Crossing Into the Belarusian Diaspora

           

Pictured to above is a  Belarusian interpretation of the Eastern Orthodox Cross. The cross, made out of what appear to be several planks of treated laminate wood, is accented with baby blue trim and features a painted depiction of Jesus’ crucifixion, in addition to painted references to heaven and hell. The cross serves to welcome parishioners and community members alike into the St. George Orthodox Church—a historic parish and outpost of the Belarusian diasporic community of Chicago.

Located to the right of the stairwell at the church’s foyer, the cross helps to mark both the sanctity of the space, while also operating something of a spatial guide: helping steer guests up towards the sanctuary or primary worship space on the second floor of the church. The ‘ushering’ purpose of this cross is a direct reflection of the material history of St. George’s.            

The church, whose’s worship space is again uniquely located upstairs, was originally built in the 19th century and operated as a Synagogue for the neighborhood’s local Jewish community before ownership changed hands to a group of Belarusian immigrants in 1958. The church’s leaders then converted the space in order to fit the needs of their burgeoning émigré parish—reflecting in many ways the transcultural, layered symbolism of what it means to be Belarusian generally, but even more so, what it means to be a part of the Belarusian diaspora.

The cross, which differs in a few, marked ways from that of the Western churchs’, features three crossbeams: two of which are horizontal and the lowest of which is slanted downwards, on the diagonal. The uppermost of the three crossbeams features painted the Slavonic lettering ‘ІНЦІ,’ which is meant to symbolize the signpost hung above Christ’s head: ‘Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.’ The middle crossbeam represents the main bar to which Christ’s hands were fixed, while the bottom crossbeam represents the footrest intended to prolong the torture of his crucifixion.

As is featured in this particular interpretation of the cross, the side on the third crossbeam to Christ’s right is slanted higher, pointing upwards toward the penitent thief, or ‘good thief,’ crucified alongside Jesus, who received Christ’s mercy in the hour before his death, St. Dismas. Thus the bottom bar is often framed like a scale of justice of sorts, with its various points showing us the way to Heaven/Hell. 

While Christianity is the main religion in Belarus—with Eastern Orthodoxy making up the country’s largest denomination—the legacy of Soviet-era state atheism still very much remains. Even post-independence from the Soviet Union in 1991, there is a significant demographic of Belarusians, both natively and emigrated, who have opted not to ‘come back’ to the church, just as Chicago-based Belarusian community activist Zhanna Chiarniauskaya attested to upon our visit to St. George’s.

The layered symbolism of this cross, and the community space it inhabits—whose signification is a material composite of various religious traditions, cultures, and points in history—operates as a powerful emblem of the patchworked, diverse, and very much transcultural portrait of Belarusian national identity.