I know, I know — months have passed since the last time I was deemed worthy to write you a couple of lines, but spare a thought for me too, the humble Sexton, and what I endure without your knowing it…
Although my stomach is still conducting difficult negotiations with the Paschal lamb and the tsoureki bread, I found a little time to bring up something an elderly Metropolitan confided to me between bites of cheese and pear.
“Sexton,” he says to me, “I watch with admiration — and a little bewilderment — the newfound flourishing of the ‘digital shepherds.’”
I confess I was left dumbfounded. So I seized the opportunity to ask what the “poet” — or rather the Hierarch — meant.
“My beloved brother, I am not speaking of the priest who merely appears on the internet… but of the one who ‘scrolls,’ as you young people say,” he said, swallowing the Pella pear in one gulp, as if he wished to swallow with it all the bitterness of modern technology.
So then, from my humble corner — where the mobile phone is used only to call the plumber and not for live streaming — I began to observe the new ecclesiastical customs.
Even my own superior (may God grant him many years, I have no complaints), the other day blurted it out with a sigh that even the Publican would envy:
“My Sexton, ah, this finger! Instead of turning the prayer rope, it has learned to rhythmically skip through little videos, seeking the glory of the algorithm…”
And how can you disagree with the Elder? Nowadays sacred zeal is no longer measured by attendance at Compline, but by “views” and “likes.”
The other day I observed one of the fledglings of our parish — one of those whose cassock smells unfortunately more of fabric softener and less of incense — standing inside the Holy Altar.
One might have assumed he was studying the Rudder or at least the Typikon of Konstantinos Protopsaltis. Alas!
His finger, with a dexterity that even the pianist Liszt would envy, performed the familiar “scroll down” at the speed of light.
His gaze, lost in the screen, was illuminated by the blue reflection of the smartphone, giving him an… otherworldly appearance, almost metaphysical — except for the fact that, from what I managed to glimpse, at that very moment he was watching recipes and videos of dancing kittens.
“Bless, Father,” I say discreetly, hoping to bring him back to earthly reality.
“Wait, Sexton,” he replies without lifting his head, “let me see whether they liked my latest post with the little quotation… I even added a ‘sepia’ filter to make it look more ascetic.”
We have reached the point where “spiritual vigilance” means owning the latest iPhone model — for a better camera — and it is considered almost a liturgical vessel, alongside the Holy Chalice.
As for me, the humble Sexton, I remain traditionally minded: I prefer my thumb to ache from polishing the candle stands rather than from merciless scrolling between advertisements and youth videos.
And before the battery runs out — not of the device, but of patience — let me add a couple more lines: besides the “devout” scrolling, we now also have spiritual… Hollywood.
We live in the age of high-level direction. You see the tripod being set up with such geometric precision that you would think a film shoot was about to begin rather than Vespers.
And then there are those priests who have transformed into ecclesiastical reporters and “correspondents of the Holy Altar.”
They are a special fraternity which, if the Church had a Pulitzer Prize, would have won it fair and square — or rather with their iPhones.
I will say this and stitch my lips shut afterward! Just before “Arise, O God,” at the moment when all creation was holding its breath, an altar boy, anxious to receive Communion, approaches the Proistamenos.
“Father, I have a troubling thought that torments me…”
And the priest, without taking his eyes off the screen displaying the upload progress bar, answers with the appropriate priestly calm:
“One moment, my child, let the upload finish… and I’ll resolve it for you immediately…”
P.S. Taking off the apron of the humble Sexton, I wish to add this: if anyone should be scandalized or angered by any of the above, may the Lord forgive me, and may he not hasten to correct me through comments and reactions… for, as is well known, humility is not clearly captured on touchscreens. Besides, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear” — and if he does not hear, at least let him not share it.
Although my stomach is still conducting difficult negotiations with the Paschal lamb and the tsoureki bread, I found a little time to bring up something an elderly Metropolitan confided to me between bites of cheese and pear.
“Sexton,” he says to me, “I watch with admiration — and a little bewilderment — the newfound flourishing of the ‘digital shepherds.’”
I confess I was left dumbfounded. So I seized the opportunity to ask what the “poet” — or rather the Hierarch — meant.
“My beloved brother, I am not speaking of the priest who merely appears on the internet… but of the one who ‘scrolls,’ as you young people say,” he said, swallowing the Pella pear in one gulp, as if he wished to swallow with it all the bitterness of modern technology.
So then, from my humble corner — where the mobile phone is used only to call the plumber and not for live streaming — I began to observe the new ecclesiastical customs.
Even my own superior (may God grant him many years, I have no complaints), the other day blurted it out with a sigh that even the Publican would envy:
“My Sexton, ah, this finger! Instead of turning the prayer rope, it has learned to rhythmically skip through little videos, seeking the glory of the algorithm…”
And how can you disagree with the Elder? Nowadays sacred zeal is no longer measured by attendance at Compline, but by “views” and “likes.”
The other day I observed one of the fledglings of our parish — one of those whose cassock smells unfortunately more of fabric softener and less of incense — standing inside the Holy Altar.
One might have assumed he was studying the Rudder or at least the Typikon of Konstantinos Protopsaltis. Alas!
His finger, with a dexterity that even the pianist Liszt would envy, performed the familiar “scroll down” at the speed of light.
His gaze, lost in the screen, was illuminated by the blue reflection of the smartphone, giving him an… otherworldly appearance, almost metaphysical — except for the fact that, from what I managed to glimpse, at that very moment he was watching recipes and videos of dancing kittens.
“Bless, Father,” I say discreetly, hoping to bring him back to earthly reality.
“Wait, Sexton,” he replies without lifting his head, “let me see whether they liked my latest post with the little quotation… I even added a ‘sepia’ filter to make it look more ascetic.”
We have reached the point where “spiritual vigilance” means owning the latest iPhone model — for a better camera — and it is considered almost a liturgical vessel, alongside the Holy Chalice.
As for me, the humble Sexton, I remain traditionally minded: I prefer my thumb to ache from polishing the candle stands rather than from merciless scrolling between advertisements and youth videos.
And before the battery runs out — not of the device, but of patience — let me add a couple more lines: besides the “devout” scrolling, we now also have spiritual… Hollywood.
We live in the age of high-level direction. You see the tripod being set up with such geometric precision that you would think a film shoot was about to begin rather than Vespers.
And then there are those priests who have transformed into ecclesiastical reporters and “correspondents of the Holy Altar.”
They are a special fraternity which, if the Church had a Pulitzer Prize, would have won it fair and square — or rather with their iPhones.
I will say this and stitch my lips shut afterward! Just before “Arise, O God,” at the moment when all creation was holding its breath, an altar boy, anxious to receive Communion, approaches the Proistamenos.
“Father, I have a troubling thought that torments me…”
And the priest, without taking his eyes off the screen displaying the upload progress bar, answers with the appropriate priestly calm:
“One moment, my child, let the upload finish… and I’ll resolve it for you immediately…”
P.S. Taking off the apron of the humble Sexton, I wish to add this: if anyone should be scandalized or angered by any of the above, may the Lord forgive me, and may he not hasten to correct me through comments and reactions… for, as is well known, humility is not clearly captured on touchscreens. Besides, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear” — and if he does not hear, at least let him not share it.
THE SEXTON
Source: Translated by John Sanidopoulos.
