Because we forget. That’s the short answer. We’re forgetful people who need to hear the same truths over and over before they sink in deep enough to change us.
If you come to an Orthodox service for the first time, you’ll hear “Lord, have mercy” probably forty times. Maybe more. The priest will chant a litany asking God to remember the sick, the travelers, those in authority, and you’ll respond “Lord, have mercy” after each petition. Then he’ll do another litany. And another. We sing the Trisagion, “Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us”, and we sing it three times. We do this every single service. We’ve been doing it for over a thousand years.
People from Protestant backgrounds often find this jarring. Didn’t Jesus warn against vain repetition? He did, in Matthew 6:7. But He was talking about babbling on and on to impress God or other people, the way the Pharisees prayed loud prayers on street corners to show off their piety. That’s not what’s happening in the liturgy.
Jesus also taught His disciples a fixed prayer, the Lord’s Prayer, and told them to pray it. He didn’t say, “Here’s a template, now make up your own version every time.” The book of Revelation shows us the angels and elders around God’s throne saying “Holy, holy, holy” without ceasing. That’s where we got the Trisagion. Repetition isn’t mindless when it’s offered with attention and love.
The liturgy repeats because we need formation, not just information. You can hear something once and think you’ve got it. But for a truth to move from your head to your heart, to become part of how you actually live, you need to hear it again. And again. This is how children learn. This is how anyone learns anything that matters.
Fr. Alexander Schmemann wrote about this in his book For the Life of the World. He said the liturgy isn’t just teaching us about God, it’s making us into something. Each time we say “Lord, have mercy,” we’re acknowledging our need. We’re humbling ourselves. We’re asking for healing, not because God forgot we needed it, but because we forget we need it. We forget we’re broken. We forget we can’t fix ourselves. The repetition calls us back.
There’s also the practical reality that our minds wander. If you’ve ever tried to pray for five minutes straight, you know this. You start praying and thirty seconds later you’re thinking about what you need to pick up at H-E-B on the way home. The liturgy keeps calling you back. “Again and again, in peace, let us pray to the Lord.” That “again and again” isn’t accidental. It’s honest about who we are.
The repetition also connects us to everyone else. When we pray the same prayers Christians have prayed for centuries, we’re joining our voices to theirs. We’re not making it up as we go. We’re entering into something bigger than ourselves, something that was here before we were born and will be here after we die. That’s stabilizing in a world where everything else changes every five minutes.
And here’s something people don’t always realize: repetition doesn’t mean sameness. You can say “Lord, have mercy” a hundred times and mean something different each time. One time it’s a cry for help. Another time it’s gratitude. Another time you’re asking for mercy for someone you love who’s sick. The words stay the same, but you change. That’s the point. The liturgy is the stable thing. We’re the ones being transformed.
The goal of all this isn’t to bore you into submission. It’s theosis, union with God. That doesn’t happen in a moment. It happens slowly, over years, as you show up again and again to the same prayers, the same liturgy, the same Eucharist. You’re being healed. You’re being changed. But healing takes time, and it takes repetition.
If you’re visiting St. Michael’s and the repetition feels strange, that’s normal. Give it time. Let the words wash over you. You don’t have to understand everything right away. Just stand there and let “Lord, have mercy” become your prayer too. Because you need mercy. We all do. And God doesn’t get tired of us asking.
