An Easter Mob

I wrote this in March 1991, nearly a year after my visit to the Soviet Union. 

“Easter Mob” may sound like an oxymoron, but there is no other

way to describe the mass of humanity compressed within and around the walls of The Russian Orthodox Cathedral of the Ascension in Novosibirsk, Siberia, on Easter Eve. This was the first time in more than 70 that they were permitted to ring the bells, and bells are a huge part of any Russian liturgy. From my vantage point high in the cathedral, I looked out over a vast crowd processing joyfully around the perimeter of the church. They carried torches, bells, crosses, banners and - of course — holy icons.

It was a curious experience for an American. All night long, people pushed, shoved, and practically trampled me underfoot. I couldn’t get to places I needed to be. Yet I was receiving their warmest welcome, sharing their most sacred moment, made to sit while others stood, and invited to vantage points reserved for only a few.

From the balcony, I watched the sea of humanity beneath me — babies and babushkas, young military officers and sturdy nuns, the elegantly dressed and the impoverished. The sea moved in waves throughout the main hall. It swirled around circular candle stands. Its chanting sounded like the cresting and crashing of waves. All through the night, the sweetest aromas of incense and melting paraffin competed with the pungent odor of human hair singed by burning candles. No one was alarmed.

Three choirs, a dozen clergy, and the whole congregation moved, sang, prayed, wept, and laughed in a sacred choreography. As the evening progressed, the complexity and grandeur of the liturgy gave way to brief moments of stunning simplicity. Rococo basses and baritones dominated the night but eventually yielded to the stark clarity of a single soprano. She sang from the dome high above the crowd. The music was by Rachmaninoff; the sentiment was ancient and primordial. I do not understand Slavonic, but there could be no doubt: she was the herald of the dawn. She announced resurrection and life, and the rebirth of all that refines and refreshes the human spirit. Her song was an exclamation of hope in the midst of a collapsing empire.

I was told later that this extraordinary vigil was not extraordinary; it has been celebrated similarly every year for more than a millennium, including the darkest years of the Stalinist repression. Certainly I was not to attribute the crowds to glasnost. This mob-like phenomenon was being repeated in twenty congregations — Baptist, Adventist, Lutheran, etc. — all around our sister city, and in countless settings across the former Soviet Union.

At the core of the Judeo-Christian experience is the imperative to choose life. Even in the midst of their present crisis, believers who inhabit the remnants of the Soviet Union are doing this. I will think of my friends in those Siberian churches as we celebrate Easter this year. I give thanks for the faith that unites us and gives us hope.

The Harrowing of Hell

It's Easter Sunday. In church today, a strange thought invaded my brain. What if we didn’t have present participles? That is a strange thought, don't you agree? But seriously, what if we weren’t able to say, “Christ is risen!” repeatedly? What if we had to use active verbs or gerunds like “Christ rises” or “Christ is rising”?

Personally, I like these better. Far from announcing a fait accompli, a “done deal” or a state of being that never changes, they suggest a dynamic and continuous movement toward a higher or better level of reality. They are active and open-ended, and incomplete.

In this icon, Christ is one with the rest of us as he rises from hell. Eve and Adam represent all of humanity; Christ holds each one by the hand as he rises. Orthodox theologians agree that this represents the redemption of all humankind, even back to the beginning. There is a latent universalism in this icon, even a primitive D.E.I. (Diversity, Equality, Inclusion). This icon, known variously as The Harrowing of Hell, Christ’s Descent into Hades, Anastasis, or Resurrection, is the primary Easter icon within Orthodox Churches.

For me, “Christ is rising” offers more hope than “Christ is risen.” In Palestine, Ukraine, or Sudan, in the midst of the most horrible political polarization, in hospitals or unemployment offices, “Christ is rising” offers the possibility - even the inevitability - that positive change will yet be realized. If Christ rises, so may we.

© Rev, Gilbert Friend-Jones

See https://www.orthodoxroad.com/christs-descent-into-hell-icon-explanation/

Tree of Life

Michelle Cromer was hiking in a forest in the Lake Arenal region of Costa Rica. She came upon a huge and ancient ceiba tree. The ceiba trees were considered holy in Maya-influenced pre-Columbian civilizations; they are called “The Tree of Life.” It was said that their roots lead to the underworld; their trunk is the world in which we live, and the tree’s spreading branches hold up the sky. She had an “ah-hah!” moment:

         “As I stood under her creaking boughs, swaying, crooked limbs, overhanging branches coated thickly in pale green moss, I could feel a distinct and familiar shift in me… Standing there, looking up, I did the most unexpected thing – I dropped to my knees and wept uncontrollably. The rush of emotions – joy, peace and most of all, love - was so unexpected. It felt like the tree – this tree – was welcoming me home.” [i]

 “Trees are invitations to think about time and to travel in it the way they do, by standing still and reaching out, and down,” wrote Rebecca Solnit[ii]. Most of us have had “ah-hah!”  experiences in life – seeing the Northern Lights for the first time, standing beneath a giant Redwood, or sitting with a dying friend, to name a few.

When I entered the sanctuary of Peace Church (UCC) in Duluth, MN for the first time, I was overcome with a similar feeling. I felt strangely “at home” here - as if I had been here all of my life. It was as if my evangelical past and my progressive present were coming together in new ways. I was immediately impressed by the congregation’s choice of two striking works of art to guide their meditations. Jesus of the People by my friend, Janet McKenzie, hangs prominently in its worship space. Janet had used a Black female model for this Jesus. For that audacity she won the National Catholic Reporter’s worldwide art competition in the year 2000. 

More surprisingly for this decidedly Protestant congregation was a copy of the iconic Our Lady of Guadalupe, said to have appeared miraculously on Juan Diego's original tilma. I doubt that one can find either in the sanctuary of any other UCC congregation in America.
As I walked toward three large crosses that dominate the front wall, and toward the Table and these pictures, I felt physically pulled toward the right side of the sanctuary. In that moment, I saw Leah Yellowbird’s painting, The Tree of Life. I would like to say it called to me, but that would be wrong. It screamed at me. “Come here!” it demanded. I did. And I wept.

I don’t know the journey that this exquisite painting took to find its way into this place, and into my consciousness. Yellowbird said that she created the entire piece in a busy public space. People came and went, and came back again - asking questions, making suggestions and generally encouraging her. It took four years.

Leah Yellowbird[iii] identifies strongly with her First Nations Algonquin-Metis and Anishinaabe heritage. At an early age she learned traditional beading patterns from her aunt whose influence you can see in her work today. After a difficult time in her life, she moved physically to Grand Rapids, and artistically into painting, but she retained the

precision and delicate beauty of the finest beadwork of her tradition. Today her work is displayed in museums throughout the Midwest. Her online website contains some of the most beautiful artwork you will ever want to see.

 The Tree of Life painting has its roots in a period of turmoil and deep trauma, she said, but when I look at her painting, I don’t see the suffering. “Nevertheless,” Yellowbird said to me, “if they are honest, most artists will tell you that their art begins in trauma.” 

 The Tree of Life appears in many traditions around the world. In our Christian tradition, it appears at the beginning of Time, and at its ending, and throughout human history.  

 Yellowbird stresses that this is not a Christian work of art, at least not explicitly or literally so. Notice, she points out, that this Tree stands on the back of a turtle, Turtle Island.

 Robin Wall Kimmerer, among others, tells the Haudenosaunee creation story this way:

 At one time humans lived in the Sky world. At its center stood the Tree of Life. One day a fierce wind blew through the heavens. It toppled this great tree. Where the tree once stood, there was a hole. 

 A young woman, Gizhgokwe (who also is called Skywoman), walked over to the hole and peered

down. She saw only a deep, dark blackness. She came closer to the hole. And closer. The soil beneath her feet began to crumble, and she started to fall into the darkness. Quickly, she grabbed a branch from the Tree of Life, but it broke off in her hand. Into the abyss she fell.[iv]

 But it was not an abyss. At the bottom, there was water. Nothing but water. For as far as anyone could see, water, and water dwelling creatures. 

A flock of geese saw her falling. Knowing she was not a water creature, they flew up and caught her in their wings. She found herself sheltered in the soft feathers of the geese.

 A great ridge back snapping turtle swam slowly beneath Gizhgokwe and offered its back. The geese brought her gently down upon the back of the turtle.

All the sea creatures understood that this was not enough. She would need earth. They remembered that there is mud at the bottom of the sea. One by one they tried to retrieve it, but all of them failed. Finally, a little muskrat descended into the depths where, unfortunately, it died. When its body rose to the surface, they found a small dollop of mud in its paw. 

 Gizhgokwe spread this mud over the back of the turtle. She sprinkled seeds from the branch she  had brought with her from the Tree of Life. She danced, and the world became green with every kind of wild plant.