
Who was Olga, the Alaska Native drawing devotion as Orthodoxy's new saint?
KWETHLUK, Alaska (AP) — 'St. Olga of Kwethluk, Matushka of All Alaska,' as she is officially known, was canonized on June 19 as the first female Orthodox saint from North America.
Orthodoxy — the world's second-largest Christian communion -- gained a foothold in the present-day United States with the 18th and 19th century arrival of Russian Orthodox missionaries to what was then the czarist territory of Alaska.
While the Orthodox are a small minority within the Christian population in the state and the nation, Alaska is often considered a holy land for the now-independent Orthodox Church in America.
Who is St. Olga of Kwethluk?
Olga Michael was born in 1916 in Kwethluk, where she resided her entire life with her Yup'ik family and neighbors. The Yup'ik, like the Tlingit, Inupiat and Aleuts, are broadly called Alaska Natives. The town's name is derived from the Yup'ik term for 'dangerous river.'
Her Yup'ik name was Arrsamquq; she was confirmed in the church under the name Olga.
Like other villagers, her life followed the seasonal rhythms of subsistence living, preparing food at 'fish camps' for preservation and making clothing from animal skins.
She married Nicolai Michael, who became an Orthodox priest. They had 13 children, five of whom died in childhood, a tragically familiar occurrence at a time when epidemics were common.
Matushka, from the Russian for mother, is a term of respect for Orthodox priest's wives. 'Matushka Olga' fulfilled that role of spiritual mother — counseling women who had suffered abuse or griefs such as miscarriage — and she was widely admired for her compassion and piety, often providing other people with food and handmade clothing.
Matushka Olga was also a midwife, delivering many children.
And when she died of cancer on Nov. 8, 1979, villagers reported that unseasonably warm weather thawed the river ice, enabling people to travel by boat from other villages to her funeral, according to an official church biography.
What does her family say?
'She was the most prominent adult in my life,' recalled Wiz Ruppert, who was raised in Matushka Olga's home from about three to 13, when her grandmother died. 'Without her, I think my life would have been so different.'
Like other family members, Ruppert recalls Olga never raising her voice.
'If I had a hard time waking up, she would nudge me, and if I didn't wake up, she would gently carry me to a chair where breakfast was ready,' Ruppert recalled.
She recalled the fresh bread her grandmother would make, how she patiently taught her how to prepare freshly caught fish, how she would sew fur boots with sealskin soles for others in the community.
'Those are really hard to work on,' Ruppert recalled. 'I would watch her chew the soles so they would be soft enough to sew.'
How did devotion to St. Olga grow?
After her death, devotion to Matushka Olga spread beyond Alaska to Orthodox faithful in distant states and countries. She's often depicted in unofficial icons framed by northern lights, with the words, 'God can create great beauty from complete desolation.'
People began to report encounters with Matushka Olga in sacred dreams and visions, according to the church. One poignant account of a woman who had suffered childhood sexual abuse describes a profoundly healing experience during a prayerful encounter with Olga.
In 2023, the groundswell of devotion eventually prompted the Holy Synod of Bishops of the Orthodox Church in America to approve her 'glorification' as a saint.
What happens next?
Kwethluk, with a population of about 800 and accessible only by boat or small plane, now anticipates receiving pilgrims.
The Diocese of Alaska is in the early stages of working with the village on plans and fundraising for a new church, hospitality center and cultural center.
'We have gotten some pilgrims already, although not in force yet, but we expect them to come regularly after this summer,' said the Rev. Martin Nicolai, a retired priest attached to St. Nicholas Church. 'People who venerate her as a saint will want to come and pray beside her relics.'
How are saints formally recognized?
Orthodox have a similar process to Catholics in determining saints.
It begins with grassroots devotion. Eventually petitions reach the highest authority — in Orthodoxy, a synod of bishops; in Catholicism, the pope — to make the determination. Sainthood becomes official with a service of canonization or glorification.
There are multiple Orthodox jurisdictions in the United States and internationally. They generally recognize each other's saints.
Why is Alaska considered an Orthodox holy land?
Several Orthodox monks and martyrs with ties to Alaska are already recognized as saints by the Orthodox Church in America, the now-independent offspring of the Russian Orthodox Church. Pilgrims come to Alaska to venerate their relics at their shrines.
St. Olga is the third with Alaska Native heritage recognized by the Orthodox Church in America, following the 19th century St. Peter the Aleut and St. Yakov Netsvetov of Alaska, who was of Aleut and Russian heritage. Most of the state's Orthodox priests, serving about 80 parishes, are Alaska Natives. More than a dozen priests have come from Kwethluk.
How are Orthodox churches organized?
Eastern Orthodox churches trace their roots to the beginning of Christianity. Several are self-governing, with their leaders considered equals, and they share beliefs and sacraments while cooperating in charitable and other activities.
In the United States, organizational lines are rooted in the national backgrounds of various ethnic groups, such as the Orthodox Church in America (with roots in Russian Orthodoxy) and the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America. But many U.S. churches now have members of varied ancestries, and cooperate through the Assembly of Canonical Orthodox Bishops.
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New York Post
5 hours ago
- New York Post
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Throughout his remarkable lifetime, the Rev. James Kelly has baptized thousands of people, married thousands more, ministered to the sick in hospitals, and traveled the world extensively. He became friends with an opera superstar and, yes, even with a saint. The longest-serving priest in the Archdiocese of Philadelphia recently celebrated the 75th anniversary of his ordination and his 100th birthday. He's grateful to have reached these milestones, but nearly didn't after experiencing a health challenge last year that required life-saving surgery. He feels God gave him some extra time and tries to make each day count. 7 Rev. James Kelly, the longest-serving priest in the Archdiocese of Philadelphia, recently celebrated the 75th anniversary of his ordination and his 100th birthday. AP 'The Lord was wonderful to me to give me the health and the strength and the energy to travel, to meet beautiful things — God was always giving me surprises,' Kelly says. Born on Jan. 7, 1925, in the Philadelphia neighborhood of Roxborough to a devoutly Catholic family, Kelly's path to the priesthood seems ordained from the start. He loved attending church. Other children dreamt of becoming athletes, doctors, or firefighters. He wanted to be a priest. 'When I was 4 or 5 years old, I'd play Mass,' he says, laughing, as he recalls that his parents were his first congregants. 'I always had a little altar in my room, and I'd have a glass, and some flowers in there, and I'd make a vestment, put a scarf on, and have some candy, and give Communion to everybody.' Kelly wakes up at dawn to celebrate Mass at the retirement living community that he now calls home. He listens to opera. He bakes pies. 7 Kelly was born on Jan. 7, 1925, in the Philadelphia neighborhood of Roxborough to a devoutly Catholic family. AP Memories, parachute jumps, and climbing a bridge to save a life Sitting in his room, Kelly flips through a photo album detailing his journey. He smiles with every page turn, pointing to black-and-white photos of him as a toddler and milestones as a Catholic — his baptism, confirmation, and ordination as a priest. 'I turned down Hollywood!' he says, laughing as he points to the portrait of a dapper, young priest, his hair slicked and flashing a wide smile. He also points to the photo published by a Philadelphia newspaper of the time when he climbed in his Roman collar to the top of a bridge and dissuaded a man from jumping to his death. 7 'I turned down Hollywood!' Kelly says, laughing as he points to the portrait of a dapper, young priest, his hair slicked and flashing a wide smile. AP 'Nobody would climb there, so I climbed up — it was 400 feet high. It was a bitter cold day,' he says. 'I was able to talk to him and break him down emotionally, so he wouldn't jump. I told him, 'What's your grandchild going to say one day: Papa, why didn't you take me fishing?'' He points to other photos of the many ceremonies he proudly led during his 19 years as pastor of Saint Pius X Parish in Broomall, Pennsylvania, about 10 miles (16 kilometers) west of Philadelphia. There are images of him during a vacation in Mexico when he made a parachute jump. Or that one time, when he visited the majestic Iguazu Falls on the border between Argentina and Brazil, which he recalls as one of the most beautiful sights of his life. 'Everywhere you turned, there was a rainbow, there was a mist … the water gushing forth and spray and the colors,' he says. 'It was, as the kids would say, awesome.' Imagination, friends and being grateful for the simple pleasures Imagination, he says, is one of his favorite words, recalling that he wrote his college thesis on it. 'Jesus used his imagination to teach,' he says, in what became an example when he prepared his own sermons. 7 Sitting in his room, Kelly flips through a photo album detailing his journey. AP He treasures other memories, such as traveling to more than 100 countries and meeting Saint Teresa of Kolkata, also known as Mother Theresa. Kelly says the two became friends over the years after meeting in Philadelphia and running into each other at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. The centenarian also shared the time when he took a group of blind children to a live performance of his friend, acclaimed soprano Joan Sutherland. 'I've been fortunate to meet some of the most magnificent, good people in this world, and they've been most generous and gracious to me,' Kelly says. These days, he enjoys simple pleasures: the taste of cherries, a beautiful song, or his favorite meal — roast chicken with mashed potatoes, fresh string beans, and corn on the cob. 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Kelly once ministered to large congregations, but he feels the daily Mass in his living room is as important. 7 Kelly wakes up at dawn to celebrate Mass at the retirement living community that he now calls home. He listens to opera. He bakes pies. AP 'It's not in a beautiful chapel or church. But it's here that I can offer my love and efforts to the Heavenly Father,' he says. After the final prayer, he always remembers to be grateful. 'That's all I can say — two words: thank you. It's wonderful that I have another day, and I might be able to eat some delicious cherries today, and meet people, new friends,' he says. 'God knows what surprises I'll encounter today.' His secret to longevity? 'I drink lots of milk,' he says, laughing. 'And I say lots of prayers.'


San Francisco Chronicle
8 hours ago
- San Francisco Chronicle
At 100, this globetrotting Catholic priest still bakes pies, enjoys opera and performs daily Mass
BLUE BELL, Pa. (AP) — Throughout his remarkable lifetime, the Rev. James Kelly has baptized thousands of people, married thousands more, ministered to the sick in hospitals, and traveled the world extensively. He became friends with an opera superstar and, yes, even with a saint. The longest-serving priest in the Archdiocese of Philadelphia recently celebrated the 75th anniversary of his ordination and his 100th birthday. He's grateful to have reached these milestones, but nearly didn't after experiencing a health challenge last year that required life-saving surgery. He feels God gave him some extra time and tries to make each day count. 'The Lord was wonderful to me to give me the health and the strength and the energy to travel, to meet beautiful things — God was always giving me surprises,' Kelly says. Born on Jan. 7, 1925, in the Philadelphia neighborhood of Roxborough to a devoutly Catholic family, Kelly's path to the priesthood seems ordained from the start. He loved attending church. Other children dreamt of becoming athletes, doctors, firefighters. He wanted to be a priest. 'When I was 4 or 5 years old, I'd play Mass,' he says, laughing, as he recalls that his parents were his first congregants. 'I always had a little altar in my room, and I'd have a glass, and some flowers in there, and I'd make a vestment, put a scarf on, and have some candy, and give Communion to everybody." Kelly wakes up at dawn to celebrate Mass at the retirement living community that he now calls home. He listens to opera. He bakes pies. Sitting in his room, Kelly flips through a photo album detailing his journey. He smiles with every page turn, pointing to black-and-white photos of him as a toddler and milestones as a Catholic — his baptism, confirmation and ordination as a priest. 'I turned down Hollywood!' he says, laughing as he points to the portrait of a dapper, young priest, his hair slicked and flashing a wide smile. He also points to the photo published by a Philadelphia newspaper of the time when he climbed in his Roman collar to the top of a bridge and dissuaded a man from jumping to his death. 'Nobody would climb there, so I climbed up — it was 400 feet high. It was a bitter cold day,' he says. 'I was able to talk to him and break him down emotionally, so he wouldn't jump. I told him, 'What's your grandchild going to say one day: Papa, why didn't you take me fishing?'" He points to other photos of the many ceremonies he proudly led during his 19 years as pastor of Saint Pius X Parish in Broomall, Pennsylvania, about 10 miles (16 kilometers) west of Philadelphia. There are images of him during a vacation in Mexico when he made a parachute jump. Or that one time, when he visited the majestic Iguazu Falls on the border between Argentina and Brazil, which he recalls as one of the most beautiful sights of his life. 'Everywhere you turned, there was a rainbow, there was a mist … the water gushing forth and spray and the colors," he says. 'It was, as the kids would say, awesome.' Imagination, friends and being grateful for the simple pleasures Imagination, he says, is one of his favorite words, recalling that he wrote his college thesis on it. 'Jesus used his imagination to teach,' he says, in what became an example when he prepared his own sermons. He treasures other memories, such as traveling to more than 100 countries and meeting Saint Teresa of Kolkata, also known as Mother Theresa. Kelly says the two became friends over the years after meeting in Philadelphia and running into each other at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. The centenarian also shared the time when he took a group of blind children to a live performance of his friend, acclaimed soprano Joan Sutherland. 'I've been fortunate to meet some of the most magnificent, good people in this world, and they've been most generous and gracious to me," Kelly says. These days, he enjoys simple pleasures: the taste of cherries, a beautiful song, or his favorite meal — roast chicken with mashed potatoes, fresh string beans, and corn on the cob. He loves learning and often attends lectures on music, art history and Egyptology at the Normandy Farms Estates retirement community where he resides in Blue Bell, Pennsylvania. His apartment is decorated with a painting of the Virgin Mary that he drew with chalk, a portrait of his mother, and a note signed by the late Pope Francis. On his bedside table, he keeps an image of Carlo Acutis, the Catholic Church's first millennial-era saint. Kelly is inspired by Acutis, who died at 15 in 2006. Especially Acutis' devotion and how he used his computer skills to create an online exhibit about scores of eucharistic miracles recognized by the church over centuries. The ritual of a humble daily Mass and the secret to a long life Every morning, he wakes up without the need of an alarm clock and says the same prayer: 'Lord, what surprise do you have for me today?' 'I hope it'll be a nice one that I'll love and enjoy. I never know, but I want to thank you for whatever happens today.' After a cup of coffee, he celebrates Mass in his apartment for a few residents of his community. 'When I moved here, I never thought I was going to have a private chapel!' Kathleen Quigley, a retired nurse, quipped after a recent service. 'I just love my faith, and he's such a stronghold of faith that it's wonderful for me to have. I just come right downstairs, have Mass, we talk, he shares his food.' Kelly once ministered to large congregations, but he feels the daily Mass in his living room is as important. 'It's not in a beautiful chapel or church. But it's here that I can offer my love and efforts to the Heavenly Father,' he says. After the final prayer, he always remembers to be grateful. 'That's all I can say — two words: thank you. It's wonderful that I have another day, and I might be able to eat some delicious cherries today, and meet people, new friends," he says. "God knows what surprises I'll encounter today.' 'I drink lots of milk,' he says, laughing. 'And I say lots of prayers.'


Hamilton Spectator
8 hours ago
- Hamilton Spectator
At 100, this globetrotting Catholic priest still bakes pies, enjoys opera and performs daily Mass
BLUE BELL, Pa. (AP) — Throughout his remarkable lifetime, the Rev. James Kelly has baptized thousands of people, married thousands more, ministered to the sick in hospitals, and traveled the world extensively. He became friends with an opera superstar and, yes, even with a saint. The longest-serving priest in the Archdiocese of Philadelphia recently celebrated the 75th anniversary of his ordination and his 100th birthday. He's grateful to have reached these milestones, but nearly didn't after experiencing a health challenge last year that required life-saving surgery. He feels God gave him some extra time and tries to make each day count. 'The Lord was wonderful to me to give me the health and the strength and the energy to travel, to meet beautiful things — God was always giving me surprises,' Kelly says. Born on Jan. 7, 1925, in the Philadelphia neighborhood of Roxborough to a devoutly Catholic family, Kelly's path to the priesthood seems ordained from the start. He loved attending church. Other children dreamt of becoming athletes, doctors, firefighters. He wanted to be a priest. 'When I was 4 or 5 years old, I'd play Mass,' he says, laughing, as he recalls that his parents were his first congregants. 'I always had a little altar in my room, and I'd have a glass, and some flowers in there, and I'd make a vestment, put a scarf on, and have some candy, and give Communion to everybody.' Kelly wakes up at dawn to celebrate Mass at the retirement living community that he now calls home. He listens to opera. He bakes pies. Memories, parachute jumps and climbing a bridge to save a life Sitting in his room, Kelly flips through a photo album detailing his journey. He smiles with every page turn, pointing to black-and-white photos of him as a toddler and milestones as a Catholic — his baptism, confirmation and ordination as a priest. 'I turned down Hollywood!' he says, laughing as he points to the portrait of a dapper, young priest, his hair slicked and flashing a wide smile. He also points to the photo published by a Philadelphia newspaper of the time when he climbed in his Roman collar to the top of a bridge and dissuaded a man from jumping to his death. 'Nobody would climb there, so I climbed up — it was 400 feet high. It was a bitter cold day,' he says. 'I was able to talk to him and break him down emotionally, so he wouldn't jump. I told him, 'What's your grandchild going to say one day: Papa, why didn't you take me fishing?'' He points to other photos of the many ceremonies he proudly led during his 19 years as pastor of Saint Pius X Parish in Broomall, Pennsylvania, about 10 miles (16 kilometers) west of Philadelphia. There are images of him during a vacation in Mexico when he made a parachute jump. Or that one time, when he visited the majestic Iguazu Falls on the border between Argentina and Brazil, which he recalls as one of the most beautiful sights of his life. 'Everywhere you turned, there was a rainbow, there was a mist … the water gushing forth and spray and the colors,' he says. 'It was, as the kids would say, awesome.' Imagination, friends and being grateful for the simple pleasures Imagination, he says, is one of his favorite words, recalling that he wrote his college thesis on it. 'Jesus used his imagination to teach,' he says, in what became an example when he prepared his own sermons. He treasures other memories, such as traveling to more than 100 countries and meeting Saint Teresa of Kolkata , also known as Mother Theresa. Kelly says the two became friends over the years after meeting in Philadelphia and running into each other at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. The centenarian also shared the time when he took a group of blind children to a live performance of his friend, acclaimed soprano Joan Sutherland. 'I've been fortunate to meet some of the most magnificent, good people in this world, and they've been most generous and gracious to me,' Kelly says. These days, he enjoys simple pleasures: the taste of cherries, a beautiful song, or his favorite meal — roast chicken with mashed potatoes, fresh string beans, and corn on the cob. He loves learning and often attends lectures on music, art history and Egyptology at the Normandy Farms Estates retirement community where he resides in Blue Bell, Pennsylvania. His apartment is decorated with a painting of the Virgin Mary that he drew with chalk, a portrait of his mother, and a note signed by the late Pope Francis. On his bedside table, he keeps an image of Carlo Acutis , the Catholic Church's first millennial-era saint. Kelly is inspired by Acutis, who died at 15 in 2006. Especially Acutis' devotion and how he used his computer skills to create an online exhibit about scores of eucharistic miracles recognized by the church over centuries. The ritual of a humble daily Mass and the secret to a long life Every morning, he wakes up without the need of an alarm clock and says the same prayer: 'Lord, what surprise do you have for me today?' 'I hope it'll be a nice one that I'll love and enjoy. I never know, but I want to thank you for whatever happens today.' After a cup of coffee, he celebrates Mass in his apartment for a few residents of his community. 'When I moved here, I never thought I was going to have a private chapel!' Kathleen Quigley, a retired nurse, quipped after a recent service. 'I just love my faith, and he's such a stronghold of faith that it's wonderful for me to have. I just come right downstairs, have Mass, we talk, he shares his food.' Kelly once ministered to large congregations, but he feels the daily Mass in his living room is as important. 'It's not in a beautiful chapel or church. But it's here that I can offer my love and efforts to the Heavenly Father,' he says. After the final prayer, he always remembers to be grateful. 'That's all I can say — two words: thank you. It's wonderful that I have another day, and I might be able to eat some delicious cherries today, and meet people, new friends,' he says. 'God knows what surprises I'll encounter today.' His secret to longevity? 'I drink lots of milk,' he says, laughing. 'And I say lots of prayers.' __ Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP's collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content. Error! Sorry, there was an error processing your request. There was a problem with the recaptcha. Please try again. You may unsubscribe at any time. 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