The Blue Monkey Review

Last week Ruth and I spent the morning traveling to Ostrog, one of the most revered monasteries in Montenegro. We took a bus to the small town of Ostrog and then rode a cab up a windy road to the lower monastery. From there we spent about 45 minutes walking to the upper monastery. We shared the road with quite a few pilgrims, people walking up the monastery for prayer and devotions. They carried bundles, sometimes very large bundles, filled with food and other items to leave outside the monastery. Some walked without shoes over the asphalt, gravel, and rock on the upward road. Though we didn’t know it at the time, I found out later that the following day was the day for remembrance of Sv. Vasili who established the monastery.

Like the sincerity of the pilgrims, Ostrog itself is impressive and severe. It is built into the cliffs very high on the side of a mountain, and the chapels inside are carved into the rock. We entered quietly and respectfully, and kept back so that those who had come for worship wouldn’t be disturbed. We didn’t stay inside long. The chapels we saw, including the one containing the earthly remains of Sv. Vasili, are quite small and we did not want to preclude anyone else from entering.

I’ve written before about sacred space in Serbian Orthodoxy. Nothing could have made that clearer than the devotion shown toward this site. It seems to me that this sense of sacred space has a quality that I don’t see even in Catholic piety. But, I am only an amateur Catholic and a complete tourist in Orthodoxy.

Lately I’ve had some help in thinking about Orthodoxy through the usual process of contrasting it to something I know better. Last Sunday Ruth and I attended the morning worship service at Nikšić’s only Protestant church. To say Protestantism has a low profile in Montenegro would give me some claim on the Pulitzer prize for understatement. When I first arrived, Janko told me that there were only two Protestant churches in Montenegro. I think he underestimated the missionary activities that are going on here, but it would be hard for anyone to actually find even two. The church we went to was marked only with a sign saying “English Language Center.” The rented rooms once had a sign designating a church, but the landlord would not allow it to remain.

The Rev. Stanisa Surbatovic is an American (a Californian, no less) who has served in the U.S. Navy and in other ministries throughout his adult life. The mission to Montenegro made sense because Stan’s parents were Montenegrin and he grew up with some knowledge of the language. He and his family have been very welcoming and helpful to Ruth and I. The Surbatovic’s have lived in Nikšić for eight years. In that time they have built up a small circle of faithful worshipers and reach a larger group who are interested but not necessarily committed.

Stan (who also teaches at the Philosophical Faculty where I teach) does not see his mission as necessarily antagonistic to the local Orthodoxy. “We would love to see the Orthodox church go through real reform,” Stan wrote to when I sent him some information about this blog. His services emphasize devotional reflection and exposition, and include singing of familiar hymns in both Montenegrin and English. The service here, in fact, apart from the language difference, could have easily taken place at the La Sierra Community Church where I went as a child. Stan revealed that some elements of American Protestantism haven’t made the transition into Montenegrin as easily as the hymns. When they first tried to hold one of the Protestant sacraments, the pot-luck dinner, it led to a bit of cultural discomfort. “Men here aren’t used to serving themselves,” Stan said.

Our translator for the Montenegrin portions of the service was Gordana Djurković, another of my colleagues in the English program and a member of Stan’s church for seven years. She agreed to talk with me, and on the Thursday after the church service she and I had coffee at Cafe Grand on the korzo. Gordana’s good friend (and yet another English teacher), Dragana Dedović also joined us.

As we left the faculty building Goran commented on how lucky I was to be going to coffee with two beautiful women. “It’s a dream come true,” I said. And, in the event, it proved a wonderful opportunity. Gordana talked quite freely about her religious experience, and Dragana also contributed from her Orthodox perspective.

We began with my comments about sacred space, about the importance of special places in Orthodoxy. Dragana didn’t limit her religion to her experience of sacred space—she didn’t feel farther from God when she was out of church. But she agreed with my observation and said that going to a church, or especially to a place like Ostrog, gave her a special feeling, a sense that she found hard to describe.

Gordana, on the other hand, although she grew up in the Orthodox church, now finds that she has little attraction for the observances related to place. She became more interested in religion as she formed what she repeatedly characterized as a relation with God, “as with a person.” Even though she began to go to Stan’s church and attend Bible studies to help with her English, she became more and more interested in what the Bible had to say and in forming a clearer understanding of her faith.

I told them that I had gone to church and that I had found everything unexpectedly unfamiliar. The parts of the liturgy didn’t seem to correspond to the familiar parts of the Catholic mass. “And, of course, I didn’t understand any of the language.”

“Neither do we,” said Gordana, referring to the use of Old Church Slavonic as the language of worship here. Gordana criticized the churches here for not providing instruction in the Bible and explaining Christianity.

“You don’t have to understand all that,” said Dragana. “[Church] is a pleasant place to think about God.”

I asked about religious instruction. The Communist regime may have influenced the Orthodox church’s ability to provide religious formation. But neither woman knew of Orthodox Sunday school or even of confirmation. When I asked if either of them had learned the Apostle’s or Nicene Creed, neither one knew about these. According to Stan, the creed is chanted early in the Orthodox service and only the most faithful at the services would be likely to know what it was.

Although I’m sure she would be uncomfortable with my use of the label, I was struck with Gordana’s Protestant attitude. She emphasized reading the Bible and understanding the scriptures for herself. Several times during our talk she quoted scripture. And, although she didn’t talk about the kind of distinctive conversion experience that evangelical religion generally emphasizes, she did have a sense of really making a change first in her beliefs and then in her entire life. She spoke of having reasons for her actions now that she lacked before, of having a different view for seeking to lead a moral life. And even small enjoyments now have new meaning. She repeatedly emphasized having a relationship with God.

I left our Kaffeeklatsch thinking in visual terms of figure and ground. Orthodoxy here forms everyone’s background, like the mountainous terrain and the weather. For most it is wrapped up with national identity and undoubtedly with self-identity. As ritual and devotion it becomes prominent at sacred places and in special times. when I spoke to Goran the next day, he said that most people make little connection between Orthodoxy and their daily lives. If they become more serious about religion, they feel they need to become a saint, or at least a monk. Since Luther the Protestant movements have generally expected a clear understanding of the basis for faith, but they have also expected believers to base their religion in faith. Gordana referred to faith as something deeper than feeling. Perhaps so, but we only know about it because we have a perception of it, and usually not an intellectual perception. That requires a lot of attention.