A few weeks ago Alan
and I visited the Baltics for a few days for my birthday. Although we
loved the food exploration through Riga's Central Market; feasting
like Medieval kings in a 12th century alehouse lit by the
glow of candlelight; and experiencing the very serious and dry nature of
the people we met – the highlight of the trip was definitely
our visit to the Hill of Crosses.
We had a private guided
tour with our Riga born guide and our Russian speaking driver. We took in
the Soviet architecture and the old Russian Orthodox Churches past
the mini-hockey-uniform and the Orthodox
rosary, both hanging for our protection, from the rear view mirror. We sped past the unmanned border
house and moved onto the smoother roads of Lithuania. Houses were
painted yellow, green and red like the Lithuanian flag – and farms
were left unattended in the late winter weather. What we found when we got there was something like what my friend, Raisa, describes as a "spiritual high." To me, it was a feeling of complete connectedness to my surroundings, and particularly to my fellow people.
When we reached the
Hill of Crosses, we entered the sacred pilgrimage site that has long witnessed unrelenting faith. Thousands of large crosses, many constructed in a detailed wooden style local to the region, and several hundreds of thousands of relics and smaller crosses adorn the small mound.
The exact origins are not entirely clear, however, the narrative shared with us relates to the lost lives of local Lithuanians during the 1831 rebellion against the Russian rulers of the time. When many bodies disappeared during the warring, local families brought crosses to the site to honor their loved ones. Overtime, the site continued to symbolize resistance and religion for the people of the area. Most notably, during the Soviet times (1944-1990), the hill was bulldozed several times, wooden crosses burned and metal crosses recycled into railway tracks. Every time, new crosses were brought back to the site and gradually it was rebuilt.
People could not be stopped from expressing their faith.
We heard stories of young newlyweds visiting the site on their wedding day with all of their guests to hang a cross in the hopes of a long and happy marriage.
We saw the additions made to the space in preparation for the visit of Pope John Paul II who made pilgrimage there in 1993, as a tribute to the strength of the Catholic faith, visibly preserved in that sacred space.
Finally, we hung our own crosses for our own hopes and prayers, knowing that a place that holds so many well wishes and has the power to provide solace to those in times of need, was a place of great respect.
This Lenten season I have been particularly reflective on issues of forgiveness and spirituality. It was a privilege to have shared the experience of the Hill of Crosses with so many others who have gone there to pray, dream, hope, and resist. It as an inspiring place to reflect, a place with special significance - not only for its unique folk art status - but also for its ability to connect us to others. As I looked around at each cross and statue, I thought of the person who left that there and imagined what they may have wished for. There were some public statues, including one with a Star of David to symbolise an apology made by the Germans for the Holocaust. Some paid tribute to lost lives. Mothers. Love. Others had no clear meaning, but surely bore witness to many instances of mourning and celebration both.
One thing that gets me through in my life is the Lakota saying, Mitakuye Oyasin, We are all Related. Standing in places like the Hill of Crosses, it's easy to believe that we are all related. All with experience of struggle and hopes for joy. Each cross reminded me of that.
It was an honor to make this visit for myself, particularly as I transitioned to the next year of my life and especially during a holy season for the Catholic faith. Until the next "spiritual high," I will carry the memory of those thousands of crosses and hope that all those who have visited have received an answer to their prayers. 