Headscarves and Candlesticks

This past weekend, I had the opportunity to travel to Mtskheta, which used to be the capital of Georgia, until it was moved to Tbilisi hundreds of years ago. The most important thing about “tourism” in Georgia is that it centers on the religious traditions of Georgian Orthodoxy. For example, I visited Samtavro, a church where, according to legend, St. Nino lived and prayed. One of the churches dates from the 4^th century while the second was built in the 11^th century and contains the graves of Mirian, the Georgian king who adopted Christianity, and his wife. I also walked through the Sveti tskhoveli complex, which is one of the most sacred places in Georgia as it is built on the site of Georgia’s first church and contains the graves of various Georgian kings, including one who is said to be buried holding Christ’s robe. These sites, too numerous to count, are considered holy.

As people poured into these churches to worship, I was struck by the tradition of it all. Georgian Orthodoxy, from what I have gathered, is primarily based on the acts one can do to gain closeness to God. Through prayer, fasting, attending church, taking communion, lighting candles, and kissing the pictures of saints, amongst other actions, one performs his or her duty to God. 

Almost every person in Georgia is Georgian Orthodox; it’s a part of the culture. For many, it is a very real part. For a large portion, however, it is part of who they are but not part of what they do; beliefs do not connect with the rituals. Women wear scarves and skirts to church; an entire bus of people crosses themselves when driving past a church; children do not play cards the day they take communion. They are a religious people, but most cannot explain the justification of their actions.

Traditions – in connection with a belief system – can be healthy. If it didn’t mean something to those around me, I wouldn’t have a problem lighting a candle when I pray. I like the outward symbolism of my beliefs. However, as I walked out of these churches, women, covered in black from head to toe, put out flames and removed candles where there were too many. They washed the kisses off the glass. Headscarves were removed outside the doors. And herein lies the problem; they are empty symbols – temporary actions – meant to fulfill some obligation to God.

In Protestantism – which is the distinction I have to make to my Georgian friends as they consider themselves Christian – there is very little that is so physical. Sure, I go to church every week, but I can pray whenever I want. I can read my Bible, which is not typically allowed in Georgian Orthodoxy – in the morning or at night or whenever I remember. No one is keeping tabs; no one can judge the level of “Christian” that I am. In Georgia, however, everything is physically done. I know when my host mom is praying because she gets a hat to cover her head, reads from a book of prayers in the kitchen, and crosses herself throughout the process. I know that my family is more religious than the neighbors because Nana is not eating meat during “Lent”, and Ani goes to church three times every weekend.  And maybe that makes it easier to understand the emptiness that comes from this religion, from a belief system rooted in ancient ideology. Everything is literal and very physical. 

I know she is finished praying when the headscarf comes off, and I know religion won’t be thought of again until we walk to school and my students cross themselves as they walk past the church or until the next night when prayers are repeated. 

But, according to my faith, what’s supposed to be different between this and my relationship with Christ? I have these rituals, and I have things that I do to try and be closer to God. What makes me different? Maybe a better question is “What is supposed to make me different?” 

I’ve mulled it over a bit, and I keep coming back to the idea that my faith should be a part of my daily life. I act differently because I love with Christ’s love. My purpose is secure because I am following where God leads. I am motivated to do what Jesus has commanded me to do because I love him, and I want to be like him. I worship with everything I am, in every part of my life. My headscarf – the symbol that represents the attempt to be closer to God – should never be removed.