An Akathist is a standing hymn. That’s what the word means, “not seated.” You stand for the whole thing out of reverence for the person or mystery being honored.
These hymns are one of the oldest and most loved forms of Orthodox prayer. The most famous one, written sometime in the sixth or seventh century, honors the Theotokos. It’s been called one of the greatest achievements in Christian poetry, and when you hear it chanted on a Friday night in Lent, you’ll understand why. The words pile up image after image, paradox after paradox. “Rejoice, O Unwedded Bride.” “Rejoice, depth hard to contemplate even for the eyes of angels.” It’s theology you can sing.
How They’re Built
Akathists follow a specific pattern. They alternate between short stanzas called kontakia and longer ones called oikoi. The longer stanzas are where the “Rejoice” refrains come in, twelve or more salutations that build on each other, each one addressing the Theotokos or the saint or Christ Himself with another title, another image drawn from Scripture or the Church’s memory. The shorter kontakia usually end with “Alleluia.”
The original Akathist to the Theotokos is an acrostic. Each section begins with the next letter of the Greek alphabet. There’s a beautiful order to it, a structure that holds all that poetic intensity together.
In Church and At Home
You’ll encounter Akathists in two main ways. First, liturgically. During Great Lent, many parishes chant the Akathist to the Theotokos on Friday evenings, sometimes dividing it across four or five weeks. It’s often paired with Small Compline. The whole congregation stands. You’ll make bows at certain points. The choir will chant the refrains, and you’ll join in when you learn them.
But Akathists aren’t just for church. People pray them at home too. You can stand before your icon corner with a printed text and work through it slowly. Some folks pray an Akathist every Friday. Others save them for feast days or when they need focused intercession. You don’t need a choir or a priest. Just you, the text, and maybe a candle.
The experience differs between the two settings. In church it’s communal, ceremonial, with incense and chanting. At home it’s quieter, more meditative. Both are valid. Both connect you to the same tradition.
More Than Just Mary
While the Theotokos Akathist is the most ancient and beloved, there are now Akathists to Christ, to the Cross, to individual saints. St. Nicholas has one. So does St. Seraphim of Sarov. There’s even an Akathist of Thanksgiving, written by a Russian metropolitan during Soviet persecution. That one’s worth finding if you’ve never read it.
These newer Akathists follow the same structure, kontakia and oikoi, refrains and salutations. They’re not just copying the original. They’re extending a living tradition of prayer that weaves Scripture, theology, and devotion into something you can actually pray.
Why Stand?
Standing for an entire service can feel strange if you’re used to pews. But there’s theology in it. Standing is the posture of watchfulness, of readiness. It’s how the early Christians prayed. It’s how you’d stand before a king, and we’re standing before the King of Kings, honoring His mother or His saints.
That said, nobody’s going to scold you if you need to sit. If you’re elderly, if you’ve been on your feet all day at the plant, if you’ve got a bad back, sit when you need to. The Church is pastoral about this. The ideal is to stand, but mercy matters more than rubrics.
If You’re New to This
Start with a short Akathist. Don’t try to tackle the full Theotokos Akathist on your first attempt. Find a printed version from Ancient Faith or your parish bookstore. Stand if you can. Light a candle. Read slowly. Let the refrains sink in. Don’t worry about getting every word perfect or making all the bows at the right time.
You might pair it with your evening prayers, or pray it on a Friday night when the house is quiet. Some people like to pray an Akathist on the feast day of the saint it honors. There’s no single right way to start. Just start.
Akathists fit naturally with other Orthodox prayers. They’re cousins to the canons we chant at Matins, to the troparia we sing at Vespers. If you’re already praying the Psalms or the Hours, an Akathist will feel like it belongs to the same family. Same theology, same rhythm, same sense that prayer is something you do with your whole body and your whole attention.
Next time you’re at St. Michael on a Friday evening in Lent, stay for the Akathist. Stand with everyone else. Listen to the words. You don’t have to understand everything the first time. Just let it wash over you. That’s how these prayers work, not all at once, but slowly, over years, until one day you realize you’ve memorized whole sections without trying, and they come to you when you need them most.
