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In 1997, I was fortunate enough to accompany ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
brian1789 on a trip to St. Petersburg, Russia, for a conference. I got to see the Hermitage (*swoon*) and attended a banquet held in a palace all of marble, that had been built by one of Catherine the Great's many lovers, where a normally calm and reserved Russian physicist danced on the tables, wrapping herself in the shawl I was wearing that I had bought in the marketplace in front of the museum that morning.
Because of a last-minute shopping trip and the insanity of Air France's St. Petersburg agents (long story, but if you are going to Russia via Air France, talk tobrian1789 or me), we had to stay over an extra night.
The next morning, we visited St. Isaac's, an incredibly lovely Russian Orthodox church near the statue of Peter the Great. It has amazing mosiacs, with gold and deep vibrant colors, and a belfry with over 1000 steps to the top (in the brochure, they suggest that people count them -- usually people come up with different numbers). It has an amazing view over the city.
When you go see places in Russia, there are two prices. Russians pay one price, foreigners a different -- and much higher -- price. ("Higher" is a relative term here -- even at foreigner prices, cultural destinations are a good bargain, cheaper than in, say, Paris.) The justification for this seems to be both "They're ours -- we should not have to pay as much" and "If you're visiting, you can afford to pay more, which many of us who live here can't", both of which made sense to me.
I wear a cross. I have for years. This particular cross I got in Hildesheim, Germany, in 1995. (Hildesheim is the site of a rose tree that had been planted in the time of Charlemagne. The church -- and rose tree -- had been bombed into pieces in 1945. The next year, sprouts from the deep roots of the tree sprung forth. Which to me said something about the resiliency of God's creation, and the importance of deep roots, and that miracles happen all around us.) I wear this cross 24/7: it gets taken off for medical procedures, and that's about it. If you are with me and can't see it, that just means it is hidden by my shirt: I wear it to help me in my faith, not as some sign of public piety or as a Christian clubmember badge.
I was wearing this cross as I entered St. Isaac's and went up to the place where you pay for admission. (Under the Soviets it became a museum rather than a church.) The older woman taking admissions looked at me for a moment, and then refused my money. "Russian price", she said. I tried to pay the foreigner price but she refused to take it. "Are you a priest's wife?" (Russian Orthodox priests can marry, in fact, are expected to be married unless they want to become bishops.) "No," I shook my head, mystified. She pointed to my cross and beamed at me. I looked at the woman next to her. "Only priests' wives wear crosses."
I looked at them, sitting there, these two women in their fifties. They had lived most of their lives in a society where to wear a cross was an act of courage, where expressing your faith could get you harassed or jailed. And I felt vaguely ashamed that I had ever taken for granted the freedom to openly practice my faith, and grateful to live in a country where I would never be in danger of losing my liberty or livelihood simply because I wore a cross.
And that is why, when I hear American Christians (usually fundamentalist Protestants, but sometimes Roman Catholics) whine about how oppressed they are, I feel sick. And I think of those women, who held onto their faith in the face of real oppression, and I am ashamed for my countrymen.
brian1789 on a trip to St. Petersburg, Russia, for a conference. I got to see the Hermitage (*swoon*) and attended a banquet held in a palace all of marble, that had been built by one of Catherine the Great's many lovers, where a normally calm and reserved Russian physicist danced on the tables, wrapping herself in the shawl I was wearing that I had bought in the marketplace in front of the museum that morning.Because of a last-minute shopping trip and the insanity of Air France's St. Petersburg agents (long story, but if you are going to Russia via Air France, talk to
brian1789 or me), we had to stay over an extra night.The next morning, we visited St. Isaac's, an incredibly lovely Russian Orthodox church near the statue of Peter the Great. It has amazing mosiacs, with gold and deep vibrant colors, and a belfry with over 1000 steps to the top (in the brochure, they suggest that people count them -- usually people come up with different numbers). It has an amazing view over the city.
When you go see places in Russia, there are two prices. Russians pay one price, foreigners a different -- and much higher -- price. ("Higher" is a relative term here -- even at foreigner prices, cultural destinations are a good bargain, cheaper than in, say, Paris.) The justification for this seems to be both "They're ours -- we should not have to pay as much" and "If you're visiting, you can afford to pay more, which many of us who live here can't", both of which made sense to me.
I wear a cross. I have for years. This particular cross I got in Hildesheim, Germany, in 1995. (Hildesheim is the site of a rose tree that had been planted in the time of Charlemagne. The church -- and rose tree -- had been bombed into pieces in 1945. The next year, sprouts from the deep roots of the tree sprung forth. Which to me said something about the resiliency of God's creation, and the importance of deep roots, and that miracles happen all around us.) I wear this cross 24/7: it gets taken off for medical procedures, and that's about it. If you are with me and can't see it, that just means it is hidden by my shirt: I wear it to help me in my faith, not as some sign of public piety or as a Christian clubmember badge.
I was wearing this cross as I entered St. Isaac's and went up to the place where you pay for admission. (Under the Soviets it became a museum rather than a church.) The older woman taking admissions looked at me for a moment, and then refused my money. "Russian price", she said. I tried to pay the foreigner price but she refused to take it. "Are you a priest's wife?" (Russian Orthodox priests can marry, in fact, are expected to be married unless they want to become bishops.) "No," I shook my head, mystified. She pointed to my cross and beamed at me. I looked at the woman next to her. "Only priests' wives wear crosses."
I looked at them, sitting there, these two women in their fifties. They had lived most of their lives in a society where to wear a cross was an act of courage, where expressing your faith could get you harassed or jailed. And I felt vaguely ashamed that I had ever taken for granted the freedom to openly practice my faith, and grateful to live in a country where I would never be in danger of losing my liberty or livelihood simply because I wore a cross.
And that is why, when I hear American Christians (usually fundamentalist Protestants, but sometimes Roman Catholics) whine about how oppressed they are, I feel sick. And I think of those women, who held onto their faith in the face of real oppression, and I am ashamed for my countrymen.