore—
always and everywhere—for the renewal of the whole
polluted cosmos."

not in audacious supremacy over it. Yet, we are inexorably trapped—even

in many of our attempts to provide solutions—within the stifling circle of
our individual desire for self-preservation. The liturgy gives us a fresh and
refreshing sense of enlarged life. Whenever we narrow religious life to our
own concerns, we overlook the calling of the church in the liturgy to
implore—always and everywhere—for the renewal of the whole polluted
cosmos.
So, the whole world is the space of the liturgy. This is why we pray for
people in all circumstances and of all needs: "for the sick, the suffering,
the needy, those traveling, for those in captivity," and "for the whole
world, for the parish, every parish, for every city and land, and for the faith
who dwell in them."
There is a mosaic in Ravenna portraying saints, martyrs, hierarchs, and
faithful laity, each of them holding a crown that they will place at the feet
of Christ. The liturgy presents the same image at the prothesis: the priest
places the "Lamb" at the center of the diskos (signifying the disk of the
world), and all around are the fragments of bread symbolizing the Mother
of God, the angels, prophets and saints, all the dead and the living.
Together, heaven and earth offer one hymn, one prayer, one feast, and one
doxology. This adds profound depth to the words of the eucharistie writer
par excellence of the Apostolic Fathers, Ignatius of Antioch (d. circa 112):
"Unite in one prayer, one supplication, one mind, one hope.... For this is
 Liturgy in the Orthodox Church 423

Jesus Christ and there is nothing better than he. Let all therefore hasten as
to one shrine, that is God, as to one sanctuary, that is Jesus Christ."16
There is a keen sense that not only is everyone present at the liturgy, but
the entire creation is focused on the sacredness of God: "We give thanks
to you also for this ministry which you deign to receive at our hands,
though hosts of archangels and tens of thousands of angels wait on
you . . . singing, exclaiming, crying aloud and saying: Holy, Holy, Holy."
Everything that lives cries, "Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Sabaoth.
Heaven and earth are full of divine glory."
Indeed, everything that lives aspires to share in divine holiness and is an
overture to paradise. It is not that the created world escapes to heaven; it
is that the whole world is a part of heaven. The Septuagint translation of
Ps 8:4-6 reads, "You have made us a little less than the angels." I prefer
the Hebrew, which is rendered, "You have created us a little lower than
divine beings" (compare also Ps 82:6: "You are gods... all of you").
There is no feeling of being stifled. In the liturgy, one is not an individual
in an anonymous multitude but an organic part of a mystery.17 There, one
learns to share: to deny oneself, to diminish in humility, to accept, to enjoy,
to endure, to thank (which is the meaning of the term "eucharist"), and to
glorify (which implies doxology). In short, one learns to love, which
means to participate in the inner life of God since the briefest, and the only
biblical, definition of God is that "God is love" (1 John 4:8, 16).
Through the liturgy—through this self-offering and universal offering—
the world is sanctified and transformed. The liturgy (of Basil the Great)
prays, "Lord, in return for things corruptible, grant us things incorrupt-
ible."
The Dimension of Personal Prayer
While liturgy is not identical to prayer, liturgy is nonetheless a part of
prayer. And, while prayer is not identified with liturgy, it cannot be
understood apart from liturgy. Prayer accompanies every aspect and detail
of life, including liturgy, which becomes the context within which the
contour of prayer is revealed. Liturgy, however, is not simply a public or
corporate form of prayer. In the mind of the Orthodox Church, the liturgy
is a gathering for prayer, but it is at the same time much more than that.
Liturgy is work; it is "the work of the people"—the literal meaning of the
Greek term leitourgia. In fact, at least according to the way in which the
Orthodox liturgy has been described above, it is very difficult to pray at all
during the Orthodox liturgy. Indeed, it may even be said that the primary
purpose of liturgy is not to pray.
The purpose of the liturgy is, rather, for the people of God, the com-
munion of the saints, as the body of Christ, to be gathered together in one

16
Letter to the Magnesians VII, in The Apostolic Fathers, vol. 1, The Fathers of the
Church (New York, Catholic University of America Press, 1947) (author's translation).
17
Cf. Archimandrite Vasileios, Hymn of Entry (New York: St. Vladimir's Seminary Press,
1984), 76-7.
424 Theology Today

and the same place. The liturgy is the sacrament where the church
becomes what it is supposed to be. It is the mystery that constitutes the
very essence of the church (compare Matt 16:18). When we gather as
church, we comprise more than the sum of the parts. We become—as
Ignatius of Antioch would describe it—one cup, one place, one mind, one
mouth, one soul, one baptism, one body. In the liturgy, the Orthodox
Christian knows that he or she is never alone, that "one Christian is no
Christian" (Tertullian). In the liturgy, we are in the presence of Christ; it
is the Lord who acts.
While, then, one may pray alone, one can never celebrate the liturgy
alone. For the liturgy is never for the personal piety or spiritual progress
of an individual. The liturgy is learning to bear one another's burdens,
beginning to love another, as we have been loved. The liturgy—by gift and
by grace—is an initiation and an entry into the relationship enjoyed by the
Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. It is the prayer of the Word of God
to the Father through the Spirit—a cosmic act of thanksgiving and glori-
fication.
Yet, prayer, of course, accompanies every detail and dimension of our
life. And so, in liturgy, we ask in prayer "for the peace from above" and
for all that is therighteousnessof the heavenly kingdom. We learn to unite
our will and our mind, just as our word and our mouth, our problems and
our priorities, just as our emotions and our passions, with the content and
intent of liturgy: namely, with the unique goal of giving thanks and glory
to the Trinity. In liturgy, through prayer—and especially through the
Lord's Prayer—we seek to submit ourselves to the will of God, so that
God's will may be done "on earth as it is in heaven." Of course, each one
of us attends with different sins and different suffering. But all of us are
called, time and time again in the Orthodox liturgy, to "be attentive" to
what is really happening. And we keep returning; we continue to remain
attentive; we make every effort to recall the mind that tends by nature to
wander away until we are completely transformed, until God is forcefully
"beseeched and invoked and implored to send down the Holy Spirit upon
us and upon the gifts that we have brought, in order to make of these the
body and blood of our Lord and God and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen."
The Iconic Dimension
The vision and boundaries of the world are far broader than the limited
space and life of any human being. I may be the center of this vision or
theophany, but I become aware that I am also but a detail of the world.
Indeed, the world ceases to be something that I observe objectively and
becomes something of which I am a part personally and actively. No
longer do I feel as a stranger (whether threatened or threatening) but as a
friend in and of the world. How sadly Christians have misinterpreted the
words of Christ that we are in but not of the world (compare John 17:14,
16). This is, then, the iconic understanding of the world where the "other"
world penetrates and permeates "this" world, and where the eternal infests
and invests the historical. Nothing is profane, nothing whatsoever is
 Liturgy in the Orthodox Church 425

neutral. Everything is an icon revealing God and indicating a way to God.

The whole world is a liturgy—what Maximus Confessor in the seventh
century described as a "cosmic liturgy." The liturgy merely confesses and
celebrates what is already truly there, though often neither clearly per-
ceived nor fully known.
The liturgy is an image of the world. As we have seen, when an
Orthodox Christian enters the church, he or she is entering the comfort of
his or her own home. We may further add that, when one leaves the
church, one is still in the liturgy because the whole world is a sacrament.
The whole of the world reveals a celebration of liturgy unleashed.
Our "original sin" lies precisely in our failure or refusal to view life and
the world in terms of a sacrament of communion with God. The liturgical
approach proclaims a world imbued by a God transforming the world. An
attitude, then, of liturgy is a crucial corrective to our errors in ecology. For
we have learned all too well and only too painfully that the ecological
crisis both presupposes and builds upon the economic injustice and im-
balance of communion in the world.
What Orthodox and all Christians need to remember is that the church
is called, not to conform to, but to transform this world. For the liturgy is
not a compromise with this world but a promise of the world to come. It
is an epiphany, a showering of the light and beauty that form the perspec-
tive within which one can truly see and perceive. Indeed the same light
that pervades Orthodox spirituality marks also the rhythm of Orthodox
liturgy and music. The refrain chanted after holy communion is: "We have
seen the true light." This is not mere poetry. Liturgy is never simply a
matter of "receiving the sacraments," of "hearing the word," or of "com-
posing the music." Orthodox Christians live—habitually, I would say—
within a liturgical environment that transfigures body and soul, the entire
world, in this vision of the light of the Transfiguration.

CONCLUDING REMARKS
Often in religious circles, secularism is identified as being a major
threat. It appears, however, that secularism has today assumed a form of
"religious dress" that is more useful and even appealing. In western
societies, this "dress" may be our concept of multiculturalismi where
everyone is embraced in their own religious culture and spiritual convic-
tion, and where religion is good for business, health, and politics. It is so
important that we embrace multiculturalism in its positive sense—where
each culture is not interested only in itself and its own, whether primarily
or exclusively, and where one culture does not override or overrun the
others, whether indigenous or immigrant.
What is particularly striking about Orthodox worship—at least from an
external, sociological point of view—is its intimate union with the culture
of the people. Nationalism has in fact been both the bane and the blessing
of Orthodoxy in recent decades. For the autonomy of the local, national
Church does not aim to produce anarchy but continuity of tradition. This
426 Theology Today

does not undermine the catholicity of the Church but serves rather to
underline its universality through the diversity of expression.
It remains to be seen how Orthodox Christians will spread their roots in
this country in the next few decades, and just how they will extend an
invitation to their non-Orthodox sisters and brothers. Will their attitude be
the scriptural "Do not touch me" (John 20:17)? Or, will it be Philip's
"Come and see" (John 1:46)? Just how will they "sing the Lord's song in
a strange land" (Ps 136:1), their old song in a land that has received them
and where they have now set roots?
Yet, there is one lesson that can certainly be learned from Orthodox
Christians, namely, that "Christianity is a liturgical religion." This lesson
comes from the words of the Russian theologian Georges Florovsky
(1893-1979): "The Church is first of all a worshiping community. Worship
comes first, doctrine and discipline second."

ABSTRACT
This article provides insights into the spiritual dimensions of prayer within
the context of the Orthodox Church. The author compares the liturgy of the
Orthodox Church with the liturgical world of the western churches. He
explores the concepts of tradition and doctrine, especially as these have
impacted the history and development of the liturgy. He describes the expe-
rience of heaven on earth, communion, and mission, as well as the notions of
cosmic liturgy and iconic prayer. Finally, the article also brings together in a
creative synthesis the personal and environmental elements of liturgy.
 ^ s
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