St Catherine's in the Fields

Today we went to an English-language Russian Orthodox Service, under the authority of Jonah, Archbishop of Washington and Metropolitan of All America and Canada.

The Church was pleasant and airy with all the open windows. After an hour of standing, crossing ourselves and bowing at various intervals, we went for a coffee.

We loved the haunting, chanting choir;

we were awed by the occasional appearance of gold-robed priests processing out from the behind the iconostasis to parade the gospel or the sacraments, making the sign of the cross with the leather-bound book while the two candlestick-bearers framed it below the central cupola, the heart of the church, before disappearing again on the other side;

we couldn't understand the words, even in English;

the priests were all men, the small congregation (apart from me) all women;

the altar, hidden behind the iconostasis most of the time, felt like a secret, cultic place - this inaccessibility gave a sense of hierarchy, authority, grandeur and mystery to the service;

we felt uncomfortable standing without moving, it was hard to think and inappropriate to make notes.

It felt as though we had been invited to observe a re-enactment of heaven: we could look but not touch, listen but not speak, be moved but not share.

I didn't feel closer to God, but I did feel rested and peaceful afterwards. I hadn't had an anxious thought (except when/whether to cross myself, and moments of panic when I thought I would have to know how to take Orthodox Communion) throughout the whole service.