The European Christian country of Serbia may be considered something of a sister of Dixie’s. Both peoples have followed similar paths: After attaining a solid Christian identity and unity, both faced an horrible cataclysm: The Serbs were conquered by the Muslim Turks in the 14th century and remained their vassals until the 19th century; the South was subjugated to the Yankees in the 19th century and remain under their yoke to this day. Some of the figures of both countries are also strikingly similar, such as Prince Lazar the Great-Martyr of Serbia and General Stonewall Jackson of Virginia – about all of which we have written in more detail elsewhere.
Given this special kinship between the two peoples, we see something hopeful developing. There is a renewed appreciation and embrace of the past being kindled in the souls of the Serbs. They are pouring into Kosovo, the primordial cultural/spiritual heartland of Serbia, despite the fact that Kosovo is under threat from various foes.
There is a profound yearning to be rejoined to their roots. A student at the University of Belgrade described this yearning in his own words:
‘As soon as you turn west towards Kosovo from the highway connecting Belgrade and Thessaloniki, you begin to realize that you are entering another reality, a completely different dimension. You arrive in Visoki Dečani and you feel that you time-travelled several centuries back—time runs differently there. Or take Prizren—sure, it has practically no Serbs living there anymore, but you have this gut feeling that the town is still ours, it is Orthodox, it is Serbian! You cannot describe this feeling with words—I think you can only experience it once you are in Kosovo and Metohija. On the one hand, I feel ashamed, but on the other hand, it is also surprising and brings joy. It is only when I’m here that I realize I am a Serb and an Orthodox Christian. I go back to my people and I begin to understand what the Church, its priesthood, and monasticism mean to me. The genuine, heartfelt hospitality, the embraces, the joyful gratitude that we still remember, the stories about life of the recent past and what is going on there now… I am convinced that every Serb, if he thinks of himself as such, simply must visit Dečani, the Patriarchate of Pec, and Gračanica—at least once! And experience has shown that if you have ever visited Kosovo and Metohija once, you will always long to return to our holy places’ (Maria Vasic, ‘How Pilgrims Bring Back Hope: Notes from Kosovo and Metohija,’ orthochristian.com).
Hospitality? Embraces? Again, quite Southern.
There is anecdotal evidence that Dixie is seeing some resurgence of interest in her old ways: increased attendance at (misnamed) Civil War reenactments, for instance. But our people still seem too beguiled by the flashy materialism of Yankee America and the pseudo-sacred Philadelphia charter of 1787 to reclaim in full our patrimony. We have become, to say it differently, too enamored with comfort. Richard Weaver and some of the other Southern Agrarians (see, e. g., ‘The Life and Death of Cousin Lucius’ by John Donald Wade in I’ll Take My Stand) tried to remind us that the poverty of our forefathers was a shield protecting us from spiritual and cultural enervation. We have failed to listen. For the Serbs in Kosovo, however, suffering and struggle remain everyday realities, and it is enlivening them as it once did us:
‘It is truly some kind of a primary need, a search for one’s roots, an aspiration to feel the light, or even holiness. Here you better understand the meaning of the words, “the Church is based on the blood of martyrs”—say what you like, but there is enough suffering in Kosovo. But this is a special kind of suffering—for Christ—that’s what you perceive here. Sure, it is also your native history and the cultural heritage of your people that you begin to understand here not distantly, but with your whole being. And yes, this is our homeland, our cradle. I will never forget, as we were getting closer to the monastery of Visoki Dečani and we had a really powerful, bright feeling. Or, when you come to the monastery of the Patriarchate of Pec—it is as if you are coming home to see your mother after a long absence. You would later even hear and say the word “shrine” differently, more consciously, or something like that,” says Marija Djordjevic’ (Ibid.).
There are echoes in those words of the sacramental Christianity that once existed widely across the South. But it too has been displaced, by a faith that runs to one of two extremes, either coldly logical (like Unitarianism) or a hot emotionalism (like the Shakers), both of which had their origins in New England or in places adjacent to and influenced by her like the burned-over district of New York (to be fair, the South has known something of these two streams from her early days, too; witness the enthusiasm of her boisterous camp/revival meetings and the refined intellectualism of the sermons delivered by her city preachers). But once again the Serbs are hungry for that very thing that much of Dixie has abandoned. From the mouth of another pilgrim:
‘There are churches and a monastery here, the tower of Lazar Kujundžić, the manor house, ancient frescoes, songs dating back to the Middle Ages, old customs and traditions. This is not just some “cultural heritage,” but real life, living history, unfolding before your eyes, when you see and feel it. It is the land of wine makers, our famous wines from Metohija. Every household makes wine—not according to some recipe books, but from recipes arising from their soul and those ancient times. Wine in this case is not simply a drink, but rather a kind of testimony to the unity of the times, the spirit, and the struggle. Anyone who tastes it would sense the sun, the joy of prayer and the labor on the native land. Peter Handke, writer and Nobel laureate, has once said that people come here not simply to enjoy its obvious beauty, as tourists. One feels here something truly deep and really important—something you probably can’t even explain, but without which life loses all meaning and joy’ (Ibid.).
Dixie could say the same thing at one time about making biscuits in the kitchen from scratch (a far cry from busting open a cardboard can of pre-made, pre-cut dough containing genetically altered soybean oil and toxic glyphosate weedkiller) or the beauty of our homes and gardens, the musicality of Southern speechways, etc.
Yet there is a price to be paid for adhering to one’s ancestral culture these days. Southrons know this; perhaps because of this many have grown afraid of showing love and honor to our forebears and the way they lived. We have seen our churches co-opted by idolators who worship a fictitious utopia called America, our family farms replaced by Big Ag conglomerates, memorials defaced, flags removed, statues destroyed, and even our people bloodied by social justice warriors. Many are simply ostracized in various ways for being recognizably Southern. Our sister folk in Serbia share this experience with us:
‘Meanwhile, following the Sunday Liturgy, just as the last bus with pilgrims left Orahovac, the Serbian Orthodox Church’s flag was burned here. This announcement followed a joyful report about the growing number of Orthodox pilgrims visiting the holy shrines in the region. Next came more news: the Independent Kosovo police detained twelve Serbian pilgrims in Djakovica and Prizren. Any evidence, any motives? Oh please, it’s nonsense for the current authorities! “Might is right!” Are you a Serb? Orthodox? Take that! We who live in the occupied region are not in the least surprised by this. Scary as it may sound, we have already gotten used to destruction, arson, and lawlessness. How do we oppose it? By prayerfully rebuilding what’s been destroyed. Not just the walls or roofs, but more so—our souls’ (Ibid.).
For a long time, Serbs were despondent over their situation. But they have seen a great change lately:
‘Our region has seen a lot of suffering. So much hatred, persecution… It seemed at one time that our songs would finally die away, that the wine for the liturgy from Velika Hoca and Orahovac would dry up, and the light of hope would go out for those who stayed here. But, you know, something has changed as of late, despite all those things: life seemingly rebounds here. Pilgrims are coming back and they bring the most important thing—hope. Our writer Zivojin Rakocevic once said, “No one can endure and wait as long as a Serb from Kosovo.” And I think that’s true! The fact that so many Orthodox pilgrims come to our long-suffering region, and this time around we had hundreds of them, isn’t just a piece of information—it is a sign that the Serbs haven’t yet forgotten who they are. I remember the empty streets, the blank stare, despondency, almost the despair of my fellow villagers some years ago. But thank God, it is changing these days. It seems like hope has come back to our land. Sure, our enemy is trying to instill fear. But what are his attempts when Christ Himself says: In the world ye shall have tribulation; but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world (John 16:33). So no—we aren’t afraid! Because we know why we suffer: for Him and with Him. When you are with Christ, there is no room for fear—check it out for yourself’ (Ibid.).
This ought to give us hope here at the South. The paths of our two peoples have followed one another so closely over the years. If Serbia is undergoing a cultural revival, we have good reason to believe that Dixians may also experience a similar resurgence of interest in our ancient ways through the same working of the Holy Ghost. We do not speak in certainties as though we were a prophet, only of what seems possible based on the past. Thus, with God’s help, and with a zealous and unyielding effort offered up by our people, perhaps something like the Serbian renewal will be seen here in Dixie before much more time passes.
The views expressed at AbbevilleInstitute.org are not necessarily the views of the Abbeville Institute.
