Mile 21: From Russia, with Love (Part II)

On the third day of our time in STP, I went on another SAS tour called Orthodox Churches. This time, we got to see more of the city through its religious perspective. Most Russians are Roman Catholic and they go into church for confession, prayer and mass multiple times a week. By sheer luck, our first church visit coincided with the start of mid-day services. We entered a quiet and somber church, the Holy Trinity Cathedral, filled with small alters in every corner. Each alter had a photograph of a religious figure and was framed by a small candelabra or candle stand. Worshippers would purchase small cream colored candles and light them at the alters they wished to pay homage to that day. On the right side of the church, a confessioner was carefully attending to the confessions of Russians. When I passed him, he was hunched over listening intently to a very emotional older woman who was, seemingly, pouring her heart out to him. I felt an immediate connection to her, knowing well the need to confess and be heard in my own life. It was a very tender and heartwarming scene of everyday Russian life and I will remember that image for many years to come.

I sat down at one of the alter benches to take in the details of the ceiling and paintings. This church was not a tourist destination and I was very happy to have seen a place where the locals go. It felt like I was in real Russia, not the highlight tour of major monuments. I sat starring at the lit candles and felt peaceful and present in the moment (a hard thing to do with busy ship life). Then, a four-man choir began to chant slowly and two priests began the noon mass service. The singing was really quite beautiful in a low baritone. I would have recorded it if I could, but no photos or videos were allowed (in fact, at least 3 individuals in the church reminded me NOT to take photos when they saw a camera round my neck. It was shut and I didn’t lift it once, but still). The voices of the choir filled the church and I breathed a sign of calm listening to it. I was in Russia!

We left this church and went next to the Church of Spilled Blood, which I had been to with my students the day before. This time though, I got to see it without the distractions of class assignments or instructing students. This time, I sat again in a corner and tried to be present. I looked, really looked, at each mosaic and tried to imagine the making of his immensely beautiful interior. Breathtaking, even the second time around.

After lunch (where I had really lovely basil soup), our third stop was the iconic St. Isaac’s Cathedral and instead of going inside, I opted to climb the 220 steps to the top of the copula. The entirety of St. Petersburg lay before me and while snapping photos, it seemed to me that STP was very heavy. The air had a seriousness to it that made me feel very somber and contemplative. Each corner of the city was spotted with rich historical monuments but the city itself seemed a bit sad somehow, beaten by a tumultuous history. If there were one word to signify my experience in St. Petersburg, it would be “contradictory.”

Our final stop, St. Vladmir’s Cathedral, was a train ride away so we hopped on the metro. The metro station in STP is the deepest in the world because it has to be below the Neva river. So, descending into the pit of the station was quite an experience. The platform had beautifully crafted mosaic walls that demarcated the theme of the station (each one had a specific name/them). We rode the train for one stop and went in the cathedral. Inside, I bought two cream colored candles and said a prayer for my family. I said each of their names in my mind (extended family too!) as I lit the candle and I prayed for good health, happiness and long life. Upon leaving, I stood at the back taking in the height of the church. I noticed a young mother walk in with her toddler. The young child, with golden curls and blushed cheeks, followed her mother’s actions. Mom lifted daughter to each alter where she lit a candle and placed it carefully in the candelabra. She mimicked a prayer said by her mother and then moved on to the next alter.

In that moment, I began to understand the regularity of Russian religions traditions and rituals. Prayer was a uniting factor in this seemingly segregated country. It brought together generations of individuals and removed the weight of politics, oppression and history. It might have been the country’s most sacred landmark. These everyday people didn’t speak of Stalin or communism of the USSR. Instead, they cared for their families and followed their faiths. They looked forward to realizing their freedoms and teaching their truths; they were us in a different context. I’m sending a little prayer for Russia out into the universe today: may it be lit with more sunshine and better understood. The below photo epitomizes Russia for me. Nostrovia.