I made this comment on a Protestant YouTube channel I frequent and thought it might be worth sharing here too. "The affect of awe of worship is not just a Christian thing. There was an atheist that likes to go to Christian church services for the artistic expression etc. and he could see a big difference in a Divine Liturgy comparing it to Lower Church services. I managed to have Grok track him down and pull a large quote from his video called something like "I am an atheist and I attended Divine Liturgy" from somebody called "Heliocentric".
"...So then this was by far the coolest part of the service and it caught me a little bit by surprise. The entire congregation is surrounding the priest outside of the church and then he shouts to everyone 'Christ is risen!' and everyone shouts in unison responding to him and says 'Indeed he is risen!' and then he says it in Greek—'Anesti!'—And then everyone responds in Greek—'Alithos!' And then this part, this—this was magical. The priest slams his fist on the door three times. I—I mean, it's just so like authoritative, right? I mean, if you actually believe that a dude came back from the dead and that, you know, the entire cosmology of heaven and hell are somehow impacted by this singular event, it's a big deal. And something about that just like feels so authoritative. It's got that oomph behind it, right? Like, you would do this. You would bang on the door of death itself if you believed that it had been conquered. You would shout it from the rooftops, in every language, because this isn't just some local story—it's the hinge of the universe swinging open.
They make three laps around the church and over and over again they are chanting 'Thy resurrection, O Christ our Savior, the angels in heaven sing. Enable us on earth to glorify Thee with purity of heart.' And it was cool, man—like, even if you don't believe in any of this, it is a cool spectacle to see. And it's clear that this is the kind of reverence that a miracle like this, in theory, deserves. So the priest slams his fist on the door three times. And then there were people on the inside of the door who like dropped some black paneling and it like revealed, you know, the inside of the church. So the church was totally blacked out when we walked out—and then you walk back in and it's totally illuminated again. And it's just mwah mwah, man. It's like—I've seen so many, you know, church plays and things where like Christians will try to show some sort of visual representation for like how, you know, awesome and cool the resurrection was and it just never quite scratches that itch. It always feels a little contrived or like a little silly, but this felt powerful. It felt cool. It felt weighty.
I contrast that moment with the moment from the Jehovah's Witnesses where they say, 'And this concludes our memorial service.' And like the two emotions that I felt could not be more different—where one feels just straight up blasphemous. Like, do you actually think that Christ's death accomplished anything? Like, do you actually give a crap about any of that? Whereas here, the entire celebration of it seemed to match the energy and the weight and the gravitas of this theological event. And it was so beautiful. And then as we make our way back into the church, everyone is chanting in unison over and over and over again: 'Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing life.' If you buy into that—if you really buy into that cosmological flip, where death isn't the end anymore but this cosmic victory that's echoing through eternity—you'd stay up all night for this. You'd fast for weeks leading up to it, process around in the dark with candles flickering like stars reclaiming the night, and you'd let the chants drill into your bones until it feels like the whole world is vibrating with it. It's performance art at its most primal: not just telling a story, but living the myth in real time, body and soul, because anything less would cheapen the stakes."
"...So then this was by far the coolest part of the service and it caught me a little bit by surprise. The entire congregation is surrounding the priest outside of the church and then he shouts to everyone 'Christ is risen!' and everyone shouts in unison responding to him and says 'Indeed he is risen!' and then he says it in Greek—'Anesti!'—And then everyone responds in Greek—'Alithos!' And then this part, this—this was magical. The priest slams his fist on the door three times. I—I mean, it's just so like authoritative, right? I mean, if you actually believe that a dude came back from the dead and that, you know, the entire cosmology of heaven and hell are somehow impacted by this singular event, it's a big deal. And something about that just like feels so authoritative. It's got that oomph behind it, right? Like, you would do this. You would bang on the door of death itself if you believed that it had been conquered. You would shout it from the rooftops, in every language, because this isn't just some local story—it's the hinge of the universe swinging open.
They make three laps around the church and over and over again they are chanting 'Thy resurrection, O Christ our Savior, the angels in heaven sing. Enable us on earth to glorify Thee with purity of heart.' And it was cool, man—like, even if you don't believe in any of this, it is a cool spectacle to see. And it's clear that this is the kind of reverence that a miracle like this, in theory, deserves. So the priest slams his fist on the door three times. And then there were people on the inside of the door who like dropped some black paneling and it like revealed, you know, the inside of the church. So the church was totally blacked out when we walked out—and then you walk back in and it's totally illuminated again. And it's just mwah mwah, man. It's like—I've seen so many, you know, church plays and things where like Christians will try to show some sort of visual representation for like how, you know, awesome and cool the resurrection was and it just never quite scratches that itch. It always feels a little contrived or like a little silly, but this felt powerful. It felt cool. It felt weighty.
I contrast that moment with the moment from the Jehovah's Witnesses where they say, 'And this concludes our memorial service.' And like the two emotions that I felt could not be more different—where one feels just straight up blasphemous. Like, do you actually think that Christ's death accomplished anything? Like, do you actually give a crap about any of that? Whereas here, the entire celebration of it seemed to match the energy and the weight and the gravitas of this theological event. And it was so beautiful. And then as we make our way back into the church, everyone is chanting in unison over and over and over again: 'Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing life.' If you buy into that—if you really buy into that cosmological flip, where death isn't the end anymore but this cosmic victory that's echoing through eternity—you'd stay up all night for this. You'd fast for weeks leading up to it, process around in the dark with candles flickering like stars reclaiming the night, and you'd let the chants drill into your bones until it feels like the whole world is vibrating with it. It's performance art at its most primal: not just telling a story, but living the myth in real time, body and soul, because anything less would cheapen the stakes."
