Life Explains Religion

 

Over Labor Day weekend we attended the Greek Festival at the Annunciation Greek Orthodox Church. It’s a beautiful building. I’ve walked past it several times and always been fascinated by the logical sequence of gradual size inherent in the appearance, one thing leads to another, from the smaller offices and classrooms surrounding and attached to the exterior, climbing in orderly steps to the arched dome over the cathedral. It carries the weight of awesome symmetry from every angle. There is an order and structure to the shapes, they seem almost independent of each other, but so interconnected and mutually reliant it gives me an odd sense of being a mirage, a dream in the middle of a busy intersection, in a trendy, fashionable area. I had never been inside, so this was my chance to visit.

 

I’m not a religious person, but sometimes I wish I was. Life would be so much easier if I had something to hold onto when the discomforts of existence begin to grind away at my ability to resist. Inside a church you can almost sense the majesty of the almighty. 

 

We attended a tour of the nave while we were there. It was gorgeous. Stained glass diluting, refracting, and cooling the suns rays, taming the vicious nuclear fusion that powers the stars, refracting it into rainbows. There are depictions of the Saints, the Apostles, the Virgin Mother, the Savior. All looking beatifically from the upper walls, the vaulted ceiling. You can feel the strength of the unknown, the unknowable. 

 

Everything was spotless, as if the process that creates and distributes dust is unwelcome in churches. There was a shine and polish, a sparkle that was almost hypnotic. Churches must be some of the cleanest places on earth. They don’t smell of disinfectant, or cleanser, it’s almost as if they just don’t get dirty.

 

There is a solemn quiet, a hush that offers strength. It seems peaceful, serene.  Until two women bumbled in through the large doors below the balcony and sat behind us. They seemed to be playing video games on their phones and whispering insulting contradictions to almost every point the guide made. It was constant, beeping, blathering and completely distracting.

 

I listened, as best as I could, to the gentle, kind voice of the guide as he told us about the saints, and the spiritual reasons for the features, and depictions. There was a pattern and uniformity, across the Orthodox religion. It was surprisingly technical. I’ve always assumed religion was just interpreting the scripture. But there is an order, a method, a reason approaching scientific, maybe astrological. 

 

“Any questions?” He asked. 

 

After a few questions from around the pews I raised my hand.

 

“When did Christianity come to Greece?” I asked. He answered, politely and thoroughly.

 

I really wanted to ask, “Why did the ancient Greeks turn their back on such a rich, complete polytheism, developed over a millennium, a system of beliefs that could find a somewhat implausible, sometimes fantastic reason for almost anything and adopt a religion whose main explanation for any kind of suffering is ‘The Lord works in mysterious ways.’” I was mad at myself for not having the courage to ask. It was probably the last chance I’ll ever get.

 

Ancient Greece has the most fascinating history. In many ways it resembles “The Readers Digest Condensed Version” of world history. Everything that ever happened in the world happened on a smaller scale on the mountainous peninsula, wars, prosperity, desolation, revolution. And their mythology had everything covered. They had a god, or goddess for every occasion, it was a thorough, complete list of responsibility covering everything from hunting to the cultivation of crops. They had an explanation for disasters, unusual good fortune, even run of the mill, everyday life. It must have taken centuries to devise and record. And they abandoned it. For a relatively new phenomenon. An upstart religion based on a single messiah. I’m not sure how long the conversion took, but it had to be a tough sell. 

 

I was interested in the schism, too. What caused the western and eastern patriarchates of the oldest Christian religion to split apart so completely. I’ve taken a little time to look it up, and there doesn’t seem to be a clear answer for such a radical dissolution. It seemed to have been a slow process, that simmered over centuries, and involved fragile human egos, and petty political rivalries. 

 

As I read about ancient Greek mythology, and the schism behind the split a realization came to me, the only peace you find in a church you have to bring in with you, the only comfort you ever found you had to invent. Every church was complete with the mean little people who sat behind me. They were a part of the act. I remembered the services I had attended, Lutheran, Baptist, Catholic, all with the same message, conform, convert, or else. I remembered the evangelicals throwing themselves at Trump, acolytes before the one true grifter. 

 

Churches are ancient institutions; they’ve learned how to present themselves as islands in a sea of madness, sanctuaries against the unclean, the unholy. It’s a foolproof plan. But it’s an illusion, they are organizations designed to prosper, and grow. They sell salvation, it is their only product, and they are the only ones who can define it, and they have the only outlet. 

 

I love the beauty of churches. The majesty. And I wish I could find some comfort, more than a temporary feeling of escape. In many ways it probably comes from my unhealthy need to be an outsider, or it might come from the self-interest that seems to drive churches to indulge in shameless political promotion. Also, it could be the wealth, the enormous treasure churches seem to acquire and hoard. Still, religion seems a wholesome thing, in many ways, like politics, and business administration, it’s always the people who corrupt the process, turn it to personal gain. 

I went, paid my ticket, bought some food, and a few pins featuring saints of Greek Orthodoxy for my newest treasure, so I donated. I don’t mind pitching in occasionally, but that’s as far as it goes.