Writing inspired by the following SWC prompts:

Invent the meaning of you name.

Feast of Orthodoxy

by Doxa Papachartofyli

“Doxa! Come down, everyone’s already here!” The young girl sighed and sadly eyed the book on her lap. It would have to wait for the next couple of excruciating hours to be over.

Today was her name day, and those were a big deal in Greece. The Feast of Orthodoxy. Apparently, many, many centuries ago, a Byzantine Emperor decided that praying at shrines and revering any painting or image or likeness of one of the many distinguished figures of Christianity – they have Saints and Archangels galore, those Orthodox Christians – was a tad too similar with what their ancestors, the ancient Greeks had practiced. So, the Emperor banished all religious imagery and decreed that people who disobeyed would be persecuted.

Doxa had looked it up, she had half expected for his name to be Theophilos or Theodosios or Theodoros. Something with the Theo-God- prefix in his name to really drive the point home. But no, his name was Constantin. So, obviously because human beings are in nature so very chill about any changes ever, this put in motion a few decades of people literally scraping wood flakes from their favourite Saint’s image to drink, as a misguided morning beverage of hashtag blessed champions. They hid all holy statues and busts and paintings, while many others chased them down to kill the perpetrators and collect each and every single item of hallowed art – like Pokemon. As already stated, so super chill. Then another Emperor (surprise! his name was Constantin again!) decided that the division between the iconoclasts and iconodules had lasted for too long and probably didn’t reflect so great on him. So he said: ‘People, maybe just don’t drink scraped off wood. You are allowed to decorate your living rooms with depictions of the Beheading of Saint Barbara instead.’

But Constantin didn’t stop there. He had a legacy to ensure. He decreed that this day would be henceforth known as the Sunday of Orthodoxy and all Orthodox Christians should rejoice. And celebrate him.

Did he though decide specifically that only fish should be feasted upon on Orthodoxy’s special day? Doxa highly doubted it. No official sources had been procured for her upon request, just her relatives saying that ‘on your name day, we only eat fish and no dairy is allowed’. Lovely. Exactly what every teenager wants to hear.

Every Yiannis and Yiorgos around were allowed to eat to their heart’s desire, but only Doxa was doomed to celebrate by having fish. Fried fish, to add salt to her gaping wound. Blergh. Her sister had tortellini a la creme and steaks for her name day, but not Doxa, no siree. And not only that, but she was expected to go through the annual speech that her father gave, about how her name’s connotation was of religion, but in reality how ironic that is. Because the etymology of Orthodoxia means true opinion. Orthos, true, right, and Doxa, opinion. He would finish his treatise on how Church took a word that means logic, common sense, and used it for something that is basically the opposite (scraped off wood tea, anyone?). Usually around this time Doxa’s uncle would then ask her: “Are you not eating the head and the eyes? But that’s the best part!” At which point Doxa would hand over the piscine carcass to her uncle and watch in equal parts horror and awe, as he munched on the head like she munched on kinder Bueno candy bars.

Like her parents, she was not religious either, but at this point would gladly convert to all religions, simultaneously, if her parents decided to stop celebrating her name day by forcing her to eat fried fish. She would have scraped off wood too, if it meant she could have tortellini. But, alas. Today it was the Feast of Orthodoxy. And she, Orthodoxia, the honoree.

Right, on cue, her father cleared his throat. “Do you know the origin of the word Orthodoxy?”