Pauluse Kirik
Today my dad and I attended the church service at Pauluse Kirik (St. Paul's Lutheran Church.) Both of my grandmothers were devout Lutherans and both attened this church before they fled Estonia in 1944. During World War II a portion of the church was destroyed by bombs and once the Soviet occupation began, another good portion of the church was converted into storage space. So in effect, what now remains is only a third of what I imagine was quite a magnificent space.
There is no heat in the church. The congregation never takes their coats or hats off, it's just the way it is and no one seems to be too concerned. The congregation is full of older women, each reminding me of my own grandmothers. It seems as though older Estonian women abide by an unwritten, yet clearly understood dress code. Each owns a full-length dark brown fur coat with a matching cap. To add flare they usually wear a pair of handknit and colorful mittens. Just the other day I saw two older women meeting at a bus stop and I imagined they had been friends for more than 60 years and each Wednesday they ride the number 7 bus to the market on the southern outskirts where they shop and enjoy an Estonian pancake with fresh strawberry jam because that's the way their mother's used to make them.
I wrote a story last year about having attended the Easter service at Pauluse Kirik with my mother in 2003. The story ended with my desire to one day be able to actually understand the sermons delivered in Estonian. And this past week, I could follow a good deal of the message (about donations and charity) and to be honest, it felt really good.
There is no heat in the church. The congregation never takes their coats or hats off, it's just the way it is and no one seems to be too concerned. The congregation is full of older women, each reminding me of my own grandmothers. It seems as though older Estonian women abide by an unwritten, yet clearly understood dress code. Each owns a full-length dark brown fur coat with a matching cap. To add flare they usually wear a pair of handknit and colorful mittens. Just the other day I saw two older women meeting at a bus stop and I imagined they had been friends for more than 60 years and each Wednesday they ride the number 7 bus to the market on the southern outskirts where they shop and enjoy an Estonian pancake with fresh strawberry jam because that's the way their mother's used to make them.
I wrote a story last year about having attended the Easter service at Pauluse Kirik with my mother in 2003. The story ended with my desire to one day be able to actually understand the sermons delivered in Estonian. And this past week, I could follow a good deal of the message (about donations and charity) and to be honest, it felt really good.
posted by Elin at 5:20 PM
