A Prayer

in Grodno (Hrodna), Belarus

After we crossed the bridge, there was a small road going down along the main river. From there, we could see the New Fortress and the Old Fortress. Behind them, there was another river where a little cruise boat was anchored.

I spotted a wooden house on the hill. When I strained my eyes, I saw a Roman Orthodox cross on the dome-shaped roof, which was dull-shining against a cloudy sky. As soon as I talked to myself “It looks like a hidden church,” my boyfriend said, “Let’s walk there.”

We went down a slope from the edge of the bridge, and as we approached the water surface we had to walk around an abandoned factory. There was a tiny unsafe looking bridge. After crossing it, we found stone steps on the right hand side which led us to the church.

As we were going up the steep steps we noticed that the church was not initially built of wood, but was made with stones and bricks. It was partially covered with wood, as if camouflaged.

The wall was decorated with several emblems made from big stones and smaller bluish-green stones which looked like tiles.

“I have never seen a church like this.” said my boyfriend.

After the gate, there was a stone with a cross in the middle of a flower bed, where a man was quietly working without glancing at us.

The entrance to the building had two sets of doors. After the first door, there was a basket in which women’s colourful scarves were provided.

“Which colour do you like?” asked my boyfriend.

I picked up a scarf with scarlet roses on a white background and wore it on my head to cover my hair and entered the church.

Several paintings of Jesus Christ with a golden background were set on high walls. The roof of the small church was supported by several columns of white-grey brick stone rising towards the ceiling. There was nobody but us and a lady sitting behind the souvenir counter. I felt too sacred to take pictures.

A statue of Jesus Christ glorified, a fireless candlestand, a bunch of fresh flowers in the center were surrounded by ashy-grey brick walls.

— Why do we pray?

The same question came back to me. Are we seeking some help because living is so difficult? Or is praying written into our genes as a natural instinct?

I am not good at praying. When I see people who are praying, I always think, “How can they be so vulnerable?”

Some people bow their head, cross themselves, or fold their hands, and others have their back rounded and lie down on the ground, being in dialogue with their beliefs.

We may be trying to exchange our fear of death and anxiety for living into something else. It might be a therapeutic ritual that has been inherited from ancient times.