My Life in Ruins Part 8: Kyrie Eleison

Good Friday...a day of mourning in Greece far more than it is in the States. In Greece, it is not only Easter day which is important, but everything leading up to the day. 

Bells toll throughout the day on Friday, and with the number of churches in Athens, you are pretty well unable to miss them.

Even the city seemed to join in the mourning as the skies grew grey this afternoon and a drizzle fell on those walking through the city. It was the first actual rain I've seen in Athens.

I went and bought candles for the services, according to tradition. A fat tan candle for tonight's Good Friday service, and a white candle for the service tomorrow night. I also, on impulse, bought a small wooden egg, painted red as Easter eggs are in Greece (representing the blood of Jesus), and decorated with a hand painted rabbit. It made me think of the ceramic eggs my Grama used to make for us every year for Easter, and felt like a good buy.

Walking through town once again, on the way to the evening service, the sun broke out from behind the clouds, brightening the afternoon as though wanting to reassure the mere mortals on the ground that everything would be ok, and we didn't need to worry, because the sadness of the day has already been made right.

The bier sits at the front of the church on Good Friday, representing the crucified Jesus. As worshippers enter, they light candles and kiss the icons, then make their way to the front of the church to kiss the icon of Christ that rests at the head of the bier. 

As with most services, you have a variety of responses from the church-goers. You have your highly respectful people, those who come in, do the candles and the genuflecting, then sit down in silent contemplation and payer. You have those who are there and respectful, but sit and chat with their friends when "duty" is over. There are those who come because it is Easter, and they're supposed to.  And there's the girl watching everyone, and jotting down a blog on her phone so she has it all while it is fresh (in case you're dumb, that last one is me...).
Then general feeling though, is one of solemnity. There is no pre-service music, only the sound of the bells, coming more frequently as the service time draws near.

There's something about attending church in a language that you do not understand. You may have a general idea of what is being spoken about, especially if it is Easter, or another holiday, but you don't get most of the actual words. Meaning that you have the opportunity to hear from God without the middleman.
There is a lot of activity in the church during the service, despite the respect given the day. People come in throughout the service, walking up to kiss the bier, they answer their phones, which loudly ring in the middle of everything. There's even a woman going around, spraying the icons, which everyone is kissing, with disinfectant. I swear, I thought it was windex at first and nearly cracked up...
They even change the candles on the top of the cross mid-service, using one of the creakiest ladders I've ever heard. And I've heard my share of creaky ladders...

40 minutes into the service, and people are still walking in, coming to kiss the bier. The group that is singing the Bible reading is gorgeous. In sound...can't see them, so I don't know if they're gorgeous in looks. Not a huge fan of Greek men so far though...
Anyway...
It has become standing room only, but no one seems too bothered. 

I gave my seat up for an elderly lady who didn't look like she could stand the whole service. I believe I am now standing by an icon of St George, this church's saint. Who, quite honestly, I think was a jerk for killing the dragon. Maybe the dragon just needed a friend. But I'm sure George did plenty of good too.
People are crowding the aisles as the jingle of the bells on the censer join the voices of the chanters. Occasionally, the rest of the congregation joins in with the songs, but only for a few measures most of the time. They rise and sit according to some tradition that is familiar and comfortable. Even a language barrier does not make one feel like an outsider so much as a tradition that is known by everyone but you. But you can't feel too much like an outsider while celebrating the event that caused the curtain in the temple to be torn, bringing man into the presence of God. When you are connected by that, the things like language and tradition cease to be such a big deal.

As the service continues, the extra noise dies down. People talk less and focus on what is being sung more. I'm curious about one song, because the lady in front of me turned to her friend with a huge smile when it started, an expression like, "here it is!", and things went very quiet during that song. It was stunning...one of those that makes your chest ache while you listen. I took a video of it, but I doubt the video will come close to doing it justice. 

People are dripping sweat, the service has been going for an hour and a half and the front of the church has a haze of incense smoke through it, but no one seems to mind. All but a few people are on their feet, joining with the singing more now. There are still people coming in and weaving their way up to the front to kiss the bier.
The music is pretty easy to pick up (the tune at least), and I find myself humming to it, which is what a lot of even the Greek speakers around me are doing.
A song starts, and it's like Silent Night during the Christmas Eve service. Everyone knows it. Flower petals (and one random bouquet...I think someone messed up...) fall from the ceiling into the bier, then the priests walk down the centre aisle, throwing petals into the congregation.
The indoor part of the service ends when the choir leads the procession out of the church. Men carry the bier, like pallbearers with a coffin, and girls walk beside, showering it with more petals. A band joins with, and the band and choir take turns as everyone walks around the neighbourhood. The procession is supposed to symbolise a funeral, but takes on the feeling of a parade instead. Traffic stops, and people line the sidewalks to take pictures of the group passing by. I stopped at one point, to take a couple of pictures, and as I stood there with my camera up to my eye, people came up and casually lit their candles from mine.

I kept trying to stay with the bier, instead of trailing behind, because that's where the music was. With so many people talking, the sound of the choir doesn't carry that far. Plus, it's better to be up with them, where you can see things like the tallest member of the choir (probably around 6'7") grab the hand of a girl I'd guess to be about 4 years old, and walk down the street, holding hands with her, and singing. Daughter? Kid he knows from church? I don't know, but it sure made her happy. 

Returning to the church, we stood outside as the priest spoke a little while longer. I have no clue what was said. Then the men holding the bier took it just inside the church doors, then held it up so that everyone who was still there could walk underneath it to go back into the church. Some people crossed themselves, or kissed the bier, while others simply ducked underneath. 

The service wrapped up pretty quickly after that, with just a little more singing as the priests gathered up the fabric from the bier, careful to collect the flower petals that were on it. I don't know if they're used for something, or if they're just trying to not make a mess on the floor. 

The singing stopped suddenly, and people began clearing out of the church, scattering in all directions as most walked toward their homes.
And here we are, one step closer to Easter and the celebration of the resurrection.