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English Books (!) & St. Mikhayil’s Monastery

It’s overcast all day, which is perfect, because it makes the best walking weather.

While Dan writes in the morning, I grab my iPod (because as you already know, I’ve run out of all reading material!) and scroll through my podcast archives.  I love Krista Tippett’s Speaking of Faith, and although I don’t actually catch the MPR broadcasts every week, I save them for travel or driving.  I choose one called “Being Catholic: The Beauty and Challenge Of” (May 3, 2008).  I think it’s timely, since Dan and I are exploring these beautiful churches of Kiev.  I’m not an expert on church history, especially in this geographical area; I vaguely remember a book which explained this, and somehow I want to say that the Orthodox church split into East and West Orthodoxy, then somehow Catholicism split from off from there.  But don’t quote me on that.  Since we have no internet access in the room, I can’t do research on it, so as sloppy as this is, bear with me.  I want to be able to relate all this to our daughter some day, so she knows where she comes from.

I do know the largest church in the Ukraine is the Ukrainian Orthodox Church, and that it still recognizes Moscow’s ecclesiastical authority.  Two huge components of this church are the ritualized prayers to saints and painted icons that protect, heal, or provide fortune to the bearer.  The services are very long (2 1/2 hours), and they consider it a sin to worship or pray standing up, so they either stand the whole time, or periodically prostrate themselves on the ground.  It’s a mystical and meditative experience.

Now, back to the Speaking of Faith podcast.  When Krista alerted her radio audience about an upcoming broadcast on Catholicism and asked them for their reflections and experiences in their Catholic faith, she was so inundated with letters and essays that she altered her usual broadcast method.  Instead of interviewing theologians, she called the various people who had written in and requested that they read an edited version of their personal essay for the show.  [For reference: There are about 1.1 billion Catholics worldwide, and about one quarter of the U.S. population is Catholic.]

What I found intriguing is that many of the readers cited the mystery and the transcendent, “bigger-than-myself” feelings they had about their faith, despite any abuse they had experienced.  They expressed their awe in the Eucharist, as something shared among many people all around the world, and this united them with all the other people who worshipped God.  It gave them a sense of togetherness and wonder and closeness.

The pain from church abuse was there, too.  It doesn’t seem to matter what religion you practice; there’s always abuse.  Unfortunately, religious (and spiritual) people are human.

Coming from an abusive church background myself, I understand this language.  And I desire all the same things: the mystery of a profound relationship with someone greater, the ability to commune with Him and others, and the togetherness that I feel when I talk with others of similar heart and quest.

Here’s why I think all these similarities are important.  I believe there needs to be a certain charity among all religions–an open discussion and conversation–to make sense of life and how to live it.  I am not saying that all religions are equal (heavens, Jesus was a Jew, not a Christian!); what I’m saying is that we can learn from one another.  What happened to us as people–that we can’t even listen to someone of a different faith?  I mean really listen.  I admire Krista Tippett for attempting to open the channels.

These churches are physical sacred spaces.  But I’m curious, too, about the emotional and heartfelt ones.  I heard once that a sacred space is the place where authentic change can happen and that this requires some sort of disturbance.

Are Dan and I in a sacred space?  Our normal routine has certainly been disrupted, and it’s caused us much discussion and debate.  For instance, today, over cappuccinos, I learned two new childhood stories about Dan I had never heard, and it delighted me to know that I still don’t fully know him after all these years.  He can still surprise me.

Of course, it’s easy to look back in hindsight and say, “See?  If that hadn’t happened, then (fill-in-the-blank) wouldn’t have happened!”  Sometimes I wish I would know it while I’m going through it–recognizing it for what it is.

Well, we find the only bookstore in Kiev with a few English titles.  I purchase two which I’ve not read yet–Pulitzer Prize-winning A Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley and The Man in the Iron Mask by Alexandre Dumas.  Such bliss–reading!

We visit the very new (2001) St. Mikhayil’s Monastery of the Golden Domes, which was rebuilt after Stalin demolished it in 1937.  It’s another gorgeous construction–lavender blue with the familiar golden onion-shaped domes.  We walk through the grounds, young priests scurrying past us.  We exit the side gate and walk down to St. Andrei’s, where we stood almost a week and a half ago, waiting to enter the Ministry next door to see a photo of our child.  We decide to keep St. Andrei’s for another day and meander down the hill, past multiple kiosks designed for tourists.

All in all, it’s a good day of being together and learning about this place so newly unburdened from the iron hand of Russia.

Wait.  Did I forget to tell you?  When we started out from our hotel this morning, we stumbled into the director of the adoption program.  He greeted us and told us that he will probably have something for us on Thursday (Dan and I take this to mean Friday or Monday).  He said, “It is difficult, you understand?  People will scream if we break rules.”

We say, “Of course, of course.  We’ll wait.”

“Zese zings take time,” he says.  And again, “Maybe Zursday.”

I think, after this morning, Can a sacred space exist within a mundane one like this–waiting for a child?

Yes, I think so.

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