We face east because we’re waiting for Christ to return. It’s that simple, and that ancient.
Walk into any Orthodox church and you’ll notice the altar is at the eastern end of the building. Sometimes it’s not true east by a compass, but it’s always called the liturgical east. The whole congregation turns that direction during the Divine Liturgy. We’re not just facing a wall or an icon. We’re facing toward the Light.
The practice goes back to the earliest Christians. St. Basil the Great wrote about it as something handed down from the apostles, right alongside other traditions like making the sign of the cross and blessing baptismal water. The Fathers didn’t invent this. They received it.
Scripture gives us the language for why east matters. The prophet Malachi called the coming Messiah the “Sun of Righteousness” who would rise with healing in his wings. Ezekiel saw the glory of God entering the Temple from the east. When Zechariah prophesied over his infant son John the Baptist, he spoke of the “dawn from on high” breaking upon us. And Christ himself said that his coming would be like lightning flashing from east to west. The early Christians read these passages and understood something: direction means something when you’re talking about the Light of the World.
Paradise was planted in the east, according to Genesis. When Adam and Eve were expelled, they went west into exile. So when we turn east to pray, we’re turning back toward our true home. We’re acknowledging that we’re exiles who long to return.
Here in Southeast Texas, you can watch the sun come up over the Gulf if you drive down to the coast early enough. There’s something about sunrise that feels like hope. The darkness breaks. The light returns. That’s what we’re proclaiming when we build our churches facing east. Christ is the true Sun, and we’re waiting for him to rise again, not over the horizon but in glory to make all things new.
The eastward orientation isn’t just about the building. It shapes how we worship. During baptism, the catechumen first faces west to renounce Satan. Then he turns east to confess Christ. It’s a physical turning from darkness to light, from death to life. Your body participates in what your soul is doing.
Even at home, Orthodox Christians traditionally set up their icon corner on the eastern wall of a room. When you stand to pray, you face east. You’re joining yourself to the whole Church, scattered across time zones and continents, all of us turning the same direction like sunflowers tracking the sun.
Some people ask whether this is just symbolism. Can’t God hear us no matter which way we face? Of course he can. But we’re not Gnostics. We don’t think the body is irrelevant or that physical things don’t matter. We believe the Word became flesh. We believe bread and wine become Body and Blood. We believe that what we do with our bodies shapes our souls. So we turn east, and in turning, we remember what we’re waiting for.
Not every Orthodox church building can be oriented to true east. Sometimes the lot doesn’t allow it, or you’re renovating an existing structure that faces another direction. That’s fine. The altar end becomes the liturgical east, and the symbolism holds. It’s not about magnetic north. It’s about Christ.
If you visit St. Michael’s for the first time, you’ll see this in action. The altar is at the east end. The iconostasis faces west toward the congregation. When the priest prays, he faces east with the people. We’re all looking the same direction, all waiting together. On Pascha, when we sing “Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death,” we’re proclaiming that the Sun has already risen once. And we know he’ll rise again.
