In a land where the way you’re buried has eternal consequences; where the idea of Jesus poses last century’s sentiment of a God of the Russians, who oppressed the minorities; where cemeteries are racist, and meticulous methods regarding death, mingle mystery with confusion. There, at minus 9 degrees Celsius, a wondrous scandal of a procession trudged forth in the snow, chasing away the scoffing, stodgy spirits of old.
The untimely death of a beloved and trusted American who had worked among them for years, united them. In procession, the kaleidoscope of cultures, customs and people betrayed the barriers and clashes of the past. A “local” Korean pastor (i.e., an ethnic Korean whose roots were part of Stalin’s Soviet deportations) with bold crosses on his sash, led the motley crew of Chinese-Dungan, Kyrgyz, Tartar and American people. His young Kyrgyz assistant translating the pastor’s Russian into English -The palpable meshing of faith in The Peace who breaks down the walls of earthly division.
Crunching in the snow past the Muslim section of the cemetery, we came upon the Russian Orthodox Christian sector, where our diverse jumble of humanity huddled in sad yet joyful singing, struggling to stay on key. Earthly vulnerable vessels (from East, West and multiple affiliations) shrouding such astonishing Treasure, where hope holds firm, even below zero.
js2023