A Panachida is a prayer service for Orthodox Christians who’ve died. We’re asking God to forgive their sins and grant them rest in his kingdom.
It’s not a funeral. The funeral happens at the burial, with the body present. A Panachida comes after that, at the graveside, in church, or even years later on an anniversary. Think of it as the Church’s ongoing prayer for someone who’s already been buried.
When we serve them
You’ll see Panachidas on specific days that matter. The third day after death. The ninth day. The fortieth day. These numbers aren’t random, they connect to Christ’s resurrection on the third day, the nine orders of angels, and his ascension after forty days.
Families also request them on the anniversary of a death, or on the departed person’s birthday or name day. And then there are the memorial Saturdays, Meatfare Saturday before Lent begins, several Saturdays during Great Lent, and the Saturday before Pentecost. On those days the whole parish brings names of their departed, and we pray for everyone together.
If you grew up Baptist in Beaumont, this might feel strange at first. We don’t talk much about the dead except at funerals, and even then it’s mostly about heaven and seeing them again someday. But Orthodox Christians believe something different about death and the Church.
Why we pray for the dead
Here’s the thing: death doesn’t kick you out of the Church. The departed are still part of the Body of Christ. They’re alive in him, just not here with us anymore. When Jesus said “I am the resurrection and the life,” he wasn’t talking about something that only happens at the end of time. He meant that those who believe in him are alive right now, even after they die.
So we pray for them the same way we’d pray for anyone in the Church. We ask God to have mercy, to forgive their sins, to bring them into his kingdom. We don’t believe they’re stuck in some waiting room earning their way out. We believe God’s mercy continues after death, and our prayers matter.
This isn’t some medieval superstition. It’s what Christians believed from the beginning. The early Church prayed for the departed at every Divine Liturgy, and we still do.
What actually happens
The priest serves the Panachida, usually with a deacon if the parish has one. There’s incense, psalms (especially Psalm 50, the great penitential psalm), litanies asking for God’s mercy, and hymns like “Memory Eternal.” Sometimes there’s a Scripture reading, 1 Corinthians 15 about the resurrection body is common.
The prayers are beautiful and direct. We ask that the departed might rest “in a place of brightness, a place of refreshment, a place of repose, where all sickness, sighing, and sorrow have fled away.” We’re asking God to remember them in his kingdom.
If it’s a memorial Saturday or a fortieth-day service, you’ll often see kollyva, boiled wheat mixed with honey, pomegranate seeds, and sometimes nuts. The wheat symbolizes resurrection. A seed goes into the ground and dies, then rises as new life. That’s us. That’s everyone who’s died in Christ.
Anyone can request a Panachida. You call the church office, give the name of your departed loved one, and ask for the service on a particular day. Some people do this every year on the anniversary. Some do it on memorial Saturdays. There’s no rule about frequency, it’s about love and remembrance.
What this means for you
If you’ve lost someone and you’re new to Orthodoxy, this practice might bring real comfort. Your grandmother isn’t gone from the Church just because she’s gone from earth. You can still pray for her. The Church still prays for her. She’s still part of us.
And if you’re coming from a background where people say “once you’re dead, that’s it, your fate is sealed,” this might challenge you. We don’t claim to know exactly how God’s mercy works after death. We just know it does work, because God is love and his mercy endures forever. So we keep praying. We keep asking. We keep remembering.
The Panachida isn’t about anxiety or earning anything. It’s about love that doesn’t stop at the grave. It’s the Church saying we don’t forget our own, and neither does God.
