Before the Cross
Hello there! You thought I'd given up writing about our pilgrimage to Cyprus, hadn't you?
The last week has been a whirlwind of activities—we've visited monasteries, churches and holy sites and seen incredible works of art and relics. I'm still planning on posting more about this trip and the piety and holiness we've experienced in so many people here, but as we're packing up the car, preparing for many, many hours of travel to get back to our home in the states, I thought I'd put up one post about our incredible, last minute pilgrimage to venerate a piece of the True Cross.
When Jake was researching this trip, he read there was a piece of the Cross at a remote monastery that only allowed male visitors. As the weeks wore on, it looked doubtful he would make it and I was admittedly disappointed that Audrey and I would not get to see something so wonderful.
Last night, while I was putting Audrey to bed, he was reading a source book about Byzantine sites in Cyprus and discovered there was a small monastery not twenty minutes from our village that also housed a piece of the cross. After lunch, we climbed in our car for our last pilgrim drive, not sure what to expect. This week we've seen the richness of Kykkos monastery, the Island's most famous, and also visited one of the oldest Christian sites in Cyprus, the catacombs where Paul and Barnabus catechized some of the first converts.
Most of this monastery's land had been sold to the Trevi Golf Club and we had to ask directions at the pro shop. With a look of concern, the woman behind the counter warned me there was only one priest at the monastery and he might be away. We followed her directions, driving off the paved road and parking in front of simple, but open gates. As Audrey woke from her nap, I carried her into the garden where the hieromonk was watering the flowers. Before I could even ask for his blessing, he had pulled a bright pink geranium from the nearest pot and handed it to my shy little girl. He asked our names and directed us to the little Church, then picked right up singing and directing a plastic green hose of water into the garden.
When we entered the Church, it was simple yet beautiful, home to none of the gleaming brass or silver worked icons we'd come to recognize all over Cyprus. Audrey dropped her Euro in the box and there was no clink—this was a site rarely visited. After venerating an old and weathered icon of St. Constantine and St. Helena, we walked up to the iconstasis. There, just to our left of the alter, was a large silver cross with a 2 inch square of wood near the base. It was weathered and smooth, simple just like the Church.
On this trip, we've seen spare and rich, ornate and simple. There have been many things that have taken my breath away or elicited long conversations about the beauty of what we've just seen. Our little family venerated the Holy Cross and slowly walked back to the car. For a long stretch, no one said anything.
There is nothing so simple and so essential to our faith than the Cross. How fitting it was to finally see it in a place of holy simplicity, generosity and piety.
St. Lazarus Church
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Christ is Risen! Xristos Anesti!
litany of “Mommy go to Pascha and Daddy go to Pascha and Audrey go to Pascha,” but when it came time to slip out of jammies and into an Easter dress I'd been saving for the last two years, she was having none of it. Looking back on this week of exhausting services, I saw how often I'd behaved like this little child, wishing I could just relax instead of doing the sometimes grueling work of the liturgy. But, just like her mother, once Audrey realized the true excitement of the situation (and had her pink candle with a bear (!!) on it) she was ready for whatever the service might hold.
I don't know an elegant way to put this—Pascha in Cyprus is a celebration like nothing I've
ever seen. Jake, Audrey and I made our way to the Church that was quickly filling. When the toddler fell back asleep, despite the loud banging of firecrackers outside, someone gave me a chair and we watched as more and more people crowded into the little church. Jake stepped outside to snap photos of the 40 foot bonfire setting Judas ablaze with teenage boys celebrating in their own fashion. Soon, it was time for the lights to go out and I woke Audrey so she could light her pink candle. Following the tide of people, we washed out of the church into a courtyard packed with nearly 500 people. Simply put, Cypriot Pascha puts American Independence Day to shame. Just above our heads, firecrackers exploded in what Audrey dubbed “sparkle rain” and we shouted Xristos Anesti with everyone from the village.
As the priest and some of the parishioners went back into the Church, the majority headed for dinners of lemon soup and eggs. We stayed in the Church for a few minutes but between the wiggly toddler and the emptiness of the service, we decided to follow local traditions and head home. Wired from the celebration, we stayed awake late into the night, remarking on what we had just seen and listening to the sound of firecrackers still exploding in the distance.
The next morning, we cracked open our red eggs and sang “Christ is Risen” in English. My Greek is absolutely awful but I'm getting better at responding “Alithos Anesti.” We spend our Sunday wandering along the waterfront in Paphos, enjoying ice cream and lamb for dinner.
Holy Saturday
This morning, Church bells called us around 7am to liturgy. I understand why many prefer the midmorning liturgies that seem to be pretty standard throughout North America, but I've always appriciated an earlier service. There is something incredibly refreshing about the first thing of my day being worship. In our house with a child (and even before she was around), Sunday mornings always seem to have a good deal of waiting around, wishing for breakfast and trying to figure out a way to keep her occupied from first light until it is finally time to go to Church. Here, this is not a problem. We heard the bells, woke the baby and Jake was out the door with Audrey and I following shortly after walking up the street over the olive branches that were covering the ground, in honor of the visiting Bishop.
In a country where Orthodox Christianity makes up 78% of the population, there are few adult baptisms or conversions. Our village service didn't include a baptism, but this was one of the first times when I felt like I was truly following along in the service. We moved from the Old Testament readings to the baptism hymn—the tone was finally recognizable. Just as things seemed to be settling in—wham! The Bishop flew out the doors, the alter servers ripped off the cloths covering the icons and everyone in the church began banging the seats on their chairs. It's hard to describe the little booths with individual seats that cram the churches. The folding seat makes it possible to both sit and stand in the same little place, and the arm rests are at an appropriate height for a Cypriot to lean on. Jake 
and I, being small giants here, are simply awkward in these booths, but up to this point I'd managed to avoid letting the chair portion fall and slam in the middle of the service. At this moment however, as leaves and flowers were flying through the air in the Bishop's race around the narthex, everyone was slamming their seats up and down, a cacophony of clapping wood mixed with the ringing of bells and a shower of firework bombs.
I suppose the church measures something like 20'x80' with a small 20 foot balcony on the second level. This morning, there were nearly 150 people jammed into the space and everyone was rejoicing in Christ's victory in Hades. When it came time for the eucharist, the Bishop presented his sermon while the deacon served from the Chalice. 
The rush of people was so different than our orderly little line at home, but these people were hungry for the gifts. As Audrey and I stood in line, women and men pushed us forward—children go first they said. Audrey opened her mouth and earned a “Bravo” from the deacon. The flood of people spilled into the courtyard and we were greeted in English by several parishioners. Apparently, in the winter, the village shrinks a little, but when families reunite for Pascha and the summer, every Sunday is as packed as this service.
With 12 hours until the Paschal celebration, we headed for the beach and some off road adventuring. Audrey did her best to find fishies in the Mediterranean Sea and I did my best to hold on for dear life while Jake bounced us over rutted dirt roads.
Gunpowder and Incense – Great and Holy Friday
The bier's flowers filled the empty room with fragrance that was quickly replaced by incense and the curious addition of gunpowder. In Cyprus, Pascha and the proceeding days are marked by a literal explosion of street fireworks. Young boys delight in setting off all sorts of “bangers” during the services and really, at all hours of the day or night. As the Church filled with hundreds of people, the booms increased in frequency and the chanting never skipped a beat.
Standing in the back of the balcony, unable to understand the language or even see more of the top of the iconstasis, I spent the evening Friday service trying my best to keep Audrey occupied and on the quiet end of the spectrum. The service flew past me, over my head and beyond my heart and I missed most of the moments that make this service so beautiful and powerful.
Yet, this is one of the beauties of the liturgical year. I will experience this service, over and over again for the rest of my life. Later, I will have the chance to focus on the chanted odes and watch
the pageantry. Tonight, my job is to watch my daughter make friends with the other children pattering around the dusty balcony. I show her the drying olive branches and point to the large cross we can see poking out over the bodies crammed against the railing. When she falls asleep, I hold her and gratefully accept a chair. Instead of following the bier through the village, I take her home, rocking her as the church bells peal and the firecrackers proclaim the funeral route.
Jake returns just after she's and I have fallen asleep and smells of incense and rosewater. We are exhausted by the week and wait for Pascha just around the corner.
