Christos Anesti! Alithos Anesti!

Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed!

Throughout the Eastern Orthodox world, this is the standard greeting during Eastertide. And let me tell you, here in Greece, on the isolated and pious island of Patmos, I think I've encountered the one place in Europe where people still greet each other in this fashion. It's a perfect place to spend Easter Week.

But I get ahead of myself; most of you still have no idea how I spent my Easter.

In a word? Blissfully.

After the ceremony of the Holy Fire I took a nice long nap that pretty much wiped out the afternoon and evening. It was just as well, since the Eastern and Oriental Easters begin when the day begins: midnight.

It's a shame that I didn't wake up early enough to go to the Ethiopian reading of the resurrection gospel on the roof of the Holy Sepulchre; I heard it was fantastic, filled with liturgical drums and ritual dancing. However, the Ethiopian Divine Liturgy of the Resurrection began at 1am, and I showed up in time to begin that.

Of course, in my utter exhaustion, I'd totally forgotten that worship just doesn't go according to one's western, American expectations in the wholly other world of the Holy Sepulchre. You see, the Ethiopians are probably the most true to the worship traditions of the ancient Jerusalem temple, for good or ill. There's a court of the men, and behind that, a court of the women. In front of them both, beyond the iconostasis, is the holy sanctuary of the priests. What I'd forgotten was that in the ancient temple, the priests did all the religious duties while the laity pretty much milled about in the temple courtyards.

Therefore, upon arriving on the roof, I found that the Ethiopian monks had set up a large tent that served as a sanctuary, while the laity were packed in wall to wall in the open courtyard. While the priests and monks conducted the service inside the tent, the rest of the Ethiopians had a massive feast, passing out those extraordinarily messy foods that they eat. I was ushered forward in line by one kindly old man who seemed determined to make me feel welcome, and boy, was I ever. That stuff is delicious.

After eating I got swept up in the current of the crowd and was forced out the door. At this point the Greek service was starting around 2am, so I headed back down to Souq Khan es-Zeit toward the main entrance of the Holy Sepulchre. Knowing that the Greek service would go on for hours, though, I stopped for a cup of (absolutely necessary) Arabic coffee. I also bought a nice icon of the Last Supper.

I took this inside and found a nice spot to observe the Greek liturgy. The main sanctuary of the Greeks, which is the Greek Orthodox chapel, was entirely filled with people spilling out into the rotunda. Oddly enough, however, no one was perched on the side platform leading out from the Edicule. I perched myself there for awhile, and managed to get an excellent picture of the Greek Patriarch of Jerusalem. Unfortunately, the internet here isn't cooperating like it was last night, so I can't get the picture up. It's on Facebook, though.

I'd planned on attending the Armenian Orthodox liturgy at 4am, but by the time it started it was clear that there was no getting in. You see, rather than holding their liturgy in the Cathedral of St. James or in the main Armenian chapel, one flight of steps down from the main floor of the church, they hold their Easter service in the Chapel of St. Nicodemus. The Chapel of St. Nicodemus is the tiny chapel used by the Syriacs but owned by the Armenians; and when I say tiny, I mean it's smaller than my bedroom. It also suffered extensive damage from a fire, which both the Syriac Orthodox and the Armenians claim the other party (as owner and tenant, respectively) has the responsibility to repair. In any case, the Armenian clergy squeezed in there, and the laity was left milling about the rotunda (albeit more reverently and attentively than the Ethiopians). So I decided to go and pray up in the Latin chapel on Calvary and finish watching the Greeks do their thing, and then went to get another cup of coffee.

By the time all this happened, it was about 5am, so I made my way via taxi up to the top of the Mount of Olives, to Augusta Victoria Lutheran Church, also known as the Lutheran Church of the Ascension. Here the local Lutherans were holding an English-language sunrise service out on the lawn, facing east; and being Lutheran, after all, I couldn't help myself.

I must admit, it may have been the only time when the lack of high church accouterments didn't really bother me. It was, after all, an outdoor sunrise service. In many ways, the lack of smells and bells and the soft, light hymns really harmonized well with the setting. There isn't too much to say about it except that I ran into Laurie Blank, the girl working in Ramallah with whom I'd been on the AIT tour way back in the beginning, and whom I'd also run into on Palm Sunday. Jerusalem really is a small world.

In any case, the smells and bells were soon back in full force at St. George's 10:30am service. Full processional, censors, icons, chant in Arabic and English, and a truly spectacular sermon from Bishop Suheil. It was a glorious accompaniment to the far more low-key service at Augusta Victoria and a perfect climax to a long, sleepless vigil.

I know this is the point where I'm supposed to reflect on the meaning of the resurrection, or something. However, I think my previous posts say it all. The new commandment of Maundy Thursday, and the propitiatory horror of Good Friday, and the deafening silence of Holy Saturday together point toward the meaning of the glorious resurrection that comes next. I'm sure I'll have something to say about it when I get to a post on my Lutheran faith, but as for now, lets skip the reasoning and go straight to the affirmation:

Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed!