Chapter 1: Faith
For centuries, faith has preserved the Bulgarian—from the oppressive rule of the Ottoman empire to the Communist regime in more recent times. Under Communism, the Church was represented as the enemy of ideology, and people were forbidden to confess their faith. But even during those years, the light of the candle and belief in God did not leave the Bulgarians. In every village in the most prominent place perched a white church. Like a lighthouse, it illuminated the road of life and guided people into the sea of the unknown—even as it still does today.
The most famous and honored person in villages was a priest. He baptized children in fear and secrecy, he married adults who swore their love for one another until death would separate them, and he finally completed the cycle of life by sending the deceased onto their eternal journey to the hereafter. In the church is also where children and women hid from the swords of the enslavers and thus survived to become a nation that is now scattered all over the world.
For those living abroad, the church plays a large role in the unification of Bulgarian communities and the preservation of our spirit and faith. In difficult times, we turn to faith and seek comfort for the soul, as well as support to continue our journey and face obstacles in life. It is abroad, far away from our parents and relatives, that religion is the connecting link that brings us together.
The role of the church for Bulgarians abroad is slightly different from its role in Bulgaria. In the beginning, the church was a community center. Everything revolved around the church and the school. This is not a surprise; we’ve been raised to believe and honor God.
Twenty years ago, a group of random teachers and parents in New England—brought together by our faith—established a school and a Bulgarian church to support the development of our children’s sense of national identity. It doesn’t have its own building and through the years has moved from one location to another, but still it keeps the candle alive and maintains the spirit of the Bulgarian faith and alphabet. For twenty years, volunteers have been making time from their busy schedules to teach or help in any way they can. Kindergartners learn how to make martenitsi (red and white amulets) or simply how to draw and color the letters of the Bulgarian alphabet. Children of all grades learn bits and pieces about Bulgarian history and culture.
A few years ago, I visited Chicago, where the biggest Bulgarian community in North America lives. It’s like a little Bulgaria. There are soccer clubs, restaurants serving Bulgarian cuisine, a few newspapers in Bulgarian, and a Bulgarian TV station. I visited a church named after St. John of Rila. It’s not surprising that the church is not only a religious place, but also an important social center devoted to maintaining language and tradition through Sunday schools and social gatherings.
Another beacon spreading light is the Bulgarian center Magura, a place to read, dance the horo (circle dance), or simply be part of an exciting event to meet people from the community. The visit was personal to me; it was the first audience where I shared one of my books, Light Love Rituals: Bulgarian Myths, Legends, and Folklore. I also shared the idea behind why I wrote the book: it was my way of keeping Bulgarian traditions and rituals alive for future generations.
In New England and other places abroad, even these institutions don’t have a permanent home. Many are managed by volunteers, who strive to find ways to make the organizations survive so they can continue to gather young and old together for holidays and festivals. For many years, each small community has been holding events and raising money to build its own temple and a place to host the school and cultural events.
Why is it so important for these groups to have a home? Because the buildings themselves are a testament to the depths of the people’s faith; building, preserving, and restoring churches is a way to convey one’s beliefs. For Bulgarians, monasteries and churches have a special place in history and in our lives. The church is not only a temple of belief, but also a guardian of speech and traditions. For centuries, Bulgarian monasteries and temples have been cultural centers where they have given birth to some of the great relics of Bulgarian literature.
Throughout the centuries, monks have preserved more than religious beliefs; they have built and retained a nation’s culture. For many, Italy is a place to visit. They go to see Venice’s canal. Or, they may prefer to view the Leaning Tower of Pisa and have a bite of Italian pizza along with a glass of Chianti.
For me, it’s also a place where I can pay respect to St. Cyril, one of the holy brothers who created the Glagolitic alphabet. His tomb is underground in the catacombs in Rome’s San Clemente Basilica. It’s hard to describe the feeling while I was there, staring at the centuries-old wall and the image of St. Cyril. Freshly cut flowers had been placed on the table. I learned from the tour guide that nuns from the nearby monastery bring flowers daily and keep them fresh.
St. Cyril and his brother, Methodius, used their alphabet in the year 863 to begin transcribing the Bible into Old Church Slavonic. From this script came the Cyrillic alphabet, which we use today. The two holy brothers are important not only to Bulgarians, but to all Slavs. They created a national identity through the use of letters and language, which are important to record and treasure history and culture. A unified language is also a way to share a nation’s identity with future generations, so the information is not lost in the layers of time.
Another Bulgarian spiritual master was Chernorizets Hrabar. It’s assumed this is not his real name; the words mean “brave person in a black shirt.” Due to this name, everyone believes he was a monk. From 893 to 921, he wrote his one literary work, “On the Letters.” In this book, he boasts of the superiority of the Glagolitic alphabet over Greek letters, which he said were neither the oldest known to the world, nor were they divine. He discusses the origins of the Glagolitic alphabet in the year 855, and how it could be improved, as well as talks about the Slavic Bible translation.
Another era that saw a revival of Bulgarian national spirit and socio-economic development occurred during the Ottoman occupation of Bulgaria, which lasted for nearly 500 years. This dark time ended with the country’s liberation in 1878. During this time, faith and books were the pillars to keep the national spirit alive for half a millennium. The Bulgarian National Revival, also called the Bulgarian Renaissance, began in 1762, when Saint Paisius of Hilendar started writing his Slavonic-Bulgarian History (Istoriya Slavyanobolgarskaya). Within its pages, he describes the history of the Rila Monastery. About this holy place he says:
“From all the Bulgarian glory, when so many monasteries and churches existed earlier in Bulgaria, in our time God left the Rila Monastery alone to exist all through the prayers of the holy Father John. It is a great benefit for all Bulgarians, so all Bulgarians are obliged to protect and give alms to the Holy Rila Monastery so that the great Bulgarian benefit and praise they receive from the Rila Monastery through the prayers of our holy Father John, the glorious Bulgarian saint.”
No wonder this place is called a Bulgarian treasure. The breathtaking monastery is nestled in the heart of the Rila Mountains. When you arrive, you’re surrounded by the silence of nature. Wherever you look, you see a green carpet of pine trees, with the blue sky towering overhead. Every time I visit the monastery, I feel the spirit and the power of God. Even though I might be surrounded by tourists taking pictures and listening to their guide, for me, this sanctuary is not a tourist attraction, but a temple where I can re-energize my mind and purify my soul. It’s hard to capture its beauty through the lens of a camera. It’s an awesome experience listening to the cooing of the white doves sitting near the bell on one of the towers. When I look at the cold silhouette of the Hreliova Tower, one of the oldest buildings in the complex, I’m reminded about how it has been a place to hide treasure from attackers.
But the monastery is only one part of my visit here. My final destination is the St. John from Rila holy cave, a place where he spent seven years of his life in prayer. It’s outside of the monastery in the mountain where you visit not as a tourist, but as a pilgrim to purify and connect to his holy spirit.
To enter the cave, you walk along a narrow path by a small church. According to legend, it was built by the first Rila Monastery monks. After you pass the church, your spiritual journey begins as you climb a few stone steps. In minutes, you enter into a dark, small hole. You crane your neck, attempting to see the ray of light at the top that’s like a shower of hope and a blessing from God.
After you pass this test, you proceed to the aizmo (holy water at a nearby church). It’s a place where you can drink cold, holy water from the spring. People believe that this water has healing power. Touching the purifying liquid, you can feel it dissolve in your body. When I wash my face there, I feel like a newborn. According to the local people, the water never freezes, even in the cold, winter months.
Near Rila Monastery is another inspiring place, a town called Melnik. Although one of the smallest towns in Bulgaria, it has seventy-five churches. Every time I visit Bulgaria, I go there to seek spiritual help and regenerate my being. It’s not surprising that in the past this town was called the Bulgarian Mecca. Even today, while you walk between the ruins and the ivy-covered walls and broken marble slabs, you can feel the power of faith around you.
Early morning on one of my more memorable visits there, my family and I, along with a friend, were getting ready to leave the hotel to start our tour. I was looking for a place to pray for the health of another dear friend who was with me in spirit only. Most of the churches in Melnik are open for tourists to visit, so it’s hard to find a quiet place for a spiritual connection. While I was asking our guide about such a place, a man in black who was passing by stopped. He offered to take me and my friend to a church where we could light a candle and pray. We accepted his offer and followed him down the stone-covered street, passing along a narrow, uphill path, until I finally saw a small church.
To my surprise, we didn’t go to the main entrance, but went out back where there was a small, wooden door, half the size of the main doors. He turned around and gave me the metal key. It was heavy, dark, and rusted.
“You can open the door,” he told me.
With trembling hands, I slid the key into the opening, turned it, and opened the door. My friend and the man entered the church before me.
“Welcome to St. Anthony Church,” the man said. “I’ll let you light a candle and pray. Don’t rush. It’s your home, God’s home.”
The church was small, preserved from the eyes and noise of tourists. I could smell the incense. The patina covering the icons had been preserved, never retouched, cleaned, or restored. A column stood in the middle of the space. At the bottom, I felt eyes on me; it was the icon of St. Anthony.
I don’t know how long we stayed. Time felt as if it had stopped. When we finally got ready to leave, I thanked the man, and my friend and I returned to the hotel in silence. The power of that moment has remained with me until today.
Another cloister in which I’ve walked as a child with my grandmothers—and also with my children to introduce them to the Orthodox faith—is the Cherepish Monastery. It’s near the village where I spent a lot of my time during the summer. In the village, as everywhere in Bulgaria at that time, religion was forbidden. But even during these times, every year on August 15, the Assumption of Mary, everyone in the village wore new clothes, and women gathered roses and zdravets (Bulgarian geraniums) from the garden. They baked bread from the whitest flour and roasted lambs or roosters.
By car or bus, villagers go to the monastery, along with hundreds of other people from around the region and throughout Bulgaria. They visit to worship Mary, God’s mother, to pray for health, and to purify their souls. My favorite part as a child was the picnic at the end where everyone shared a meal and a story.
The monastery hasn’t always been so tranquil. During a Turkish invasion, it was burnt and later restored by the locals. According to legends, the name of the monastery comes from the white color of the bones of Bulgarian soldiers who perished in battles with Ottoman raiders. Carved in the rocks there is a small building called “Kostnitza” (bone holder). If you climb up and enter the room, you can see an altar and also a place filled with human bones behind a glass wall. This is a reminder about those who lost their lives to preserve the freedom of our people.
One of my favorite memories when visiting churches was in the summer of 1998. I stood under the dome of the ruined church in Emona on the coast of the Black Sea. The wind danced inside the church and blasted the cracked walls, which were covered with faded paintings. I felt the gaze of the cracked faces of the icons painted by the hands of talented, unknown artists centuries ago.
The light shone through the window in the form of a rudder and lit the altar. The church was ruined, but I felt the joy of many baptisms, weddings, and rituals held there throughout the years. I could imagine the thundering of the Thracian legions and their giant horses as they galloped with pride as portrayed in The Iliad. I heard the cry of the baby who was just baptized and the music of the tupan (drum) and kaval (shepherd’s pipe) celebrating the union of two souls. I envisioned a woman and man dressed in colorful costumes and flowers. I imagined kids holding baskets with Easter eggs. On their wrists dangled bracelets woven from white and red strings, a sign for happiness and good health.
The whirlwind of galloping horses that run wild in Emona brought me back to reality, but the moment remained imprinted on my mind. It inspired me to write my debut novel, Mystical Emona: Soul’s Journey. A quote from the book sums up not only my feelings about that moment, but also the spirit of Bulgarians and their faith:
“The church was several centuries old. It had been destroyed and rebuilt time and again over many generations. It had seen many weddings and christenings and had housed countless people during disaster and wars. Although it was old and battered, it always restored his [Stefan’s] energy and cleansed his soul.”
In the same way, it cleansed my soul.
