It had been eighteen months since my last visit to a beautiful little Orthodox church near the seminary. In the past my visits took place in the depths of winter, when Vespers would begin in darkness illuminated by an ever-increasing number of candles. It was a very moving experience - darkness giving way to light.
But July is not January, and instead of walking into a dark cave filled with Icons and the fragrance of incense, I walked into a brightly lit church of open doors and windows - light and sound coming from all directions! Father prepared for service, enlisting the help of many different people - "we all have our place in this liturgy." I knew it was almost time to begin when he went out the side door to call the faithful to worship with the bells. He is a master of inviting those eight or ten bells to sing. And when the 3,000 lb Gabriel bell sounds, the resonance goes right through the soul into eternity. I weep each time I hear those bells - there is nothing quite like the experience of Russian church bells.
As a guest with mobility issues, I sit in a chair at the back wall near the door (except for those times during the liturgy when the clergy cense the inside perimeter of the building - then you get away from the wall and into the center of the floor as fast as you can)! About half of the congregation is native Russian, many of whom do not speak English. The service is in both English and Slavonic, so everyone hears something familiar. This was the tenth time I attended Vespers, and I know many of the worshippers by sight. And I can sing along with much of the liturgy. If I tried to sing it right now, I would be stuck. But in that setting, it pours out of my heart without hesitation. It does not even matter that I disagree with some of the theology; there is a beauty here that transcends the personal preference of theological constructs. After all, who am I to think I can definitively define and describe the Divine?
The past few years I have noticed a frail, elderly gentleman also sitting in the back by the door. He sits in a chair on the other side of the door, and can best be described as someone for whom life has not been kind. He sits, and that tells me that he has health issues (or else he would be standing for liturgy). He makes little eye contact; I suspect he may not speak English. Occasionally, when getting out of the way of the incense, we make the briefest of eye contact. But words are never exchanged. I do not know that this is true, but I imagine that he does not have a pretty life; I imagine it to be quite hard, or at least at some time in the past, it has been very hard.
As the service draws to its conclusion and the faithful line up to come forward and receive a personal blessing from the Priest, I quietly make my way to the door, offering a bow of respect as I leave. I could go forward for the blessing, but am aware that this is not my community - the moment feels so intimate, that it feels right to respectfully withdraw. Besides, with the doors and windows open, I will hear the continued chanting as I walk to my car - a nice way to depart. Little did I expect that within the unfolding seconds of the next minute, I would instead have the chance to witness a stark example of profound beauty and shocking ugliness.
After I bowed and left the church, I positioned myself to walk down the three steps to the outside courtyard. As my foot reached for the first step, a hand took my arm, and I was surprised to see that I was being helped by the frail, elderly gentlemen. I thought that he must be leaving like me, and since timing brought us together at the stairs, he offered a hand to help (although I confess that, given how frail he appeared, I thought I should be helping him). Without saying a word, he helped me down the stairs - I turned to thank him - he nodded slightly, and then went back inside to join the line for a blessing. He purposely had left the blessing line and followed me outside to make sure I got safely down the stairs. I was overcome by beauty of his gift of kindness to a stranger - especially since he did not look like he was in any position to offer such a gift!
As I watched him walk back into the church, I heard loud shouting from the sidewalk in front of the church. As I walked in that direction, I saw three young women, perhaps in their early to mid twenties, shouting and mocking the chanting coming from the church. They were attractive and dressed in a "smart casual" way, and were carrying packages as if they had been shopping in San Anselmo. These beautiful young women continued laughing and mocking and saying the most disrespectful things - right as they walked past the open windows and doors of this little church - right as this precious community went forward for a blessing. I stopped walking and looked at them - they laughed at me and kept walking, continuing with loud and rude comments all packaged in a self-assured manner.
What possess three beautiful young women to cultivate and spew such ignorance and ugliness into the world? And what motivates someone so world-worn and frail to go to great lengths to offer such beauty and kindness to a stranger?
Packaging can be deceiving, but this much is true: What we bring into this world matters, and circumstances are not accurate predictors of our contribution to the realm of God. Those with beauty, youth and privilege can choose to bring ugliness and ignorance into the world, and those who have seen the ugly side of life can shine with great beauty.
I prayed for those young women, and the ugliness that lives in their hearts. And I offered thanks for the beauty of that worn, frail soul who took my arm and made sure I was safe. As those three women assaulted the realm of God, that frail, elderly gentleman stood strong as a great defender of its values. God's realm is clearly in good hands.
What qualities do your words and actions embody? Do they build up God's realm, or assault it? Words and actions matter - perhaps more than we realize.
With love from the school of life,
Kim
