The Armenian Quarter

JG arrived a couple of days ago, so we took the opportunity yesterday to explore the Armenian quarter of the old city of Jerusalem. According to Let's Go, the Cathedral of St. James was holding vespers at 3pm. We killed time looking at hand-painted porcelain, and then a little before 3 started looking for the entrance to the cathedral. The Armenian quarter has more of a closed feel than the other quarters--there aren't a lot of signs advertising attractions or shopkeepers badgering passersby. We did see a bunch of people coming out of a gate though, wearing what I would describe as "Sunday best", so JG asked them where the entrance to the cathedral was. They gestured to the interior of the courtyard, and we entered. Still unclear where the cathedral was, we followed a black-robed priest who looked like he was in a hurry, and then converged with a tour group. Soon, we were at the service. One of the worshippers reminded me to remove my hat, and I noted the old ladies in attendance covering their hair with Lacy scarves.

The "Cathedral" was more of a chapel, or at least the part we were in was. It was gorgeous though. The ceiling had a lot of silver, porcelain, and glass candle lamps hanging from it at different heights. It occurred to me that this kind of lighting scheme, which I have also seen in Eastern Orthodox churches here, may have been the inspiration for the very modern hanging lights in the sanctuary at my home synagogue. None of these lamps was lit, however, and natural light from the upper story of arched windows filtered down to illuminate the space. When the angle of the sun was just right, a thin pencil of light would penetrate all the way to the floor, highlighting the previously invisible dust particles suspended in the air. The walls had medieval-looking paintings all over them. What wasn't covered with paintings was intricate tile in green, blue, and white, and what wasn't tiled was stone, etched with crosses. The floor was covered by Persian-style rugs.

Priests and alter boys were chanting a melancholy tune in a non-diatonic scale. From time to time the music would change and an alter boy would come out swinging a ringing silver incense burner that put out puffs of smoke from (I think) frankincense. The smell along with the chanting was sleep-inducing. I was jealous of the old priests who had plush armchairs to sit on. Changes in music were accompanied by changes in dress. Alter boys would bring out brilliant cloaks and help the priests put them on, arranging their headgear (pointed like Mt. Ararat, I remembered a tour guide explaining at some point) just so. When the music became more vigorous, the whole host headed for the back, which I had assumed was just a vestibule when I walked through it, and did some chanting back there. During this time, priests and alter boys shuttled old books on shtenders back and forth.

After the service ended, the alterboys changed out of their robes and back into blazers. We thanked a priest and he told us to come again.