Inside the Peter and Paul Church in Plyos 1888

This is the first (and perhaps only) interior scene Levitan painted. It is the little church of Sts. Peter and Paul. We viewed this wooden church, as if from the air, at the start of Lent.

We are standing on the worn, wide-planked floor, looking ahead to the iconostasis, which is not a dividing barrier, but a place of intimacy and encounter. The altar is behind the central Royal Doors through which the priest comes and goes to bless us, to enjoin us to worship and to bring Holy Communion to us. The icons serve as windows, as if heaven is looking out at us in mercy and encouraging love. The heavenly ones, the angels and saints singing, Holy, Holy, Holy!

This small church, likely holding less than one hundred people, reminds me of the chapel at St. Vladimir's Orthodox Seminary in Yonkers, NY. My own seminary, a few miles away, had a large gym complex for our use and the seminarians at St. Vladimir's had an open invitation to use that gym and our extensive library. 

Now and again, a group of us would drive over to their place on Saturday night for Vespers in their chapel. Notice in the painting there are no pews: the shoulder-to-shoulder worshippers stand throughout, often for many hours. That's how it was at St. Vladimir's. 

I remember one evening, after the deacon incensed all the icons on the screen, he turned and started to walk down along the side wall of the chapel to incense the many icons that were placed there as well. And as he moved along, the entire community stepped to the left. And when he got to the back of the church, everyone stepped forward. And as he moved along the left wall, everyone stepped right. 

This wasn't a prescribed liturgical dance - the folks were just moving aside in courtesy to open a path for him. But it seemed to be more than that - perhaps an unconscious movement that there's no ranking here and that we move together as one. Not to say, we all believe exactly the same thing, that's not the greatest claim, but that shoulder-to-shoulder, we move through this faith-life, en-spirited, created as one and loving each other.

This movement of an entire congregation was quite unconscious, perhaps reflecting a sense of common life and oneness: a great gift the Church could give to our nation, rapidly losing the value of us.

Autumn Leaves 1879

Sometimes we walk on the fallen autumn leaves, or we ignore them, or we might even curse them while raking. But here, Levitan seems to honor the Autumn Leaves, glad for the lesson they hold for us. 

While a great maple can drop upwards of 200,000 leaves in the autumn time, there are lots of people who have created a lifestyle of holding on and never letting go. And of course, there will be many reasons for that: the anxious child who can't let go of the blanket or stuffed toy, the person who grew up in poverty who, though she could now well afford it, hasn't bought a new bed pillow in over forty years. The person who enjoys the power of holding onto resentments.

But as we're looking towards the Easter-Feast of new life, we could perhaps have an inner look at what might be surrendered so to live more full, free and authentic human lives. Christ's Resurrection life - freed of the tomb's confines, is about me too.

Like Levitan's Autumn Leaves, I might have a look around and let go of what's not needed anymore:

• Let go of old defenses.
• Let go of old ideas about myself. Get a new idea!
• Let go of past mistakes.
• Let go of dated and worn out ideas of other people.
• Let go of anxieties and fears that don't serve me well.
• Let go of naive and childish religious ideas that keep me from real spiritual living.
• Let go of the old victim-wounds I rehearse over and over.
• Let go of the partisan and cultural labels we slap on people.
• Let go of the judgments we make out of (if we're honest) ignorance and blindness.

Some people wouldn't know what to do with themselves if they started living this way. Without all the holding on, "What would be left of me?" Let go and let God, AA says.  The psalmist says it this way:

Why are you cast down, my soul,
why groan within me?
Hope in God; I will praise him still,
my savior and my God.
Psalm 42:11,12

The Vladimirka Road 1892

In this unusual painting Isaak Levitan has combined a realistic landscape with a political statement. It is the Vladimirka Road which exiles walked on their way to Siberia. The land bespeaks utter desolation and dehumanization. The earth is dull brown and green; nothing grows except some trees in the distance. There is even a sulphur-y yellow seen in places. The poorly formed clouds echo nothingness. 

Levitan of course, must have had in mind his own exile, when he and over 22,000 Jews were deported. We can only imagine the deep soul-wound that exile left upon him and his siblings. The dehumanization is further emphasized by there being only one person on the road - a woman who has stopped to pray at the roadside shrine. Her moment of prayer, and the ever-so-slight touch of sun, are the only indicators of possible hope for those who would literally disappear off the end of the road beyond the far away horizon.

But the suffering extends even beyond that of the prisoners. Notice along the main dirt road, there are narrow, parallel side-paths. These might have been walked by sorrowing relatives accompanying their loved ones. Perhaps they were told to turn back at the tree line ahead.

We know that the Vladimirka isn't the only road of exile, punishment, banishment or sorrow. The world is filled with roads like this. Often times it's an inner road of suffering that goes undetected. Compassion means being sensitized to these pained realities. The first century Jewish philosopher, Philo of Alexandria wrote: "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle."