“All of [the apostles] were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages…
the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each” (Acts 2:4,6)
It pleases me to listen to the chanting in our churches done in English by those whose native language is not ours. They don’t get our articles right, especially “the.” The “th” comes out with a French “z” or a harsh “d,” but no matter. They try. They work at it, and to me it’s a beautiful accent. Better than to flow along in Old World tongues, disregarding the fact that nearly everybody in the nave has a modicum of English at their command.
Still, we go on in America as though Orthodox Christians were immigrants just getting adjusted to the New World, still yearning for the Old, determined to build an invisible wall around our parishes to keep the general public outside. I’ve been too patient with this illusion of the old country in the new; but it’s long past due for us to realize that the Church is not for our pleasure, but for Christ’s gospel to flourish and expand—and that won’t happen if we continue to pretend that we are still strangers in a foreign land.
Summer is again upon us. I’ll be getting calls from our communicants planning their vacations and wanting to worship in the Orthodox Church nearest to where they will be. And again I realize with sadness what is out there in the country, and what ought to be. We have thousands of Orthodox Churches in the land, from sea to shining sea; however, not all are visitor friendly. If the Church name adds “[nationality] Culture Center,” keep driving. Find somewhere else to worship. They are emotionally across the Atlantic. If you plan to be in the vicinity for more than a week or two and you desire to partake of the Holy Mysteries [Sacraments], better have a letter from your pastor stating your status in the parish, and ask him if he knows anything about the Church in question and its pastor. Spare yourself a possible embarrassment.
I recall riding through Canada after marriage and before ordination, finally finding a Church one Sunday morning after a frustrating ordeal with the map, only to be blocked in the tiny vestibule by the bellies of some portly fellows who chose to ignore my entreaty to let me pass into the nave. I remember another occasion, this time in Germany, arriving for a vigil one eve of a feast and noting this sign in Slavonic: Don’t slam the door. Russian for “Welcome,” I presume.
Another time in New York City my wife and I, students in the hot summer, attended a miniscule Russian church in the basement of an apartment building. When the deacon came censing the congregation of a dozen persons, he stood before us, stared at us a long moment as if we had just crawled out of the wall, then dropped his arm. Holy smoke, but no incense for us.
Sadder yet is that so many of our clergy become quite defensive whenever I call these acts of insensitive rudeness to their attention. Not all realize how feeble is our “missionary effort,” if we dare call it that.
I have no solution—only a start. I propose that our Church leaders develop a map of North America. First, send to all parishes and pastors a questionnaire: A) Do you have a means to welcome visitors and guests? B) When are your times of services, Church classes and gatherings? C) How much of your Divine Liturgy is in English? My map would mark all those parishes deemed willing and capable of offering hospitality to true Orthodox Christians and observers. At least then we would know which of our parishes are evangelical, apostolic and open to serious Christians as well as seekers, and which intend to remain exclusivist, isolationist and apart from the nation we live in.