The Censer of Europe

Milomir Mihajlović - Točak would say: "Why don't I like snow?" My era is precisely then. Many cities are beautiful and diverse in content in summer, but rarely does any city in the world, like Sarajevo in winter, become so quietly and imperceptibly beautiful and unique. Like those first silent beats from a gramophone record, winter sneaks in and rustles, spreading snow like a carpet from Bezistan to Europe. There, on the old and slippery cobblestones of a narrow street, rose the first European hotel with hot water in its rooms, which was named Europe. The most delicious baklavas and a gathering place for all important events of private and public life, civil intelligence, and select provenance. Currencies devalue, people do, so why wouldn't a hotel. However, everyone has their own perception of reality and the moments in which life and people happen, and that would not be possible without places where they meet. No special introduction or reason is needed to have a coffee, eat a real Viennese, or enjoy a hookah right there. Everyone chooses what they like in Europe, and if it's a birthday, a more beautiful time to sit – to soar into the pre-war atmosphere of the early 20th century Viennese "Central," where world and European intellectuals sat – cannot be. Such was one January. The central part of the lounge with its high glass and comfortable spot seemed to be waiting for me. The hotel was ready to welcome guests, with its characteristic atmosphere of evenly concentrated murmurs and uncertain whispers. By the way, the hotel's representative rooftop terrace was often used by local celebrities for self-promotion, waiting for bells and adhans so they could bend over in front of the world's cameras and present themselves – to the sounds of various calls to prayer – as multicultural and Eurocentric personalities. Sarajevo, in many ways, served such people, as a modern-day case study, but in Europe, as in all of Sarajevo, there was a lot of everything, but least of all coincidence. Quite the opposite. People always went to Sarajevo with serious intentions and left it for great reasons. Never occasionally or by chance, at least not if you were a born Sarajevan. Both the one from Širokača, when going "to town," and the one from Ilidža, when going "to the city," knew this difference. "Goodbye Bosnia, I'm going to Sarajevo" always held true. Sarajevo was valued because in a provincial state like Bosnia, its local centers have greater significance and meaning, let alone Sarajevo. In that sense, Sarajevo was a mythical city. Europe, therefore, was and remains the personification, not just of a café or a hotel, but of a city center that is an unofficial metropolis and an essential urban hub. Europe unmasked such titular adjectives for the city and illuminated it in a European way. A kind and direct waiter, with quick and nimble eyes and movements, approached us. The ability of a waiter to level the approach to the table, balancing relational distance and privacy, is an art that should adorn him. This young man skillfully managed it, as few others do, which made Europe feel even more European to me at that moment. The enthusiastic man gave the impression that not even the most indolent guest in Europe could shake his talent and feeling for people. This implies responsibility for countless moments in the lives of people of whom he is a part, sometimes willingly or unwillingly, but always noticeably and meaningfully. "You baptized me!" echoed through Europe like an honorary salute. From then on, no word or movement was the same or official. Smiles, exchanges of words, memories, and kindness followed, but above all etiquette or courtesy – a charisma and energy of community settled in, transforming the group in Europe into a mobile church – a tabernacle – a synagogue. Every act of this small ancient-type drama was a liturgy. Everything was there: taking seats, beginning a small celebratory performance, a meal, and all at once it became divine service. Censers, by the way, are liturgical objects, originally used in rituals of polytheistic, priestly, and Old Testament forms of sacrificial celebration. This was consequently transferred to Christian practice. Gradually, it was used only in the altar area, but later its use was extended to the entire temple. Inside it, there is a vessel about half the size of a wild chestnut shell, as an inner part of the censer into which charcoal or a briquette is placed, protecting it from the embers. It should be known that rakhat loukoum or sugar cubes are tasted with homemade coffee in Europe. However, there are special copper, externally embossed, small dishes for this sweet program. They retain their copper color even after prolonged use. Whether it's due to tinning or the copper itself, I don't know. What I do know is that this small dish ended up in my hands as a birthday present. The kind Sarajevan and European concierge gave me this small object as a gift. I understood it not only as a present but rather as the final solution to the Navier-Stokes equation of fluid motion. When a Mount Athos censer found its corner and practical use in my home, this copper dish fit perfectly into it. Fluid motion is an unsolvable mathematical equation and problem. How smoke moves or changes its trajectory has been unsolvable for decades. Now it is somewhat clear to me. Man, according to our forefather David, is a flower of the field and quickly fades. The smoke of incense or any fluid is a paradigm of that segment of personality, which mysteriously and inexplicably moves and disappears. From this small copper dish – from the particular to the general – the answer is obtained that man as an individual remains constant and alive through encounter, and especially in the ultimate encounter with God. The cradle of Jesus became the cradle of salvation for man and Earth. This censer of Europe is an apotheosis of the human personality, which, with various fragrant nuances, does not vanish without meaning. Man, like censer smoke, has his recipient in the eternal and imperishable meaning of all matter – God and the Creator. "We offer Thee, O Christ our God, spiritual incense; which receiving upon Thy supercelestial altar, send down upon us the grace of Thy most Holy Spirit." Deacon Božidar Vasiljević