Chrishenya – Christening

Bare feet walk briskly but resolutely on the white, frozen ground. A meter below them, the barely unfrozen water drifts slowly, ever downstream. The nearly naked bodies of the faithful add a fleshy hue to the contrasting surroundings – the white of the snow and ice, and the blacks and grays of the coats and hats worn by the huddled crowd. One by one, the pious and the adventurous come out of the tent, straight-faced, serene and calm, while every inch of their exposed flesh screams its agitation and anxiety to all those who watch. One by one they climb to the small, railed, wooden pedestal. One by one they cross themselves, gathering their resolve. One by one they descend the small yellow staircase, the icy water rising up bare calves, knees and thighs with every step downward. One by one they stand in the waist deep water of the pathway sunken into the ice. Muscles tense, chests constrict, but the face – the face portrays only purpose. They squat, forcefully and quickly. They give themselves briefly, completely to the frozen river as their heads go completely below the surface. Water splashes as they rise again as quickly as they fell. Necks twist and heads turn, throwing water while mouths gasp for air. They plunge again. Splash. Rise. Twist. Gasp. They plunge again. Groping forward, their hands find the railings and their feet find the stairs. Out of the ice they climb, into waiting towels, hats and blankets. One by one they go shivering back into the tent, somehow still straight-faced and unaffected.

People do some strange things in the name of religion. On the 19th of January, the Russian Orthodox priests of Petropavlovsk bless the frozen Ishim River for the annual Chrishenya ceremony. Anyone is welcome to come and kupatsya (bathe/dunk) in the holy waters, under the alert eyes of the waiting emergency medical staff (Note: Water freezes at 0 OC. The temperature of the air on January 19th, 2008 was -19 OC). From a van equipped with large speakers come the somber chants of monks singing in Latin. On the bank overlooking the gathered mass on the frozen river stands a cross, 4 meters tall, made of suitcase-sized blocks of ice. People wait in a line to kiss the feet of the icon hanging at the base of the cross, portraying Jesus’ baptism by John the Baptist. Near the two large tents set up on the ice, people are huddled over a network of crosses carved in to the ice. In the recessed ice there is a canal of ankle-deep water where people are scooping the water into bottles, jars, and buckets to take home. The water is believed to be clean enough to drink, holy enough to heal. The sub-zero temperatures don’t prevent a large group of locals, perhaps 300 strong. Young and old, men and women alike filter in and out of the tents, in and out of the icy waters. There are more young than old, more men than women, but they all look much colder than the man whose picture hangs on the riverbank. There is a constant stream of people leaving and arriving on city buses. The waters are holy until 3:00pm.

The whole experience was one worth noting, one worth remembering. I haven’t decided whether it is one worth fully experiencing (as two other PCVs did) next year, but I can say that it was an impressive event. I have yet to visit the large Orthodox Church in town, but I know that the majority of the Russian population here is at least nominally associated with the church. My host mother keeps small icons of Jesus and Mary in several places in our house, and our January 7th Christmas breakfast took the form of a manger full of our gifts of food to the newborn child. I think back to some of my most significantly moving spiritual moments: the candlelight ceremonies at Montreat Youth Conferences around Lake Susan, the songs and ministry of David LaMotte, the work of high-schoolers building houses in Reynosa, México, the bells of the cathedral at Montserrat in the mountains outside Barcelona, the continuing impact of my parents in my life and the life of FPC Murray. The sense of peace and awe at the riverside on Saturday afternoon was definitely worthy of a place among them. Looking at my list, perhaps it is in strange places where people are doing strange things that I find the most connection with the spirit (perhaps the Spirit) that binds us together. I left with eyes wide open and a sense that my heart and mind were filled to nearly bursting, yet simultaneously as blank and enormously void as the deepest space. Maybe that’s just what happens when you get a sense of something so much bigger than yourself. It fills you up to the point of overflowing, and you’re left feeling so small, a speck of sand on a blue and green dot in a sea of nothing. The effect it had was actually a boost to my morale, motivation and my sense of solidarity with the community in which I’m living and working. If we are all grains of sand on a blue and dot in the vastness of the universe, shouldn’t we work to make sure we all can enjoy our time in the sun?