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An Expat in the Pew

 Faith, Memory, and the Small Habits We Carry Across Borders


I never thought I would miss church. But somehow I got into the habit of going to church at Christmas—Catholic Christmas—and also to the Episcopal church, whatever that means.




Churches here are different from Russian ones. Of course, they belong to different religions to begin with. But to me, God is one. And although I was never a religious person, there are moments when I feel the need to go to church.

I was never religious because I couldn’t be. The Soviet government and the Communist Party were our ideology and our faith. There was no room for belief beyond that.

After the fall of the Soviet Union, churches reopened. Happy citizens rushed inside to baptize their children, to marry, to celebrate Easter and Christmas, and so on. Suddenly, people found faith in God, and the churches filled with parishioners.

Russian churches are not very humane. You can hardly find benches to sit on during the service— if nothing has changed since I left. And yet, I miss their interiors: the icons lining the walls, the flickering candles, the small church shops tucked into the foyer.


Saint Isaac’s Cathedral, Saint Petersburg, Russia.







Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood,  St. Petersburg




I don’t have that here. The Greek Orthodox church in Dartmouth is not the same, and that is why I don’t go there. Still, missing the church or perhaps only its atmosphere, believing that God is one, I chose the church closest to my home.

I understand very little of what is happening inside, although they hand out booklets with the script and lyrics. I follow the instructions: stand up, sit down, kneel, pray, sing (I don’t sing, though).

I have never read the Bible. But I recognize the word shepherd, which the priest repeated during the last service. I try to look appropriate; I wear a skirt. I bring a little money with me. It was very unusual at first, but I got used to the custom of making a donation after the mass.

Going to church also makes me smile. Every time I go, I remember a quote from a famous Russian comedy, when Ivan the Terrible asks the engineer who is building a time machine,
 “And where is your boyarinya*? In the church?”

Can you imagine what is going on in my head when I attend church in America? I believe in one God, in the Universe, in faith, in superstitions, in myself; I can’t stop smiling at myself because of the quotes I cannot forget. And still, I go to church.

The life of an expat is not easy.

*A boyarina is a "noblewoman," "princess," "wealthy landowner," or simply "lady" (in the old Russian sense) – a woman from a privileged, noble class with estates and peasants; the synonyms reflect her high status, kinship with princes, or the way she was addressed.



Clips with quotes:


https://youtube.com/shorts/lDV11kFYg-w?si=hsfNWz8xujKi6cYd

https://youtu.be/jz7Oq3Pkar8?si=QuaafMLOu95cva-c


The movie Ivan Vasylievich changes Occupation:


https://youtu.be/l7eIIIPBNUc?si=m7dInG3qFCMNZaI9
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