My father used to sing in
a choir.
I don't mean the boyschoir he sang in in his youth, when my
grandmother was in church in full amazement about the wonderful
performance of a young boy, only to discover later that my dad was the
boy. My gram had 7 children, and in the war there was no money to pay the
fee to take part in the choir. But my dad helped out in church, and in
exchange he was permitted to sing with the choir.
Later he took
part in all sorts of choirs, some he directed too.
The last choir he
gave his heart to was a byzantine choir.
They sang on one of the most
beautiful churches in the country ( see here) and instead of following the orthodox
european ritus, they followed the orthodox russian ritus.
So we heard a
lot of russian during the time he had to learn all the songs. And he had
to learn them all, as he was the assistant conductor not only for all the
different men's voices, but also for the women voices.
I didn't mind
though.
The music is a kind of meditative melodeous and learning
another language and culture is always interesting.
The festivities
of easter were the most important of the religeous year.
Days before we
would start preparations.
Not only by getting our voices in perfect
condition, but also by backing special bread and colouring eggs.
We
would take them to church, as other people did too
and they would be
exposed in front of the altar.
After the service people had the chance
to take something of all the wonderful gifts with them, like in the other
churches where wealthy people share their bread, eggs and other food with
the poor.
One
of the reasons I went to the church my father sang and not to the church
in our neighbourhood was that there were many special moments adding to
the total feel of awe for the greatness of being.
At easter we
would bring our gifts of bread and eggs to a special door at the side of
the church and after that we would assemble on the square in front of the
church.
Sometimes we were far too early and took a walk in the dark
woods (it was nearly midnight), emerging ourselves into the silence and
darkness of night. Getting close to ourselves.
Then we walked back to
the lights of the candles people held in their hands.
The church was
completely dark. Symbolising the death of Christ.
The church is on
top of a hill. Often the wind made us feel cold and the waiting made us
shiver and curl our hands around the candles.
Then the priest
arrived.
Three times he knocked on the doors, to ask where Christ had
gone.
By that time everybody was completely silent, standing close
together to escape from the cold.
Suddenly the large doors of the
church were opened and a voice would call: "Christ is arisen!".
The
priest took over and told us all three times that Christ was arisen and
then the choir started singing very silent, getting louder and
louder.
The went into the dark church and all would follow in a long
line. Singing and carrying the candles.
Only after the last person
had entered the church and the choir had sung a happy song, the candles in
the church were lit and the other lights were switched on.
The
celebration of easter marked the true beginning of life.
While songs
and prayers went on, the dark of the night faded into the first light of
day, and during times of silence the first birds could be
heard.
Promises of a new day, promisses of spring, of new life.
The
hours (up till 2 or 3 hours) seemed to be no time, and when the priest
finally gave us his last blessing, we felt refreshed and ready to face
life in it's full meaning.
In a strange way people were able to
shed their shyness and everybody would drink and eat from the wonderful
gifts and wish each other a happy easter.
My father doesn't
live anymore and we live too far away from that church to attend a
service, but the memories stay in my mind and the songs still linger on,
as do the words, spoken at easter:
Hrestoss vosskrese ez mertvih,
smerteeyou smert po
prav,
Ee suscheem vo grobeh zhivot darovav.
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