"We love food and love to eat," said Emily Lowe. "I'd hate to actually be a vegan. The whole point of fasting is that there's a feast after it. Depriving yourself for a time makes it that much better."
That was a good description of the season, by far the most sacred in the calendar. It reflects the time Christians believe Jesus, in conquering death, liberated humanity from the bondage of believing in the wrong things.
The congregation has assembled for services every night for the past week, a more intensive schedule than usual. After the previous weekend's respite, they even embarked on the year's most restrictive fast.
To members, Holy Week can feel like the last mile or two of a marathon.
But deprivation, they say, whets the appetite for the bigger stuff, and in the end draws everyone together.
The denial was to end at 11:30 Saturday night, when the church's flock of 180 were to begin Easter as they do each year.
The service begins in darkness, the choir singing English versions of Russian, Syrian and other hymns. Gregory Mathewes-Green enters, a single candle in hand. Then members pass that flame to one another, wick to wick, until everyone's candle is lit.
They head out the doors at midnight for a procession around the old stone building.
By the time they return inside, they find the church fully lit. Incense is burning, chandeliers are swinging, and the choir is booming "Christ Is Risen," a traditional hymn.
But they're not finished. They troop downstairs to a community room to feast on Ukrainian, Greek, French and Asian foods, all prepared by hand, and share drinks from around the world. There's crying, singing, shouting and pats on the back.
It feels, some say, like a return to life. .
"When you get through [Great Lent and Holy Week] and see this light on the other side, it's stunning," said Emily Lowe.
The party lasts all night.
