Spiritual Places

Bogolyubovo, Russia - Bog means "God" and liubov means "love". So the name of this town means "God of love". Or maybe it's "Love of God". But I guess it doesn't matter, as it was actually named after its founder, Andrei Bogolyubsky.

In the 12th century, Andrei Bogolyubsky was returning from Kyiv to his old stomping grounds further north (Earlier, his father Yury Dolgoruky had established Suzdal as the capital of ancient Rus). When he reached this place - still 35km south of Suzdal - his horse apparently refused to go any farther. So this is where Andrei Bogolyubsky stopped, building a fortified palace and stone church at this strategic spot, about 5km east of Vladimir.

As it turns out, the horse picked a fine locale. At the intersection of the Klyazma and the Nerl rivers, it is not only strategic, but also picturesque. The old fortress has been reincarnated as a monastery, dating mostly from the 18th and 19th centuries. But there is a fragment from the original structure - and a dramatic one, at that. Apparently, in this ancient tower, Andrei Bogolyubsky was assassinated by his rivals in 1174.

When I showed up, the monastery was buzzing. Babushkas and babies with kerchiefed heads, reverentially kissing icons; priests and nuns in black flowing robes, sucking down kvas (квас) from the old-fashioned cart.

I was snapping photos left and right, but the holy men did not want to be caught on film. "Don't take pictures, come drink kvas with us." This old Russian drink - made from fermented wheat - is now sold mainly by the bottle; in fact, Coca-Cola produces it. But back in the day, there was nothing better than a drink of cold, fresh kvas straight from the barrel. Like the ice cream truck, the kvas-cart would show up on the street corner and kids would come running with their plastic bags, babuskhas would find their recycled bottles, men would just grab a mug... everybody wanted to imbibe. This was the jovial atmosphere around the kvas-cart at the monastery.

Inside the church, it was a sea of scarved heads, rippling across the room as the worshippers bowed and kneeled in prayer. The melodic chants of the choir, the spiciness of the incense and the murmured prayers of devotion filled the cavernous space, penetrating my own heart and mind. I must have stood there for an hour, listening to prayers I didn't understand and feeling the spirit of this ancient place.

Then I walked through the tiny village and across a field filled with wildflowers to see the picture-perfect Church of Intercession on the Nerl, still standing from the 12th century. So simple, yet so striking, the church stands alone, on the bank of a river, surrounded by gold-green fields.

Architecturally, it is considered to be irreproachable, for its perfect proportions and delicate stone carvings. I was even more moved by the rural setting. Not to romanticize these tiny villages with big churches - I know that people are poor and life is hard. But breathing the fresh air made my heart sing; tramping across the muddy field gave me time to meditate;  and gazing across the wide open spaces caused me to marvel at the vastness and beauty of this country. 

A small gold-domed church stands alone on the horizon, surrounded by fields of golden flowers.  There is no denying the connection between nature and spirit. Indeed, many would argue that they are one and the same.