By Traci Rhoades
I had read two books and a handful of articles on Orthodox Christianity. That had been my entire education on the Orthodox tradition. Unless you count my exposure to the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding. I’d watched that several times.
So when I stepped into St. Nicholas Antiochian Orthodox Church in Grand Rapids for its Sixth Hour Prayer service, I didn’t really know what to expect. What I did know was that for some time now, I’d been craving silence before the Lord, and felt led to do this midweek in a local church. In a liturgical faith tradition dating back more than 2,000 years, I suspected Orthodoxy might have something meaningful to offer.
A kind lady entered the church alongside me and guided me to a small chapel. Prayer services weren’t held in the sanctuary, but in this smaller room filled with short, wooden pews and a variety of sacred icons.
In the center at the front was a curtained window; off to the side, a rotating lectern displaying two or three older-looking books. I walked past the icon painting sitting on a wooden stand in the center of the small entrance and settled into an empty pew, two rows from the back. I noticed other people would kneel down to kiss that icon upon entering the space. It felt good to sit in the quiet presence of God.
Right away, I noticed the room had a pleasant fragrance. Small glass containers, about the size of a votive candle holder, hung before the icons, releasing aromatic smoke. In a culture who is rediscovering ancient uses of essential oils, I found the scent grounding. Earthy and musky smelling. I breathed in deeply, slowly exhaled and felt the tension begin to lift from my shoulders. I sat in the very silence I’d been craving and waited for the prayer service to begin.
This was my first time praying with my Orthodox brothers and sisters, a practice I’ve done multiple times since that day. I’d also attended Catholic services, where one of my favorite moments is dipping my fingers in the holy water and making the sign of the cross upon exiting. That simple sensation of cool water brushing my fingertips serves as a gentle reminder to awaken my heart, embrace gratitude for this moment of worship, and carry its peace forward with me.
Time and again, one thing that strikes me most about these liturgical services is their sacred use of silence. In a world fueled by noise and urgency, the stillness between movements in the service speaks volumes. It reminds me there are places left where we can slow down and listen for what is holy and true.
My eyes, of course, behold worship in these churches too. They don’t chase after the latest Pinterest trends as sanctuary decor. Instead, for centuries, they’ve offered visual theology; icons, stained glass, murals, and statues. We travel around the world to marvel at their cathedrals and sanctuaries.
“I never weary of great churches. It is my favorite kind of mountain scenery. Mankind was never so happily inspired as when it made a cathedral.” (Robert Louis Stevenson)
This can stand in contrast to the Evangelical church I’ve known. Typically, only two of my senses are engaged on a Sunday morning. With my eyes, I see a stage adorned with decor based on the seasons of the year, and my ears filled with a cacophony of praise music, preaching, and believers engaged in fellowship.
Rarely, if ever, do we sit in silence. Rarely did we seek to connect ourselves to the global church or our ancient faith. No smells of incense, and nothing specific to touch. We took communion occasionally, but taste was mostly absent as well.
So I ask, does your church smell? Our creator gave us five senses, and surely he meant for us to use them all in our worship.
Wherever you worship, I encourage you to broaden your spiritual experience. Be intentional about stopping in to your own local sanctuary on a weekday, sitting alone in the silence. Visit churches that engage the senses in ways you haven’t encountered before.
I can’t forget that incense, or how holy water awakens my own spirit to the presence of the Holy Spirit. And if you’re feeling a little extra protest-ant, maybe you could order your own incense or a vial of holy water online and sneak them into church. (Kidding. Sort of.)
In all seriousness, the hunger for full body worship is real. Maybe, just maybe, it’s something the modern church needs to rediscover.
—————
Traci Rhoades is an author and Bible teacher who lives in West Michigan with her husband and daughter.
I had read two books and a handful of articles on Orthodox Christianity. That had been my entire education on the Orthodox tradition. Unless you count my exposure to the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding. I’d watched that several times.
So when I stepped into St. Nicholas Antiochian Orthodox Church in Grand Rapids for its Sixth Hour Prayer service, I didn’t really know what to expect. What I did know was that for some time now, I’d been craving silence before the Lord, and felt led to do this midweek in a local church. In a liturgical faith tradition dating back more than 2,000 years, I suspected Orthodoxy might have something meaningful to offer.
A kind lady entered the church alongside me and guided me to a small chapel. Prayer services weren’t held in the sanctuary, but in this smaller room filled with short, wooden pews and a variety of sacred icons.
In the center at the front was a curtained window; off to the side, a rotating lectern displaying two or three older-looking books. I walked past the icon painting sitting on a wooden stand in the center of the small entrance and settled into an empty pew, two rows from the back. I noticed other people would kneel down to kiss that icon upon entering the space. It felt good to sit in the quiet presence of God.
Right away, I noticed the room had a pleasant fragrance. Small glass containers, about the size of a votive candle holder, hung before the icons, releasing aromatic smoke. In a culture who is rediscovering ancient uses of essential oils, I found the scent grounding. Earthy and musky smelling. I breathed in deeply, slowly exhaled and felt the tension begin to lift from my shoulders. I sat in the very silence I’d been craving and waited for the prayer service to begin.
This was my first time praying with my Orthodox brothers and sisters, a practice I’ve done multiple times since that day. I’d also attended Catholic services, where one of my favorite moments is dipping my fingers in the holy water and making the sign of the cross upon exiting. That simple sensation of cool water brushing my fingertips serves as a gentle reminder to awaken my heart, embrace gratitude for this moment of worship, and carry its peace forward with me.
Time and again, one thing that strikes me most about these liturgical services is their sacred use of silence. In a world fueled by noise and urgency, the stillness between movements in the service speaks volumes. It reminds me there are places left where we can slow down and listen for what is holy and true.
My eyes, of course, behold worship in these churches too. They don’t chase after the latest Pinterest trends as sanctuary decor. Instead, for centuries, they’ve offered visual theology; icons, stained glass, murals, and statues. We travel around the world to marvel at their cathedrals and sanctuaries.
“I never weary of great churches. It is my favorite kind of mountain scenery. Mankind was never so happily inspired as when it made a cathedral.” (Robert Louis Stevenson)
This can stand in contrast to the Evangelical church I’ve known. Typically, only two of my senses are engaged on a Sunday morning. With my eyes, I see a stage adorned with decor based on the seasons of the year, and my ears filled with a cacophony of praise music, preaching, and believers engaged in fellowship.
Rarely, if ever, do we sit in silence. Rarely did we seek to connect ourselves to the global church or our ancient faith. No smells of incense, and nothing specific to touch. We took communion occasionally, but taste was mostly absent as well.
So I ask, does your church smell? Our creator gave us five senses, and surely he meant for us to use them all in our worship.
Wherever you worship, I encourage you to broaden your spiritual experience. Be intentional about stopping in to your own local sanctuary on a weekday, sitting alone in the silence. Visit churches that engage the senses in ways you haven’t encountered before.
I can’t forget that incense, or how holy water awakens my own spirit to the presence of the Holy Spirit. And if you’re feeling a little extra protest-ant, maybe you could order your own incense or a vial of holy water online and sneak them into church. (Kidding. Sort of.)
In all seriousness, the hunger for full body worship is real. Maybe, just maybe, it’s something the modern church needs to rediscover.
—————
Traci Rhoades is an author and Bible teacher who lives in West Michigan with her husband and daughter.
