Discovering A New Flavor Of Catholicism - Greek Style

LORRAINE V. MURRAY, Special Contributor

Published: November 11, 2004

You remember, I’m sure, the parable about the lost sheep. He strayed from the flock one day and was in a precarious situation, until the Good Shepherd came after him and brought him home.

I’ve heard that parable dozens of times since childhood, but it was only recently that I realized why the sheep had left the flock: I think he no longer felt at home there.

I am that lost sheep. And the flock I have left is my beloved home parish, where I have worshipped for the past ten years—and where I thought I would remain for the rest of my life.

About a year ago, things changed quite dramatically. The tenor of the liturgy shifted from what is called “traditional” to something that goes by the name “contemporary.” I would leave Mass feeling sad, angry and frustrated.

One day, my husband and I faced the bitter truth: It was time to leave our flock. And so we embarked on an arduous process to find a more traditional liturgy.

One day, out of the blue, I recalled a splendid Catholic church only two miles from us.

I had met the pastor, Father John Azar, about four years ago and remembered vividly his compassion, so I called him and left a voice mail message.

How grateful I was when Father John himself called me back that night and spent time explaining some differences between Greek Catholicism (also called Byzantine) and the Catholicism that I am familiar with.

Long story short: Father John is pastor of an Eastern church, which means that its liturgy is closer to the Orthodox faith than to the Roman Church. Still, like other Eastern Catholic churches, it is in full communion with Rome.

And so my husband and I decided to attend a vesper service at the little church with the big name: St. John Chrysostom Melkite Greek Catholic Church.

As we entered the church, the first thing we encountered was a large, framed icon of the Virgin Mary cuddling the baby Jesus in her arms. We saw people bowing and giving the icon a little kiss.

The walls of the church were studded with more dazzling icons. We saw Jesus the teacher and John the Baptist, called the Forerunner, plus the baptism of Jesus, the Resurrection, and the Assumption of Mary, known in the East as her “Dormition” or falling asleep in the Lord.

The altar was enclosed behind an ornate gate. From my vantage point, I could glimpse many lights and candles and lovely gilded touches everywhere. I felt like I was getting a peek into heaven.

Soon, we experienced a new flavor of Mass, Byzantine style. The Divine Liturgy is steeped in spicy clouds of incense, with numerous bows, Signs of the Cross and “Lord, have mercys.” The only musical instruments are the voices of the choir, congregation and priest.

Truth be told, though, there were so many differences from our old church that at times I felt disoriented. For example, although the majority of the prayers were in English, some responses and hymns were sung in either Greek or Arabic.

Also, the Eastern liturgy has plenty of bowing. People bow to the icons to indicate respect and love for the figure represented there; priests and congregation bow to each other to acknowledge Christ in each other’s hearts and as an act of humility.

Eastern Catholics had other surprises for me. For one, babies receive the Eucharist and are confirmed at the same time they are baptized. No bells ring during the liturgy, and no one kneels, since prayer in the Eastern Catholic church is done standing up.

There were some shocks in the liturgy that really woke me up. For example, instead of saying, “Peace be with you,” we turned to people and said, “Christ is among us.” The first time I said that, I realized that he really was.

At another point in the Mass, the priest bowed to the congregation and said, “Forgive me, brothers and sisters, for I am a sinner.” That humbling moment touched me deeply.

Little by little, I realized I was falling in love with the Byzantine church. Somehow, the chanting, the bowing, the icons and the incense calmed my overactive, analytical mind and led me to a mystical place in my heart I had never entered before.

Still, I am a first-class worrier, so I had to find something to fret about. When I realized that most families at St. John’s either hail directly from the Middle East or are the children of immigrants, I wondered if an Italian-American lady and her Anglo husband would fit in.

It wasn’t long before this worry dissolved. We very quickly discovered that the parish consists of extremely friendly people, who came up, time and again, to welcome us and thank us for being with them.

When I told my friends about our journey into the East, the response was often the same. As they heard about married priests, babies receiving Eucharist, and making the Sign of the Cross from right to left, their eyes grew wide. “Are you sure they are Catholic?” was a common question.

This whole experience has revealed just how ignorant I was about my own faith. Although I had attended Catholic schools and am a fervent reader of books about spirituality, I knew virtually nothing about the Eastern Catholic church.

Now I have learned that, despite the differences between East and West, the crowning point of the liturgy is the same: It is, of course, the consecration.

This moment at St. John Chrysostom’s takes place on an altar behind a railing, with the priest’s back to the congregation, but still, the chanted words, “Take and eat,” are oh, so familiar.

I walk up to Communion with my hands folded against my chest. Father John dips the consecrated bread into the consecrated wine and gently places it in my mouth while saying, “Lorraine, receive the precious body and blood of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, for the remission of sins and for life everlasting.”

The first time this happened, I went back to the pew with tears in my eyes. Father John had called me by name, I realized! And feeling like a beloved child that had been nurtured by a parent, I remembered the words of Jesus: “Feed my sheep.”

My journey with St. John Chrysostom Melkite Greek Catholic Church has taught me that sometimes God leads us away from comfortable pastures and puts us somewhere entirely new. We don’t know why, but faith assures us that it is for the good of our eternal souls.

And the more I experience Catholicism with an Eastern flavor, the more I see that it makes no difference whether God speaks in Greek, Arabic or English. The Good Shepherd will always call me home.

Lorraine V. Murray also writes a column every other Saturday for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. She is the author of “Grace Notes” and “Why Me? Why Now?” and is awaiting the birth of a third book this spring. E-mail: lorrainevmurray@yahoo.com.