7 :: Holy Trinity Greek Orthodox Cathedral

This morning I went to Holy Trinity Greek Orthodox Cathedral in Charlotte's Dilworth neighborhood. This is my second Orthodox liturgy that I've attended and my first time here, although I have been inside this church dozens of times. That is because Holy Trinity is also the location of Charlotte's Greek Festival, a long-standing tradition in town. As such, this location is a place I have visited for many years.

Dilworth is an upscale part of South Charlotte, on the cusp of uptown. I live in South End, adjacent to Dilworth. I have always had friends in Dilworth. Its denizens are fit, progressive, local foodies, highly-educated... those types of people. 

Here's a typical house in Dilworth:

This church was built by Greek immigrants when Dilworth would have been considered the edge of town, in 1923. And this was also during a time when people from Greece were likely somewhat exotic by Southern standards. 

Today's liturgy was both profound and peaceful. I sense Orthodox liturgy is always that way and I am eager to see more. There are Egyptian (Coptic), Ethiopian, Russian, Serbian and other Orthodox communities around Charlotte now. This place was the tip of the spear for that demographic shift that is ongoing.

As always, the entrance of the church was of note. It reminded me that I was going into a place that was different from the world outside.

Here are some of those pics:

Covid reminder

Double-headed eagle (need to research)

Carved wooden doors

Iconography everywhere

Choir loft

I walked in with mask on, got my temperature taken, chatted for a minute and then went solo to the choir loft upstairs. At that time, I realized I had arrived during "matins," the morning prayer service that precedes liturgy. 

The place was dark as chants were traded back and forth between a female and a male chanter, one in Greek and one in English. My soul started to ease magnificently. I felt transported away from pandemics, racial strife, killer police and the normal weight of my life (admittedly an easy one, in the cosmic schema around us - but still...).

Some pics:

Seraphim and chandelier

Dark chandeliers, bright windows

Matins

Quiet time of prayer before liturgy

After a time, the lights came on. The structured process of liturgy started. I understood more about what I was seeing, having been to St. Nektarios on a prior visit. It still hit my Protestant sensibilities as very different, but slightly less so now.

From liturgy:

Chanting in Greek and English

Priest with two men who evoked Rasputin

Communion

Liturgy

inner sanctum - "altar"

Liturgy

Let there be light

Liturgy

As people stood, I stood. But that was about it. People made different signs of the cross on their body at different times, and much of the liturgy included Greek. In short, I had no idea what to do and when to do it. Which was fine. This isn't my tradition or my community. But the act of observing was enjoyable and served to bring on me "...the peace which passes all understanding." 

This is mentioned in Phillipians 4:7, a book of the Bible that is based on a letter written to a new congregation of believers in ancient Greece, no less.

Of note was the demographic makeup of the people in attendance. Many appeared not to be Greek, if the number of blonde women would be considered any indication. Additionally, there was an interracial couple in attendance, black man and white woman. The affiliation with Greece and Greek culture is becoming more tenuous, I think. And as an American, I enjoyed seeing this diversity.

A good feeling and an interesting observation.

As I listened to the chanters, I noticed that there was a single note in the bass registration that was played throughout most of the liturgy. It was an ongoing hum that organized my thoughts spectacularly. And so much of the sounds and smells reminded me how much Orthodoxy has to do with the greater Middle East. 

I'll admit, the sounds of this liturgy evoked Islam in many ways, the sounds of which I have heard in Dubai, Turkey, India, Indonesia, Sri Lanka and Abu Dhabi. Despite this contextual similarity, I was reminded that Christians in majority Muslim lands had and have a position as second class citizens. But the shared space that so many Muslims and Orthodox Christians have shared for centuries was evident in the feel of today's chanting.

Another couple of examples:

Chanters

More chanters

Toward the end of liturgy, the priest faced the icon of Yeshua and spoke to him. He expressed adoration and thanks. This carried a slight "graven image" feeling, but I am assured by some Orthodox acquaintances that this is not the case. 

I found it nice, nonetheless.

As I departed, I saw Dilworth Methodist across the street. It is still closed due to Covid-19. These churches have been facing one another for decades now. I wondered if they communicate in any way? They are following the same Yeshua, to my way of thinking.

Dilworth Methodist

Upon leaving, everything fell back into place. Bells rung out from Holy Trinity and there were sirens on lower East Boulevard, a seemingly perpetual fact of life lately.

Back to the world I go. But now I am armed with armor of multilingual liturgical chants and one perpetual bass note.

And that will likely make all the difference... indeed, all the difference in the world.

6 :: Pineville Church of the Nazarene

This morning I went to Pineville Church of the Nazarene. I've driven past this place for years. It's in a shopping center. I have always been struck by the name as I drove by. I knew that "Nazarene" is a term used for Yeshua. He was from Nazareth, of course. 

After attending the service this morning, I had to do a little digging into what this Nazarene denomination is, to help me understand what I had seen. Interestingly, the Nazarene denomination is an offshoot of American Methodism that arose in something called the Holiness Movement in the 19th century. Its intellectual founder is John Wesley, just like the larger United Methodist Church.

That's all I know, but it was important to understand and I am glad I did this research. I definitely left with a "Who the heck are these folks?" feeling after this enthusiastic service.

The service I attended was "drive-in church" style, as the congregation has all ages, but definitively caters to some senior citizens in their community. Although I don't believe we have seen the last of drive-in church, it definitely is declining as more churches in Charlotte open up.

Pineville is a part of Charlotte, but in the ongoing gobbling up of outlying areas that characterizes Charlotte's growth, the middle-class town has become part of the city.

A guy from the church named Mike walked up to my car and greeted me. We chatted for a while and when I mentioned that I grew up in New England, he mentioned that he used to live in Nashua, NH. 

He said that his years in New Hampshire felt like he was a bit of a missionary, referring to the more secular nature of life in the Northeast.

The service was outside and being live-streamed. Here are some pictures:

The sermon was about the pastor's childhood which was split between Florida and Texas. He invoked references to barbecue, apparently a large part of his youth. He described the craving that he would feel at the idea of barbecue. 

Until this day.

He linked it to the theological idea of "fruits of the spirit," a set of nine characteristics that are represented in Galatians 5:22-23.

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.”

The sermon was about self-control. The analog of barbecue was used as a way to describe something deeply desired. In short, this was a deeply Southern message to the gathered faithful. Having lived here for half my life, most of it as a vegetarian, I could relate... but also had some trouble personally relating to the theme of childhood barbecue obsessions.

Here are some pictures from the sermon, which had a level of enthusiasm that bordered on athleticism. Alot of energy!

We had communion with only some grape juice as the representation of wine and without bread. I am unclear if this is a denominational thing, or if it was due to COVID-19.

Then the band performed a song that was old school - Great is Thy Faithfulness. This was a nod to the dying musical format of hymns, which are rapidly being replaced with songs by a band.

And then we were done. It was a nice service with a good message about barbecue and self-restraint against the things we crave.

Nice people, nice place and definitely one filled with high energy. I'm grateful for this power hour of Southern hospitality.

5 :: Saint Gabriel Catholic Church

This morning I attended Mass at St. Gabriel Catholic Church in South Charlotte. It ended up an amazing experience, and in an unexpected way. A bit of a plot twist, if you will.

As I reflect back on my life, I believe I have twice attended Catholic Mass in my life. Once when I was eleven years old in New Hampshire and once as a teenager in Connecticut. As someone raised in a Protestant setting for more than five decades, Catholicism is something that is both a source of mystery, as well as an ongoing source of connection. Since all Protestantism arose out of Catholicism... departed from it... grew out of it... we all have a connection, but one that is fundamentally borne out of disconnection.

This morning, I directly re-established that connection and it was a profound experience.

St. Gabe's (what the church is called colloquially in Charlotte) is a campus, essentially. It is a huge tract of land with multiple buildings, including a school. It is a modern setting, with none of the Old World appearance that can accompany many Catholic Churches around the world.

It had an inviting exterior, including a sign for social distancing.

The interior of the church immediately struck me as familiar, with a narthex that leads into a sanctuary. At the same time, I saw something that reminded me of where I was. By seeing a statue in the narthex, I was reminded by a statue of the importance of Mary in Catholic theology. 

Within the hour, I would again have food for thought on Marianism, the branch of Catholic theology that relates to her.

When I entered the sanctuary, I sat in the back. I decided to be less visible to the assembled, if sparse, group that had assembles for Mass. I was well aware that I was going to be following an order of service that was unfamiliar to me. 

I was right about that.

People knew when to say certain things. People knew when to stand or kneel. They knew what to reply responsively on words uttered by the priest. Despite the unfamiliarity of the Mass as an event, it had a profound dimension that I did not expect. What really struck me was the long period of time at the beginning of Mass that people simply sat in silence. 

That was deeply tranquil and reminded me of why the inner sanctum of a church is called a sanctuary. 

It is meant to be a refuge from the world outside, albeit inevitably leading to and from that world.

Some pictures from the Mass, including the Jesus and Mary statues on each side of the front of the church:

The sermon (I believe they are called "homilies" in a Mass) was timely in that it related to the role of fathers in family, in society, and as an aspect of Catholic theology. The priest spoke in compelling terms, as well as with an advisory tone about difficult trends in society. There were also a few tales about single mothers in his extended family that had to raise children without their fathers present.

A great message and much to ponder. What I also noticed during the homily was how the realities of this world and the realm of theology have such interplay in Catholic teaching. One example was the idea of the marriage of a man and a woman and the creation of a family as a corporal manifestation of the divine narrative in which Christ and His church are joined in a union that also gives new life.

That interplay of ordinary life and divine themes has always been fascinating to me and I enjoyed hearing such a message in a place where the gathered faithful call their priest "Father." That is a compelling observation about Catholicism and not the first time I have encountered the idea that the corporeal and the transcendent play on each other.

There was a woman attending Mass who was wearing an outfit that implied she is likely from a different culture, as well as that she may have a role in the Catholic Church that is special. I am not clear what her outfit meant and I am relatively certain she was not a nun.

I tried to take these pictures on the "down low" since this is a sacred ceremony. But I snuck a few snapshots of this woman, nonetheless.

Finally, on my way out of church, a woman named Dawn who is from Michigan and in town visiting family was kind enough to say hello. She was gracious in greeting me and I came to learn more through a great conversation we had in the parking lot. 

Dawn herself is in a consecrated relationship with the Catholic Church and also very learned. I had a chance to ask about the Catholic canon and how many books are in it, Marianism as a branch of the theology, eschatology, the filioque in Orthodox and Catholic teaching, as well as a myriad of other questions that I had. 

It ended up being the highlight of the visit, to be honest.

Dawn told me about The Theology of the Body, a series of writing by Pope John Paul II. I plan to read this book to learn more on this subject. Fascinating.

An especially gratifying aspect of our discussion was that Dawn knew members of the Healy family, a deeply observant Catholic family that grew up across the street from me during my entire childhood. These relationships were academic and spiritual for Dawn, with Nick and Mary Healy, respectively.

Finding that out was surprising, but also not surprising. 

I am seeing without a doubt that this spiritual shift I am undergoing has divine underpinnings in very clear ways. It seems that I can expect to experience the Kingdom of God at this point through small interactions that pull together seemingly disparate parts of my life in very clear ways.

That happened at St Nektarios and it happened here, too.

This theological and personal conversation with a mutual acquaintance of childhood friends drove the point home that I can expect the unexpected during this journey.

This morning opened up new doors for me and was something I am grateful for experiencing. I will surely visit more Catholic churches during this chapter of my life and growth. 

4 :: St. Nektarios Church

This morning I went to service at St. Nektarios Church in Charlotte. This church is way out in South Charlotte, in a neighborhood just past Charlotte Latin School. This particular church's roots go back to the much older Holy Trinity Greek Orthodox Cathedral on East Boulevard, which was built in the 1920's. St. Nektarios Church was built in 2007.

I'll mention that this visit was an auspicious one in some interesting ways. Orthodoxy has come on my radar screen in multiple parts of my life in the last couple years in very noteworthy ways. Whenever seemingly disconnected parts of my life all start doing something similar, I anticipate that may be God at work. 

Whenever that happens, you can imagine that I take notice. 

Earlier this week, I called St. Nektarios and spoke to a woman named Evelyn. We chatted for a while and she said she would meet me at the front door of the church at 9:15 Sunday morning and help me get acclimated.

Below is some of what I saw when I walked up at 9:15. In short, I felt a deep appeal to my aesthetics as this majestic and sacred structure presented itself to me... and I hadn't even entered yet.

St. Nektarios Church, modeled after Hagia Sophia in Istanbul

Exquisite detail

The place evoked a Mediterranean aesthetic

St. Nektarios Church

Two men working on some iconography in tile

St. Nektarios Spiritual Life Center
(what Protestants might call a "Sunday School Building")

We met and she gave me a mask and took my temperature right away. 

Cleared to enter.

She pointed me to her husband Tim who stood nearby. Tim, a knowledgeable and gracious guy, told me that he had been raised as a Congregationalist in the Midwest. As someone raised as a Congregationalist in New England, I thought this was a very interesting turn of events at the start of the day.

Tim generously offered to help me experience Divine Liturgy, the name of the church service in Orthodoxy. He accompanied me to the balcony and provided me with a fascinating amount of detail on what I was seeing. 

There's too much to tell about what we discussed, but he offered insightful answers to my question about Orthodoxy. Tim knew Orthodox views on everything from transubstantiation of Communion elements, the spiritual gifts in the Book of Acts, the schism in 1054 between the Western (Catholic) and Eastern (Orthodox) Church, the Calvinist-Arminian debate on the nature of faith and finally - the subject of filioque. 

Filioque is of immense importance in this question of Orthodoxy, look it up if you are interested.

The Liturgy was beautiful. I learned that it mimics a Jewish worship service in many ways, including walking a silver-bound Bible (like Torah) out in front of the congregation, which is then brought into the altar (like Bimah) for the duration of the service. And there are bells, incense, a male and a female who sing sacred songs whose roles are as the "chanter" (like Cantor). The altar section also mimics the Holy of Holies in Jerusalem's Temple Mount.

These points of comparison really drive home the ancient nature of Orthodoxy. When you hear people speak about "the first-century church," well... this is that church.

To someone raised Protestant, this type of service engaged my senses in a way that I don't usually associate with worship. And I can definitely say it was very, very beautiful.

Liturgy

Mary, baby Jesus, the altar

Pantokrator

Thick fog of incense in the air -
light coming through

Video of Liturgy, you can hear Tim's voice

Toward the time when Communion was being served, which I was not permitted to take part in, I asked to see the narthex of the church. Tim showed me this, as well. It was filled with old artifacts and candles in sand and things of that sort. Again, to my personal sensibilities this was all very new. I had never seen anything like this before. 

Incredible.

I found out that there was also a relic in the church, a bone of St. Nektarios himself. And some shawls from the 16th century, on display for those entering the church. The elaborate wonders of the place seemed never-ending.

16th-century Orthodox art

Candles in sand

16th-century shawl once worn by an Orthodox priest

I enjoyed this experience very much. Thus far into my spiritual pivot, I have attended churches that are all outgrowths of The Reformation. Even though each of them were different from each other in theology and style, they have all been somewhat familiar to me.

This was different. 

This was a glimpse of the Church that sprung up right after Yeshua's life on Earth. This is the first-century Church in the modern day. These are the original Christians, a group that has rituals that evoke the Jewish spiritual heritage that is at the root of Christianity itself.

As I left, I felt light. And happy. Perhaps even satisfied in a profound way. This was a truly fascinating experience. It was one that I knew had been coming for a few years.

I don't know yet how this contributes to my spiritual shift and my deeper search for Yeshua. But I am certain it does.

One thing I know for sure, this won't be my last time visiting an Orthodox church.

Of this I have no doubt at all.