St. Mary’s Orthodox Church in Coaldale, a place with over a century of Russian heritage.
Writing and photos by Wes Cipolla
Originally published on March 22, 2022.
COALDALE - On December 14, 1997, shortly after completing Divine Liturgy at St. Mary’s Orthodox Church in Coaldale, Father Paul P. Borick collapsed and died of a heart attack. Barbara Birosik likes to think that there was a meaning behind it.
“Don’t you think that he went the way he would have wanted to go?” She said. “In church, doing his job, being with his people?”
The Orthodox Church is not known for fits of religious ecstasy, but for peaceful contemplation. Birosik says that her blood pressure lowers whenever she is in St. Mary’s, and among its close-knit congregation. However, Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, another shocking and seemingly meaningless tragedy, has created a new sense of anxiety in a bastion of Russian-American heritage.
“With everything that’s going on, it almost makes me ashamed to say that I’m Russian,” Birosik said. “And I’ve never felt that way.”
Birosik, and most of the people who worship at St. Mary’s, are the descendents of Russian immigrants - sort of. The borders have changed so often that it’s hard for them to pin down what country their ancestors were from.
“One time they were Polish, then the next time they were from Ukraine, then they were Russian,” Birosik said.
The men who founded St. Mary’s in 1909 came from throughout Eastern Europe. Most were miners who sought jobs and opportunity in America. The cobalt domes of the church building, completed in 1914, have seen two World Wars, two pandemics and over a century of upheaval in the countries its founders hailed from. As the crosses of St. Mary’s have been regilded and its icons repainted, empires and dictatorships have risen and fallen. International alliances have been made and broken.
Over coffee and donuts in the church social hall Sunday, Birosik and others discussed the horror they see in the news every day.
“It breaks my heart,” said Church President Ron Berezniak. “There’s no reason for this war. No reason at all. We pray every Sunday for [Ukraine.]”
(Clockwise from left) Wash King, Michael Tatusko and Russell King in St. Mary’s Church Social Hall.
The walls of the social hall are lined with Russian religious icons. In Orthodoxy, images are powerful, serving as reminders of holiness. The images of bombing, suffering and resistance in Ukraine are equally powerful reminders.
“Those icons mean a lot to the Russian people,” said Russell King. “It’s just a shame, the regime that’s in there now. They’re killing their cousins. There’s no way that I would have a cousin in Ukraine, and would want to see his children killed. It makes no sense. I can’t believe this is happening in this day and age.”
King smacked his hand on the table as he spoke, something he often does when passionate.
“If you keep slamming your fist you’re gonna be just like Nikita Khrushchev,” Birosik said.
Since the invasion began, King finds it hard to enjoy his usual activities.
“I just cannot see that I have everything that I want here,” he said, “everything I need, and there’s a child, or a mother, sleeping in a basement, no heat, no water.”
“And everybody moaning and groaning about the price of gas, when people are having their arms and legs blown off,” Birosik added.
“And when you think of how everything could be,” King said, “it’s hard to understand.”
“It’s awful,” said former Church President John Evepushick, whose father was born in the hospital on Ellis Island. “It’s sad that we let somebody do this to the people, suppress a free country, a sovereign nation.”
St. Mary’s is considering coordinating with other area churches to provide aid to Ukraine, but Subdeacon James Weremedic, Jr. says he is “on the fence” about the invasion. In 1970, the Russian Orthodox Greek Catholic Church in America became independent from the Russian Orthodox Church and shortened its name to the Orthodox Church in America. In recent years, the Orthodox Church in America has aligned itself with the Ukrainian Orthodox Church.
Tikhon Mollard, the highest-ranking bishop of the Orthodox Church in America, issued a statement in February demanding an end to the conflict and mentioning Putin by name.
“The Orthodox Church in America is torn between the two churches,” Weremedic said. “I do wish a peaceful end to the hostilities.”
Those at the social hall also reminisced happily about their Russian grandparents, who taught them the value of hard work and the traditions that have shaped their lives. Marie Skripnek would speak Russian fluently with her grandfather, a miner, and her grandmother, who lived on a farm and raised seven children. After they died, she forgot the language. Usually, the grandparents spoke Russian whenever they talked about something they didn’t want their grandchildren to hear.
“The only time our parents spoke Russian was when my brother and I were bad,” Berezniak said. “So I’m fluent in Russian.”
History and heritage on display in St. Mary’s Church Social Hall.
St. Mary’s has kept Russian and Orthodox culture alive in Coaldale. Birosik says that every service is the same, and she likes it that way.
“We’ve remained constant in our beliefs, our customs and our ways of worship,” Evepushick said.
However, one of his own beliefs - the ideal of a united eastern and western Europe - has been shaken.
“When Ronald Reagan said ‘Tear down that wall,’ I was very supportive of those countries that were suppressed,” he said. “Coming into the 21st century, they could reach some of the benefits of a western society.”
In the social hall, it was easy to condemn Putin and the crisis in Ukraine. It was much harder to think of a solution.
“The free world gotta get together and have some kind of dialogue with the Russians,” King said. “Let them know what’s really going on. They’re gonna have to rise up against their own regime. Nuclear weapons are now pretty much all over the world. One mistake and we’re all in trouble.”
“What we need to do is pray that [Putin] repents,” Berezniak said, “and that he stops all this killing. It’s between him and God.”
Michael Tatusko said that he couldn’t believe that “one man can determine this whole thing.”
“It’s hurtful,” Tatusko said. “It’s a disgrace that the people of Russia are putting up with this regime.”
In the magnificent sanctuary that morning, saints looked down from the painted clouds, as did angels cloaked in their wings. The church was filled with sung invocations of peace. Father James Weremedic (James Jr.’s father), his image smoky with incense, spoke of conflict and sacrifice in the context of fasting for Lent. (He declined to be interviewed for this story.)
He prayed for “the cessation of hostilities in Ukraine.”
“We pray for those who have lost their life in the war on Ukraine,” he said, “that the Lord our God may look upon them with mercy.”
“Lord have mercy,” the congregation responded.
He walked through the holy doors and closed them behind him. His disembodied voice continued. It was as if the iconostasis (wall of icons) itself was singing.
He reemerged and once again intoned: “May peace be unto you all.”
The iconostasis grew hazy in the smoke and heat emanating from the red candles.
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