Through the Veil

For many Western Christians, the iconostasis in Eastern churches looks very much like a barrier, something solid separating 'us' from 'them', the 'holy' from the 'profane'. It seems to carry a virtual 'no entry sign' and be designed for the primary purpose of keeping the unworthy out of the place of purity. Having just come back from a holiday in Cyprus, it strikes me more and more that this is an unhelpful way of seeing the iconostasis and its doors. The church where I attended Vespers last Sunday was a good example of why this impression is a very partial one. The church was quite small so the Holy Table, though behind the screen, was very close to the people, much closer than even our nave altar in the Cathedral is. And the faithful who went forward to kiss the icons of the Saviour and the Theotokos on entering the temple (some doing so well after the beginning of the Hour) came very close indeed to that 'separated place'. Some also approached to present prosphora. And the clergy came right among the people at several points in the course of the service honour each one with incense, to offer prayer before the icon of a local saint and to bless the gifts of food brought for sharing. The whole experience was far more intimate than many services in the West with its pews, elevated pulpits and distant sanctuaries.

It seems to me that iconostasis represents quite the opposite of what it might appear to signify. Rather than presenting a closed door to the unwashed masses, it presents an open door to the heavenly realm. The Liturgy and Hours are more a drama of entry and approach, of movement and ascent, than a secret rite performed behind a screen. The spiritual life is not one of stasis (nor a matter of status) but movement, becoming. It is a journey towards God that is also, and at the same time, a matter of God's journeying to us and all the classic writings on growth in the spiritual life present it in this way. This truth is powerfully depicted for me in the way the iconostasis is used in the course of Orthodox prayer and worship. It is a portal, or perhaps a gift that is beautifully wrapped in order that it may offer the thrill of unwrapping. If we saw there, instead of a 'keep out' sign, a sign showing the way to our destination, then it might take on a very different character.

The liturgies of the contemporary Western churches lack something of this movement. Everything is there in the open at all times and while this may helpfully indicate the generous presence and availability of God's grace, I wonder if it misses something of the insight of our spiritual ancestors who articulated what we know well from experience - yes, God is there for us, but our apprehension of that truth and our growth into it, are a dynamic of entry, a drama of hiddenness and revelation, a dialectic of proximity and clouded sight, of things known yet unknown.