Yesterday, to begin our time in Brasov, Romania for month four debrief, a few friends and I went to an Orthodox church service. I’ve always wanted to attend one of their services, so to say that I was excited was quite an understatement. I love the World Race and the less structured worship style we have on N Squad, but it has left me yearning for the familiarity and deep reverence of liturgical traditions that I didn’t realize I cared so much for.
There is something magical (perhaps better said, profoundly spiritual) about the unity and the universality that liturgical traditions invoke; it’s a wholeness that’s just not inherently present in corporate charismatic worship. To join with those around you, similar because of nothing more than the blood of Christ that clothes us all in an unearned righteousness and grace and has given us this identity as “church” in itself — it is wholly unparalleled by anything else in the world. To be part of something so much greater than yourself, to read and pray the same things as the saints so long ago, those who have formed for you the foundation of the church that we now stand on, stand for and act as, to participate in the same glory of the same Father through the grace of the same Spirit with one voice uniting us across centuries, spanning time and space and bonding us as one universal church that transcends any era or period — there is nothing like it. Through the liturgy of the church we are truly one body, united in one purpose and with one heart and voice by the power of the sacrifice of one Son and the grace of the one true Father.
That’s why I love what I grew up calling “big church.”
Going to the Orthodox church yesterday, then, was a treat. Did I understand anything? No. Did I know what was going on at any point? No. Did I kneel at the right times or cross myself at the right times? Not usually.
Was I united with my Romanian brothers and sisters through the blood of Christ in a common purpose and heart for the worship of the same God in a moment that we will always be able to know we shared together, even if only in a fleeting smile shared with an elderly Romanian sister of mine as we both knelt in humble submission to the God we both know and love dearly?
Yes. Absolutely yes.
There was something tangibly divine kneeling together next to my World Race friends on one side, perfect strangers mere months ago and now dear friends; and kneeling next to my sisters from Romania on the other, probably strangers forever on this side of eternity, but all together, gathered in one place to bring honor and glory and thanks to the one thing of ultimate purpose. The act of kneeling was divine itself, bringing me to a profound sense of appreciation for submission to God.
I have always avoided the word submission because of my issues with the way it has been semantically formed by the more conservative church, but in the repeated action of kneeling and crossing myself in the 14th century chapel yesterday morning, I found tears in my eyes from the beauty I discovered in submitting myself to such a loving God surrounded by my friends and spiritual family, some personally known and others not.
Kneeling is so humbling. So vulnerable. An outward representation of an internally unclenching fist, letting go of control and our attempts to self-protect from the presence of a raw trust in something greater than us.
In the moment I knelt and watched a tear roll from the tip of my nose to the dusty carpet beneath my knees, I was filled with quiet, calm joy in what became the moment that sealed my month-long lesson on dependence on God, content to let him take all the things I hold on to and do whatever he’d like with them, sensing a profound and new kind of holy trust within myself to let him be the real Lord of my life, not the secondary one that I consult with in times of trial.
Submission and dependence, traditionally two of the weakest words in my vocabulary, have become my joy and peace.
What a joy to submit all that we have — gifts and talents and sins and shortcomings and failures and victories — to a God that will use them for their best purposes, a God who will make the most of what we have and willingly surrender to him for the most good in this world while we join him and our Christian family around the world in singing kingdom come together as one, united in one spirit, one voice, one song, one purpose.
For one God.
Because of one Son.
Through the power of one Spirit.
For the coming of one Kingdom.
Amen.
m
O God, you have made of one blood all the peoples of the earth, and sent your blessed Son to preach peace to those who are far off and to those who are near: Grant that people everywhere may seek after you and find you; bring the nations into your fold; pour out your Spirit upon all flesh; and hasten the coming of your kingdom; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen
-the book of common prayer
