From Offering to the Great Entrance and Back Again


Fr. Ephrem Lash gave a riveting lecture on the Divine Liturgy entitled “Translating The Liturgy: Was there a Great Entrance at the Last Supper?” (1) In it, he points out vividly that aspects of our liturgical life of offering bread and wine to become the Body and Blood of Christ grew organically from a background that began with the Last Supper, and he shows that this does not mean that each component of the Divine Liturgy today was present even in an embryonic sense at the Last Supper. If we consider the Byzantine liturgy, the Great Entrance is a momentous occasion, so much so that Patriarch Eutychius called for the Cherubic hymn to be sung to counterbalance any notion that the bread and wine carried in the procession were already consecrated before the Anaphora (2). And despite the fact that the Last Supper brought the Eucharist to the world for the first time, it would be anachronistic to believe that there was a Great Entrance at the Last Supper, as the rhetorical question in the lecture title drives home so poignantly. Despite not being as ancient as the Eucharist itself, we will consider the development of the Great Entrance to understand the benefits and potential pitfalls of this practice.

As the liturgy developed in the first centuries of the Church, we read that “[t]he people, both in East and west, brought the bread and wine for the Eucharist.” (3) In the East “they handed in their offerings on the way to the Church, either at a table near the door, or in a small room specially provided near the entrance.” (4) Our understanding of the Eucharist as an offering from our own lives to bring the life of Christ to the Church and the world was clearly connected to this action of the faithful providing the bread and the wine, and to a partial extent this continues to this day with the faithful who prepare Prosphora in Byzantine parishes. As practical considerations brought more specialization to the Church, the place where the bread and wine were kept for the Anaphora changed. First, there was a transition from a table or small room to the Skeuphylakion, a separate building that stored the gifts of bread and wine which would be selected by deacons for the liturgy. Despite having its own building, the liturgy in Constantinople during the time of St. John Chrysostom did not have a Great Entrance as we know it. Wybrew states that “it is reasonably clear that in Chrysostom’s time the gifts were brought in by the deacons from wherever they had been left by the people and that this transfer was effected in a simple manner…accompanied by neither chant nor ceremonial.” (5) Thus, the transfer of the gifts from the Skeuphylakion to the altar began without ceremony, despite the current hymns and rubrics for the Great Entrance.

By 392, however, Theodore of Mopsuestia recounts at length about the awe and wonder of the same basic practice of bringing the gifts to the altar (6). Meditating upon the reality of the offering of Christ, the symbolism of His suffering, death, anointing and burial became integrally part of the Great Entrance. The ceremonialism that was not present in the early 300s emerges later in the century, and became so profound that Patriarchs chided those who held that the bread and wine were already consecrated, the Cherubic hymn was instituted, and the rite of Prothesis at the side altar came to replace the Skeuphylakion (7), which would have its own solemnity and symbolism to provide a context that would make sense of how we treat the gifts as special even prior to their consecration. Taken together, the progression away from simple actions in the earliest centuries of Church History reached a pinnacle of contrast where a rite before the procession was instituted providing symbolism pointing to Christ’s birth, the rite of procession at the Great Entrance was established to consider the suffering, death and Burial of Christ as well as the angelic powers worshipping the life-creating Trinity, ultimately leading to His Resurrection from the dead at the Anaphora and vivifying His people through reception of His Body and Blood at the Holy Eucharist.

On the one hand, we can be grateful to God for this development over the centuries. Hearing the prayers of the Prothesis (if they are audible and intelligible) can provide an excellent context of what is to be celebrated before the liturgy commences. By considering the prayers from this rite that hearken to the birth of Christ, and by seeing the great company of angels and saints surrounding Christ, we are drawn into the mystical realities of heaven, where the praise of God never ceases. In adding particles to the diskos for the faithful departed, our hearts swell with hope and prayers for those we have lost. Tying this together with the same gifts that are then solemnly carried through the nave of the Church and through the Royal doors at the Great Entrance, we are swept into the drama of the Passion, and the words of the Anaphora remind us that after death there is life. And as that life comes to the faithful who partake of it (or are blessed with the words, “Save Your People, O God, and bless Your inheritance”), the reality of Resurrection and life that is beyond the grave is embossed on our souls. In many ways, this experience emphasizes the reality of the life of Christ in the drama of salvation in a way that a liturgy which is not formalized can never do.
On the other hand, the formalization that comes to us through liturgical developments suffers the possibility of missing out on the personal connection to the offering that was seen more clearly in the early practice of the Church. As mentioned above, some parishioners may serve their congregations through preparing prosphora. Nevertheless, the majority of the people do not participate in this reality, and if that is the case there are many faithful who may not connect themselves to that which is offered in the Eucharist. The modern Byzantine rite may point us to Christ, but how do the faithful connect with this reality by seeing themselves in the liturgy?

I would argue that a balanced approach of understanding what Christ did for us and understanding what we do to unite ourselves to Christ and His Church in the liturgy is the key to the most ideal perspective. We must be able to see that we are part of the offering to God, and at the same time we must grasp how Christ offers Himself through our offerings to God. In so doing, we plumb the depths of the mystery of our salvation more clearly than an either/or perspective. Instead, we will see Christ’s priestly ministry and outstretched arms that seek to save us, and at the same time we will appreciate that our own efforts are part of the synergistic movement towards life everlasting. In so doing, we grasp the fullness of salvation and see the drama of its unfolding in our day to day lives. Glory to Jesus Christ!

Works Cited
1. Lash, Fr. Ephrem
2. Wybrew, Hugh. The Orthodox Liturgy, SVS Press 1990, page 82
3. Wybrew, page 20
4. Wybrew, page 20
5. Wybrew, page 52
6. Wybrew, page 53
7. Wybrew pp. 54, 55, 84, 109, 110, 154, 155-7


Why Mystery is not “Mysterious”-Part 1 of 2

There is much confusion about Christian appeal to mystery. It is alleged at times to be a means of obscuring answers to hard questions, or the lack thereof. It is derided as a catch all “god of the gaps” who is pointed to when there are no answers.

Nevertheless, we as Christians of the Apostolic Faith do point to mystery.

In the Roman Mass, the Priest Proclaims:

“The Mystery of Faith.”
And the Faithful respond:
“When we eat this Bread and drink this Cup, /we proclaim your Death, O Lord, /until you come again.”

In the Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom, part of the preparatory prayer before Communion states,
“For I will not reveal Your Mystery to your Enemies, nor will I give you a kiss as did Judas…”

In the Latin Rite response, we see that the response is not something covert. Instead, it is a revelatory comment that what the Eucharist does is proclaim Christ’s saving death.

In the Byzantine Prayer, we hear that the Mystery will not be revealed to the enemies of God. This emphasizes that it can be revealed, to those of the right frame of mind.

One approach that can be helpful is to point to the Scriptural application of the term mystery. In this case, we understand that the mystery of salvation has been revealed through Christ and the Church, through the salvation of all people, Jews and Gentiles alike. As one example of this, we have chapter 1 of the Epistle of St. Paul to the Colossians.

But another way to understand mystery is to put it into an appropriate historical context. Along these lines, I am happy to say that I have been a part of the Byzantine Catholic Seminary’s Online Program, which you can find more info about at this website.
My first online course is entitled, “The Theology of the Divine Liturgy”, and it is being taught by Fr. David Petras.

In part of the course notes, which I will quote just a bit so as to entice you to consider your own possible interaction with the course, we see that mystery is not obscure to those involved, in its historical context.

In the Greek culture a mystery rite was a ritual that re-enacted a certain myth. A classic example was the Eleusian mysteries, where the drinking of the kykeon symbolized a return of fertility to the crops, it represented the corn goddess Demeter sadly searching for her daughter. Greek mysteries were hidden from outsiders, but were a revelation to those who celebrated them. If you think about it, the essence of the modern “mystery” story is the revelation of the solution to the puzzle. The essential part of mystery is the revelation, and this was true of St. Paul speaking about the mystery of Christ.

Mystery is all about a revelation that is revealed, albeit only to some. But the point is that without this revelation, mystery is not a mystery. We tend to think that the key to a mystery is that it is and ever shall be confusing, but this is not how the Eleusian mysteries were celebrated. They were only rightly celebrated when people understood the reference to the myth that was being illuminated by the mystery itself (and not in spite of that mystery), and its relevance to the fertility that was being commemorated.

In my next post, I will relate this Greek reflection with a more modern context, in order to help us see that a mystery is not “mysterious”, in the obscurantist sense of the word.