Hot Press recently asked all its contributors to go out one Sunday morning and do a big “Mass Review” of religious services in Ireland. I chose to go to the Russian Orthodox Divine Liturgy.

The observer effect refers to changes that the act of observing will make on the phenomenon being observed. Anticipating that slipping in the back of the Russian Orthodox Church of the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul in Harold’s Cross, Dublin, would echo a wonderful experience I had visiting a church in Moscow, I was taken aback on arrival when I saw RTÉ outside broadcast units were camped outside, preparing to transmit the service to the nation. The floodlit interior of the converted Anglican church, with cameras everywhere, microphones dangling from the balcony, all served to diminish the experience a little, to render it a bit more self-conscious for everyone, as awkward gaps cropped up, waiting for the cue from the floor manager. It turned my intended private role of unobtrusive observer into de facto membership of an invasive heathen horde. But that’s not to say that the experience was spoilt; far from it.

Orthodox Divine Liturgy (Mass is not the correct term for it) is, basically, delightfully, a solemn, haunting, participatory opera. Its form has not changed in over a thousand years, and as ritual, it is hard to imagine it could be more theatrical, more evocative, and better designed to provide a sacred space for people to get a sense of the numinous. It lasts up to three hours, and takes the form of a dialogue, chanted and sung, between celebrant and congregation, represented most of the time by the choir. A superb little choir of seven sang in this service, but on two occasions, the 100 or so strong crowd joined in and sang majestically all around me, the rhythm dictated by the metronomic hand of the earnest deacon. The priest, Father George, a relatively young man, led the team of seven concelebrants, and I felt he was fully committed to his mission, with a sweet soft voice that was calming and moving. His sermon was extempore, given in Russian first, then in a charming, halting English; his enthusiasm and directness was affecting. He was excited! I found his immediacy in the middle of this ancient ritual refreshingly engaging.

There is a fluidity and informality to the morning that is surprising, people wander around to pray and move as they wish, but coming together at various times in intense devotion. Everyone stands, although there are a few seats for those that want them. There isn’t a sense that people are watching or judging, and the repetition of the metania, a stylised genuflection in front of an icon, involving kissing it and touching the floor and elaborately blessing oneself, is a gesture that each person makes their own.

Worship is the central pillar of Orthodox Christian religion, and this is its main rite. I found myself transported to a reflective soulful place during the morning, intensely private, full of grief that I still cannot bring myself to get over how most Christian religions, including Orthodoxy, really doesn’t know how to respect my sexuality, and condemns it in annihilating terms. But I’m still glad I went. I ended up participating in something special, and for a while I felt no longer the observer. I’m grateful.