Lenten Reflection 9: Holy Unction

The most beautiful part of last night's Holy Unction service actually had very little to do with the service itself. For the curious, Holy Unction is a sacrament in the Orthodox Church. The faithful receive the sign of the cross made in oil on their foreheads, cheeks, chins, and palms. Its purpose is to strengthen their souls and bodies for the remaining days of Holy Week. I like to think about Holy Unction as a reaffirmation of the Chrismation I received when I joined the Orthodox Church (though the two sacraments are not the same thing). While this probably doesn't count as an official theological explanation, I look at Holy Unction as a renewal of the commitment I made at Baptism.

After a very tiring day watching the children, I gathered the kids and went to church. George had been clingy. Kyla had been ornery (hooking George's ankle with a coat hanger while he tried to get away...It's already begun!). Stephanie was running late from work and would meet us there.

At some point near the beginning of the service I noticed that the priests and deacons, standing around the table where the holy oil was, seemed to be making some rather awkward pauses as they were reading. I also observed that a few people were starting to cough. Then the coughing began to spread, working its way back toward my row.

The service stopped momentarily as Fr. Steven inexplicably walked toward the back of the church (I didn't see where he went). A moment later he walked toward the front of the church, stopping in the middle. I forget his exact words, but they went something like this, "Forgive the interruption brethren, but someone has sprayed pepper spray in the church. That is why some of you are having difficulty. Whoever has the pepper spray needs to take it out now!."

Mothers began to rush their children out of the church. I debated about what to do for a minute, until I felt myself begin to cough. So I took my kids to the narthex and waited with the moms by the front doors. In hindsight I think I was just having a psychosomatic response. The spray probably never got to my row. Kyla, who has some asthma-like symptoms, didn't start to cough until I told her, "Somebody sprayed something that makes people cough in the church."

Once I was confident that the air had sufficiently cleared, I retook my seat with my daughter and son. Stephanie still had not arrived.

A few more minutes into the service, I noticed more commotion near the front of the church. The clergy had stopped reading. Fr. Steven stepped forward and faced the congregation. "Pardon the interruption again, brothers and sisters, but before we continue I need to ask your forgiveness. I allowed myself to become irritated a moment ago. Forgive me." His confession was followed by a full prostration before the entire congregation. Those who knew what to say (I was somewhat flabbergasted) seemed to utter something like, "We forgive you Holy Father." It might have been "I forgive you..." or maybe "God forgives you..." In any case, forgiveness was exchanged.

Personally, I thought he hadn't done anything wrong. When he first warned us of the pepper spray, I thought, "Father is miffed!" But I didn't think it was wrong for him to be upset. Miraculously, the clergy, who seemed to be closest to where the spray was released, continued to lead us in the liturgy. I'm sure they had difficulty too. I figured his irritation was justified!

I supposed that a child had gotten into his mother's pepper spray. A lot of women I know carry pepper spray on a key chain. Stephanie used to have some as well. So I pictured Bart Simpson (with horns beneath his hair) somewhere up in the front row, mischievously turning off the safety, pointing the spray at the floor, and pushing the button to see what would happen. I thought to myself, "Someone is going to get it when they get home!"

But the priest sets the tone for the church. And after he asked for our forgiveness, I felt the tone begin to change. Other scenarios began to play themselves out in my mind. I pictured one of our frazzled Hausfrau's juggling her children, in a hurry, somehow sitting on her key chain and accidentally turning off or breaking the plastic safety and releasing the pepper spray at the same time. I pictured a rather innocent child, with no idea what she was doing, playing with buttons (like my son George does whenever he goes after my wireless router).

I also pictured Bart Simpson, but he began to look much less devilish and much more curious or foolish.

I also imagined the embarrassment of his parents. It occurred to me how I would feel if my daughter did that. By the way, I love my daughter very much. And she would do that (Stephanie constantly reminds me of how much alike we are)! I also thought of how bad she would feel about it after she received a tongue-lashing from me.

I tend not to think of our priests as supermen. I am very aware of how human they are. Maybe it's because I was in ministry for a time. I was a youth pastor for only about three years, so I am hardly an expert. But I have something of a sense of their many, many obligations and commitments, the balancing acts that I have no desire ever repeat (God-willing, I will never be called into the priesthood!). I can barely juggle my two kids!

Nevertheless, the priests are examples. This is what we ask them to be! Last night, before Father's confession, I had been thinking of all the juicy gossip that would take place on the front porch of the church. After his confession, I was much more inclined to be sympathetic. I'll probably end up finding out what happened at some point. The difference is that now I am less likely to do it in a way that follows my own natural inclinations to be gossipy and judgmental towards whom is sure to be my rather embarrassed sister or brother.