შობა სიონში

The night was cold. My feet near frozen, waiting on a bus for over and hour. I was beginning to not believe my friends when they said it was coming any moment now. We were gathered together, ten of us, all waiting and talking. Running from one parking lot to the next was a man moving with stiff legs, his eyes glazed and his hands held out like he was Frankenstein's monster. One kid whispered to me, "Narkomani," or "drug addict." Sometimes cars would pull up and give a couple of us a ride to Sioni, where there was the church we were headed so that we could attend Christmas mass. The Orthodox Christmas is celebrated on the 7th of January, due to the Orthodox liturgical calendar being set on the Julian calendar. When the bus finally came, we crammed in. It was holding at least one hundred people more than it should have been.



Sioni is the oldest church still in operation in Georgia, dating to the 5th century AD. The ceiling, as is typical of Orthodox churches, raised high above us. It gave way from painted stone to bricks and mortar, various layers of masonry could be seen as the church had been repaired throughout the various ages. Religious icons hung from every column, most glazed and glowing with brass or gold, under each a tray full of burning candles and women and men whispering silent prayers. The women all in silk or cloth hoods or hats, the men with their heads bare and their hats in their hands. Everyone's heads were bowed, praying, or leaning towards each other carrying on quiet conversations as they waited for the mass to begin. Occasionally people would look up at the mystical height of the inside, or at some high up icon staring below down at them. The audience was slowly collecting, slowly growing larger and larger.



At exactly midnight, the mass had begun with the gentle ringing of the bell, which rang almost to the beat of galloping horses. The priest came out in green vestments, followed by other priests and attendants in mostly red vestments. They were in a royal procession, walking to the tingling bells, the priest swinging a hollow gold mace with gold incense, the burning frankincense drifting up in huffs as the mace swung.

The procession stopped and gathered. One priest went up to the division wall, behind which is encased the body of Christ. The choir began to sing old Georgian songs, lifting their voices up to the zenith of the dome above. Mixed with the candles and the floating smoke of the frankincense, there was encased one of those austere and mystical experiences that never fails to fill the heart with a longing and a desire. It's the same feeling that always draws me to the Latin mass in my own Catholic Church. Of course, here was the Georgian singing, which is a stark contrast to the Gregorian chant that I'm used to. I can't even begin to explain how beautiful the singing was. But here's a video of what it sounded like (and very possibly, the same song that it was):



They began to do the readings and intonations, and since they were all in Georgian I didn't understand a thing. That normally just sends me into a dismal self-reflection. At least it would have if I didn't realize that one of those hooded girls held her eyes locked on me. She had been looking at me throughout the entire beginning of mass. I shifted uncomfortably, coughed, pretended not to admire the curving of her cheeks or the soft pout of her lips, or her deep green eyes. Come on man, this is not the time to sit and ponder over a woman's lips! I kept trying to sink myself back into the singing, back into the incense, back into the chanting.

One of the kids I came with whispered to me, "Come on man, it's either we leave now or you'll stay until seven in the morning." My vexed concentration was relieved. I weighed the options. It was a beautiful service, but I was cold. And hungry. And since I wasn't understanding a thing and had no one around to tell me what was going on, I realized that after seven hours of this I would be somewhat near to bored, if not dead from boredom. I wanted to stay longer, but bowed my head in agreement, following him out the church. But just one more glance at the ritual. One more glance, seeing those eyes.