After my first confession at the age of 22, I found myself attending church services more regularly. However, each time I entered the sacred space, a lingering feeling persisted – as if everyone around me understood something special that I couldn't grasp.

Determined to unravel this mystery, I made a serious commitment. I decided I wouldn't leave the church until I understood what others seemed to comprehend effortlessly.

Week after week, I attended services, mimicking the actions of those around me. They bowed – I bowed. Others went for confession – I followed suit. Reading the canon before communion – I did that too. Everyone recited the Nicene Creed. It was so long! How did they manage to memorize it all? Well, I'll have to learn it too, to avoid the embarrassment of remaining silent while others sang. Even an 8-year-old boy knew the text, and I didn't.

My approach was simple: the more I attended, the sooner I'd understand.

Despite my weekly attendance, I would grow tired and restless just 15 minutes into the service. The understanding I sought eluded me, but a growing resentment towards the woman who consistently extinguished my candles became a constant companion. Each time the lights dimmed in the church, and the priests repeated the same line, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men," I couldn't help but think, "What a troublesome old lady, always putting out my candles!"

Nothing changed for me. Frustrated, I decided to seek guidance from a priest. He astutely observed, "You're tired because it's not interesting to you. It's not interesting because you don't understand the symbolism of the actions during the service. Each action represents an event, and there's an explanation for it. Try to be not just an observer but a participant, and you'll find the service much more engaging."

So, these prayers and services weren't just beautiful rituals? This was a revelation for me!

I went to the church bookstore and bought a book titled "Explanation of the Liturgy and All-Night Vigil." That very evening, I started reading.

I discovered that the liturgy alone symbolizes the entire life of Jesus Christ, from birth to crucifixion, death, resurrection, and ascension. In just one day, the entire Biblical history of creation is re-lived. I smiled when I read about the Six Psalms, a moment in the service when the lights are extinguished, and six special penitential psalms are read in the darkness. These psalms express a person's acknowledgment of sinfulness and reliance on God's mercy for forgiveness.

If I had understood the depth of these prayers earlier, I wouldn't have held resentment towards the elderly lady extinguishing my candles. There was a moment in the service symbolizing the world waiting in darkness for the advent of Christ. Then, the joy of the Savior's birth was proclaimed – the light to the world – as the angels sang, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men."

Shifting from the perspective of a spectator to that of a full participant, my interest in staying longer in the church only grew. Over time, I requested to join the choir in one church.

Several years later, I can confidently read and sing any part of the service and have even learned to compose my own. When I see someone in the church looking lost, I gladly offer my assistance.

In the end, my journey from confusion to understanding transformed not only my experience of the church service but also my role within it. The liturgy is no longer a set of rituals; it's a profound and meaningful journey that I actively participate in and cherish.

Original publication: radiovera.ru/ne-ujdu-poka-ne-pojmu-svetlana-bakulina.html