While holidaying in the Svaliava district of the Zakarpattia region, I gladly set out to see the wooden Church of St Michael, which stands in the suburb of Svaliava.
From the bus station it is just 2.5 km on foot to the edge of the town. Having crossed the River Svaliavka by the bridge, I saw two churches, both named in honour of the Nativity of the Most Holy Mother of God, both belonging to the Greek Catholic community. The one on the left was built in 1937.
The one on the right was raised in 2010 — 39 metres tall, with towers.
I walked along Bystrianska Street, which in places climbs steeply uphill. The difference in height relative to the central part of the town is about 80 metres.
The distance is not great, but I had to walk uphill and facing the sun, and the day turned out hot, despite it being November. In Zakarpattia the cold days come later, and this autumn had turned out very warm. In the front gardens huge globes of chrysanthemums were still in bloom — plenty of moisture and sunny days do the flowers good. The householders had already taken the grapes down from the great arches; the young wine will surely soon be ready. This district is called Bystre. The residents, no doubt, are used to climbing quickly over the hilly ground, and so they named the suburban village that way. And I, too, reached my goal at no very slow pace and saw, almost at the end of the street, the Church of St Michael standing on a rise.
The church was built in 1588 in the Lemko style, without a single nail, and was first consecrated in honour of St Nicholas. It is only now that it stands within the village; originally it was raised in the forest, away from the enemy hordes who burned everything in their path across Ukraine. In the middle of the 17th century the shrine was moved to its present spot and reconsecrated in honour of the Archangel Michael. The church is regarded as a monument of architecture and history and belongs to the Ukrainian Orthodox Church.
After the Second World War it was closed, and only in the 1990s was it reopened for the faithful.
The crosses on the bell tower and on one of the church's domes are eight-pointed.
The bell tower could not be preserved. In 2000 a new one was built, using the dome from the old one — a stone bell tower with a wooden dome.
The feast day of the Archangel Michael was drawing near, and the preparations for it were plain to see. Some parts of the church had been freshly painted.
On the church grounds chrysanthemums had been planted and the leaves cleared away, and someone's forgotten rake still lay right there. I sat on a bench, savouring the grace of the place; there was no one around. Suddenly a foreign car pulled up, and two men got out — most likely father and son. They began photographing the church, and I stepped aside so as not to get in the way. The elder one asked about the church, and I told them a little of what I knew about it. They took me for a local resident and asked what life was like here. They were very surprised that I had come from far away. They offered to give me a lift to the bus station. I thanked them and said I was in no hurry and wanted to stay a while longer. Just then an irritated woman's voice rang out from the car, demanding that they stop taking photographs. The woman did not step out of the car even for a minute to see such beauty. The men said goodbye and hurried off to the car. And I walked around a while longer and, in the quiet, admired the majestic building.
Beside the church is an old cemetery.
On the way back I had almost to run down the steep descent. On the street, boys of about six or seven were doing sharp turns on their bicycles, but they stopped to let me pass. I asked whether they knew what church stood in their village. Of course they knew, though they do not live on this street — they come here to ride.
The 21st of November is an Orthodox feast — the Synaxis of the Archangel Michael and the other Bodiless Heavenly Powers, the angels. I could not fail to travel to the Church of St Michael on that day. There were a great many people; not everyone could fit inside, and they stood in the church yard. Inside the church some of the interior details are also of wood: the stairs, the frames around the holy images. At the end of the service all the parishioners sang a prayer-song they had composed themselves in honour of their church. The words are simple and heartfelt. Later I found these words and give them here, to show how people cherish their history and hold it dear.
In our Bystre there stands an ancient church,
To it on Sundays all the people go,
To pray to God, to ask of Him
That He grant them health and a happy life.
There stands that beauty of maidenly grace,
Built many centuries ago.
The Archangel Michael keeps her safe,
And the Mother of God watches over her.
She stands like a maiden, slender and tall,
And all have loved her since childhood.
The Bystre church grants us peace,
Nowhere in the world will you find her like.
People come to her from afar,
To gaze upon her beauty.
In her our great-great-grandfathers prayed,
And now in her we pray.
In our Bystre there stands an ancient church,
An ancient church that has stood for ages.
She was built far away in the forest,
When the Tatar-Mongol horde roamed here.
The people built a little cottage,
And in her they prayed by day and by night.
They asked of God
that He help drive the strangers from their land.
And when the momentous day arrived,
And all the strangers vanished from the land,
Then they moved the little cottage to the valley,
Closer to their own village.
In 1588 they consecrated her, gave her a name, and asked the Archangel Michael to keep her safe.
In 1630 they moved her into the middle of the village.
They added an altar and a roof, and built her domes.
And the Bystre church became beautiful,
And people come to pray in her.
And they ask of God and of Michael
To keep her safe for our descendants.
After the communion and all the rites, the villagers marked the patronal feast, and I, with the wonderful impressions I share with you, made my way back along the familiar road to the bus station.
This story is also available in Ukrainian: Свалява. Історія однієї з найдавніших дерев'яних церков України – Свято-Михайлівської на Бистрому
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