Chrismation on Holy Saturday!

Reader, I married her (the Holy Orthodox Church). I've been planning to write that for what seems like years, and it is  hard to believe the formal process took a bit less than one year. I had to think those words to myself while I was kneeling down and receiving the chrismation because I could not believe it was happening. I felt numb, in a way. I knew I should break my addiction to coffee before this day.  I had been going to Divine Liturgy without food, but had not yet managed to go without coffee. So this was the first time of doing a complete fast before receiving Eucharist. (And I had cut my food intake quite a bit for Holy Week.) The service began at 8 a.m. and had numerous steps and phases: as I result, I felt a bit vague (though I was the one who knew when it was time to take our shoes off) and that we were basically taking a break between the first part, when we did the renunciations and  Manuel was baptized, and the second part, which would take place when the DL began at 9:30, when we would be chrismated. The baptism was quite a sight, seeing that big man dunk three times into this white barrel! He said the water was quite cold. 

Since Manuel was baptized, he needed to be churched, and I guess Father figured Joseph and I might as well be too. Of course he doesn't carry grown-ups! He led us from the back of the church to the various points. The big icon of the crucifixion had been moved to the center aisle in front of the ambo,  partially hiding the Royal Doors. Once behind it and facing the doors, Father directed me to cross myself. Then he took the guys to the right, to enter the altar through the Deacon's doors. I stood there and gave them a little wave. No one, except probably Xenia or others in the choir, saw that. Had he been reading this blog? Did he know I wouldn't flip out at this? Even with all my thinking about it, I did feel a bit awkward (so glad I was only partly visible beyond the Crucifix) and enjoyed the ironic humor of my little wave. I get it. I don't mind. But it's weird. Soon they had come around and we continued. Father said to me, "You will have Eucharist first" and so I did, first in the whole church. I didn't realize that the assistant wiped one's lips and that one kissed the bottom of the chalice but it all went smoothly and there I was: Isidora, having partaken of the Body and Blood I had so long desired. Discovering that the little cup people drink afterwards at the side table contains a mixture of hot water and wine (sweet). 

Having recognized the depth of my caffeine addiction, I did not fast completely after consuming the special blessed bread and wine that followed the Holy Saturday service. I had something more bread to eat, but more importantly, I drank coffee so that I was feeling more alive by the time I returned for the overnight Pascha service. Before I left, I told Mr. Crackles the service would probably consist of a lot of processing around and shouting He is Risen, and that I would see him in the morning. My description was accurate. It was fun and joyful! I was amazed at how much energy and joy Father had, after the long week of services and his strict fasting but he definitely seemed to be enjoying himself and conveyed the delight of discovery of Christ's Resurrection. 

I learned without surprise that there are many "twice a year" attendees, just as in other churches. Well, it is a little more surprising, since the service starts at 11:30 and cradle Orthodox must know it involves lots of standing. But that doesn't stop the two young ladies who were next to me to wear two-inch spike heels, which were off their feet (to my empathetic relief) after about the first hour. She did give me a look or two of "how long does this last?!" and I smiled sympathetically: you have to work up to this. Before offering the Eucharist, Father explained that it was only available for Orthodox who had prepared and I could see he did speak to a couple of the people who were not familiar to him before offering them the Chalice. This time I felt a little more conscious of what I was doing, receiving the Communion for which I had longed.

In the time between services, since I wasn't doing much, I put together my own funky version of a Pascha basket. I even made red hard boiled eggs! After the blessing of the baskets, and the joyful feasting (including drinking the champagne I had brought) I drove safely home, and snuck quietly into bed. It wasn't quite light yet, but I was surprised that my entry had not elicited any sound or movement from Mr. Crackles, and tentatively I moved my hand over to his side. He wasn't there. His car and motorcycle were present, so I knew he was somewhere. Oh well. I slept. In the morning, I tapped gently on the door to the step-daughter's room, which was closed, so I knew he had gone there to sleep. He was furious. He couldn't sleep in our bed, waiting for me, so had gone in there. I was surprised at the intensity of his reaction, since the routine was pretty much the same as Nativity, and he hadn't been upset then. Three things were different. Then, he had his own Christmas service to go to earlier. Emily had been visiting so he wasn't alone in the house. And three, I hadn't yet been chrismated. Though I had kept the event pretty low-key, he did know it was happening, and it made a difference. Perhaps that is testimony to the sacrament. It did effect a change.

Since Mr. Crackles was so upset, I didn't even consider going to the Agape Service at noon on Sunday, which was followed by a feast at Joseph's house, nor to the 9:30 liturgy on Bright Monday. I figured damage control was more important. I made a roast chicken at home, and, as I had a week of being able to cook and eat whatever, he gradually came out of his funk and we returned to our usual détente. He also returned to singing in the choir at the Methodist Church.