Trousers: Russian Orthodox
Church Outside of Russia (ROCOR)
In Australia
I settled in a small town situated nowhere. Naturally,
there was no Orthodox church. I had to travel to one of
the state capitals or to the town an hour and half away
where the service was in Greek and happened very rarely.
My first acquaintance with the ROCOR was off-putting. I
was rushing to the evening service and went to the
cathedral in Sydney straight out of the car without even
dropping my luggage at the place I was staying, wearing
female trousers, a knee-long loose blouse, and
headscarf. I was stopped at the door by a bearded man –
the epitome of Russian pre-revolutionary piety. “No, you
cannot come in – you are wearing trousers.” I used to go
in those very trousers and blouse to the monasteries in
Moscow and beyond and none ever said anything to me
against it but here I could not enter a city cathedral.
Other women were passing along, entering the church
freely, some of them in ultra-mini skirts and almost all
of them without headscarves. I understood that here a
mini-skirt was perceived to be more modest than my
almost Muslim-like total coverage. I tried to state that
I came from far away for the sake of confession and Holy
Communion but the bearded man was adamant. Fortunately,
a compassionate woman who heard our conversation rushed
home and brought for me her own skirt. I pulled it over
my garments. It was too short for me – only a few
centimeters longer than my blouse but it was The Skirt
so I was allowed in. Standing inside the cathedral in
someone’s tartan skirt pulled over my trousers and
flowery blouse I was feeling like a fool, and even more
a fool when the priest beaconed me for confession.
He was friendly. He asked where I have come from, heard
that I was baptized in Russia, shook his head and said
“Oh dear! – Let us pray that your baptism was a true
baptism.” I, a fool in someone’s skirt, went totally
numb. What did he mean? The priest continued “Wait for
me after tomorrows Liturgy and I will give you a book”.
Next day I came wearing a very long dress and a
headscarf of a matching colour. Yesterday’s bearded man
smiled approvingly and I, to my shame, felt that I was
indeed worthier now than I was yesterday. After the
Liturgy I waited for the priest for some time; the
people around me were giving some sweets to each other.
Eventually the priest came out and handled to me a pale
bluish book saying “Surely you have never had such books
or perhaps even any Orthodox books published in Russia.”
It was a catechesis, a reprint of pre-revolutionary
book.
Only later I learnt that many ROCOR priests consider the
Russian Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate to be
graceless therefore its sacraments are not true
sacraments. The catechesis is still with me, somewhere
between my volumes of the Philokalia and Fr Pavel
Florensky brought from Moscow.
I had no means to go to the state capitals regularly so
I did not need to decide if I was prepared to put up
with this offensive, for me, attitude to the Church
which baptized me and brought me up.
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