http://www.themoscowtimes.com/article/600/42/379152.htm



           
            Nikolaus Von Twickel / MT
            Worshippers standing opposite a spruce where men were conducting 
prayers in a sacred grove near the village of Marisola in the Marii-El 
republic.  
      'Europe's Last Pagans' Worship in Marii-El Grove

      30 June 2009By Nikolaus von Twickel / The Moscow Times MARISOLA, Marii-El 
Republic -- More than 50 worshippers gathered in a sacred grove on a hot June 
afternoon outside the village of Marisola. The crowd, mostly women dressed in 
national costumes and colorful headscarves, stood on a glade opposite a spruce 
where men were busy conducting prayers. 

      The congregation kneeled while the men under the spruce, dressed in 
suits, white felt hats and linen towels cast over their shoulders, said prayers 
in a low, monotone murmur. 

      They prayed to Osh Kughu Yumo -- Mari for "Great White God" -- who was 
being revered that day as Agavairem, which means both deity of creative energy 
and the feast marking the end of spring labor. 

      The women lined up in the grass in front of piles of thick homemade 
pancakes, white cheese, dumplings and brown kvas, the fermented rye drink. Pots 
and kitchenware were adorned with burning candles, as was a makeshift table in 
front of the spruce. 

      The extraordinary ceremony testified to the little-known fact that an 
animist faith has survived centuries of Christian and Muslim hegemony in this 
obscure region 800 kilometers east of Moscow. 

      The Mari, a Finnic people of roughly half a million whose language sounds 
a bit like a strange mixture of Finnish and Turkish, are said to be Europe's 
last pagans. Yet their priests, called kart in Mari, reject that notion. 

      "We are not pagans. We call our faith the Mari Traditional Religion, and 
we are registered officially in the republic," said Vyacheslav Mamayev, who 
oversaw the ceremony as the chief kart of the local Sernur district. 

             

            Nikolaus von Twickel / MT 
            Pokrovka Church's Father Sergy   
           


      He went on to explain that for the Mari, God has nine substances, or 
hypostases, ranging from the life-giving Ilyan Yumo to the birth goddess 
Shochinava. 

      Asked about the theological foundation of his faith, Mamayev smiled and 
said, "Everything works through nature." 

      Indeed, like most animist religions, the Mari faith traditionally knows 
no written scriptures and no sacred edifices. Prayers are chiefly held in 
sacred groves, where some feasts include the ritual slaughter of animals as 
sacrifice. 

      "Nature is our temple," said Zoya Dudina as she walked with worshippers 
on a winding path through high grass after the ceremony in the grove had ended. 

      Dudina, a poet and intellectual from the republican capital, Ioshkar-Ola, 
expressed pride that her people had regained the possibility to practice their 
traditional faith. 

      In Soviet times, she said, villagers would sneak out to the sacred groves 
after midnight, hoping that nobody would report their forbidden prayers. 

      Indeed, unnoticed by much of the outside world, the Mari faith has made a 
remarkable recovery since the end of Soviet Union. 

      In Marii-El, the Mari Traditional Religion, dubbed MTR, is recognized as 
one of three traditional faiths, along with Christianity and Islam. 

      The Mari High Kart Alexander Tanygin regularly attends official 
ceremonies alongside local Christian and Muslim leaders. 

      About 15 percent of the people of Marii-El consider themselves adherents 
of MTR, according to a survey conducted in 2004 by Sociologists of the Mari 
Institute for Language, Literature and History. Because Maris make up just 45 
percent of a population of 700,000, this figure means that probably more than a 
third of them follow the old religion. 

             

            Nikolaus von Twickel / MT 
            Karts Vitaly Gusyev, left, and Pyotr Vasilyev speaking during the 
ceremony.   
           


      Even local Orthodox clergy acknowledge the traditional faith's dominance 
in the republic's northern rural districts. 

      "This is certainly the weakest parish in all of Marii-El," said Father 
Sergy of Marisola's Pokrovka Church. 

      Of the local population of 2,500, only 10 to 15 believers attend his 
services regularly, he said, standing outside his small 19th-century church. 

      In the local district center of Sernur, the Eparchy of Marii-El is 
building a new church, but construction, which began in 2003, has stalled 
because of a lack of funds. 

      Yet Father Sergy, a gaunt man with a scrubby beard and a kind voice, made 
it clear that he bore no grudge against the pagans. "We have friendly 
relations. We are not foes," he said. 

      He noted that about 1,500 locals were baptized, although he added that he 
considered practicing traditionalists to be lost souls. "They have no hope of 
being saved -- that can only happen to believers," he said. 

      The Mari faith is no isolated phenomenon and has been described as 
syncretic, combining elements from various religions. 

      Many Mari villagers have icons in their homes, and drivers stick 
miniature images of saints on their dashboards, just like anywhere else in 
Russia. 

             

            Nikolaus von Twickel / MT 
            An altar for ritual sacrifices at another sacred grove near 
Marisola village.   
           


      On their way out of the grove at Marisola, women turned around and 
crossed themselves, just as Orthodox believers do when leaving church. When one 
of the karts saw them, he mildly told them to stop. 

      "You should not put too much significance in this," Dudina explained. 
"Our people have lived with the Russian church for generations, but our faith 
is older." 

      Christianity, she said, had not entered Mari rites, but rather the rites 
had entered Christianity. "There are so many pagan traditions in Christianity. 
Look at the Christmas tree," she said. 

      Other Mari classify themselves in groups with varying degrees of 
Russian-Orthodox influence, including "Rush Vera" followers, who might even go 
to church at times; followers of "Marla Vera" who are baptized; and the 
nonbaptized "Chi Mari." 

      Mamayev, the Sernur district kart, said the various groups should be 
allowed to coexist. "Many who come to our prayers are baptized. We will not 
exclude them. Everyone should be allowed to pursue his own form of worship," he 
said over a traditional meal of pancakes and kvas held in the Marisola village 
after prayers. 

      Juha V?liaho, a Finnish Lutheran missionary who worked in Marii-El for 10 
years before moving to Bashkortostan, estimated that 60 percent of the Mari are 
baptized into the Orthodox Church. "But in their hearts, they are all pagans," 
he said in an interview in the Finnish Lutheran Church in the outskirts of 
Ioshkar-Ola, the capital. 

      The city of 280,000 displays few signs of animist traditions. More 
striking here is the Orthodox Church's construction activities, which can be 
seen at numerous churches and religious schools. 

      V?liaho said that while traditions are strong in the villages, pagan 
structures are weak in the city. 

      "It is a totally rural phenomenon. You don't really hold on to these 
beliefs in a city," he said. 

      Asked about the local success of missionaries, he said the Lutheran 
parish in the capital had more than 150 members. Despite the low numbers, he 
mused that Protestants might be more successful in proselytizing here than the 
Orthodox. "Many Mari do not want to go the Orthodox church because it is 
perceived as quintessentially Russian. We, however, can offer worship in their 
own language," he said. 

      Even Father Sergy, the Orthodox priest in Marisola, suggested that he did 
not see much sense in his church winning over the traditionalists. Asked about 
the future of the Orthodox faith in Marii-El, he said he did not worry so much 
about paganism but rather about people with no faith at all. 

      "Look at the youth in our villages," he said. "They have little hope of 
finding work. They either start drinking or move away to the cities, where they 
find all sorts of bad things but no religion."
     


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