Speaking in Tongues

        Largely as a result of holy week, I’ve been to many many church services recently. As far as I can tell, there are about a dozen or two major churches in Jerusalem, most with a long or interesting history. Over the course of my stay here, I’ll have been to most of them. So when Easter rolls around, and I’m deciding where to attend mass, I go to my checklist and a reference of times to see which three or four I can make it to. This selection method doesn’t include, for example, the language in which the service is given.

         Partly due to my adventure the past couple days, I ended up ditching my overambitious plan to begin at five forty-five and go to four Easter masses. Instead I made it to two, one in Arabic, one in German. Upon reflection, I realize that the language of the service ultimately matters very little to me. The primary reason for this I think is that as a non-religious person, the content of what’s spoken is not my focus. In fact, I find that I have a hard time listening to what is being spoken for any length of time at most church services. Bible readings, hymns, prayers, and even sermons typically employ a sort of rhetoric that I find impenetrable without active concentration.

         Instead, I find that the major factors are the music, church building, smell, and enthusiasm of the clergy and congregation. In short- just the sensory details. For this reason, I did not much like the Arabic mass at all. This is too bad, because my limited interactions with Arab Christians leave me pretty puzzled about their place in this country, their history, their connection to Christianity as I know it. A positive impression would have been desirable. The first problem was the congregation, who were pretty uniformly uninterested and drone-like. And on Easter, furthermore. I think they must have missed the memo that Jesus is risen- you know, a good thing. Granted the average age was late fifties, everyone was slouchy and frowning and mumbling. This problem extended directly to the music, which was entirely composed of brief hymnal responses repeated weekly, I suspect. Whenever devotional music feels obligatory, I think the point is being missed. The church itself was magnificent in a way, especially considering the hidden entry down a less-used alley of the old city. Rather enormous, it felt reminiscent of architecture favored by French kings in the 18^th century- pastel with gold in nauseating detail. Alas! Mass number one was less than I had hoped.

         Second I went to the Dormition Abbey- an imposing building readily identifiable from many parts of the city by its characteristic blue dome and bell tower. I have been puzzled and amused about the name- which I was only able to gather means something pertaining to sleeping. I had hoped the monks were famous for their narcolepsy, or some such, but found upon visiting that it refers to Mary, who traditionally ‘passed into eternity’ at this spot. Died? = Fall asleep? One of those peculiar euphemisms that goes too far and obscures the original thought.

        I arrived for that one five minutes early to a church full of apparent German nationals already settled and ready to go. Is this a characteristic of Germans? I have never seen a church service start that promptly, especially those chock-full of tourists on vacation. A stern woman passed me a hymnal, though, and the organ started. This mass had everything going for it- the architecture, incense, organ, controlled but evident passion of both the clergy and the church-goers. Another German characteristic? Everyone there knew all the hymns, and sung them skillfully and passionately, but without the messy weepiness of the Italian pilgrims I went to mass with last week. Many were clearly moved by Easter mass, but incorporated it into their posture and strength of voice. I admired the service for its formality and vigor, traits lacking in probably modernized American churches that informalize and abbreviate to retain interest. The amount of incense, prominence of the organ, and right angles of the clergy marching formations impressed me immensely.

                This realization about the role language plays for me is quite liberating- I find myself looking forward to the other masses I’ll attend in various countries and languages this summer. The service I have in mind for next week will be in English; I hope at this point the words don’t distract from the set of unlikely focuses I’ve developed.