Retelling of the prologue of the essay: Arkhipov S.V. Human Children: The Origins of Biblical Legends from a Physician's Perspective. Joensuu: Author's Edition, 2025. [In Russian]
Prologue
The liner is anchored by invisible chains; perhaps that’s why, despite the
lapping waters, no motion is felt. The massive vessel doesn’t even sway under
the weight of cargo trucks and railway cars crossing its bridges. No sailor
hats in sight, but the naval order suggests the crew is faithfully on duty.
Instead of ship bells, time here is marked by the tolling of church chimes
spreading across the water. You half expect the bosun’s whistle to trill,
"All hands on deck!" and the skipper to shout, "“Raise the sails!” The crew is clearly preparing
for the voyage, resoundingly dropping and loudly rolling logs, probably into
the hold. In daylight,
the workers salute passing boats with rainbow fountains of watering machines,
and in the twilight, they light up the fairway and the firmament with a
pink-golden glow. The air is transparent, assertive, fresh, and saturated with
the aroma of sawn resinous wood. The captain lingers, waiting for either the
tide, or a fair breeze, or perhaps a cherished sign by which to set off on a
journey.
Gradually, the still excitement of the malachite hills is inlaid with
shimmering marble. Through the frosty haze, the ark-like town is bathed in the
pale copper light of a sun paused just above the winding horizon. Snowflakes
begin to adorn the majestic vessel; it is caught in ice and immersed in
contemplative stillness. The atmosphere recalls a polar expedition ship locked
in the floes, guarded by stern icebergs. Everything is blinding white and
quiet. Only a woodpecker can be heard now and then, hammering a few nails into
the ship’s spars.
Pacification…
Suddenly, as the brief arctic day fades, something stirs. Lights blossom
everywhere: garlands flicker to life, lamps glow in doorways and behind frosted
windows. Man-made sparks are echoed by flashes of polar lights, covering
clusters of dazzling constellations with mother-of-pearl. Earthly and heavenly
fireflies wink at each other — as if to whisper of something momentous to come.
The long-held secret begins to make sense: why the captain waited, what the
peninsula-drakkar crew and the world have been anticipating. That evening, the
rhythm of doorways opening and closing quickens. Silhouettes hurry along snowy
paths. Their gestures, muffled steps, and visible breath make them seem like
smoke-ships gliding in formation. All converge toward the Temple, which soars
skyward beneath the black-abyssal dome, crowned by the Star of Bethlehem.
At a signal, the gathering clusters tightly around a humble stage, like
sailors near the helm. Bundled against the swirling cold, the mixed-age crowd
quiets in reverent expectation of the spectacle.
The Play – Immanuel
Joseph’s stunned humility touches the audience deeply. What now? He doesn’t
turn her away — he shelters her! He seats her on a pony and hurries through the
darkness. Behind them, the wind whistles. Above, fir branches lean low. Around,
silent witnesses. Ahead — the unknown.
Grim Herod listens darkly to the measured speech of the Magi, warning of a
coming Ecumenical
Ruler. In fearful
rage for his throne, he sends soldiers to slaughter the innocents. With spears
and torches, the merciless pursuers give chase.
The holy family flees, seeking shelter amid the storm, but finds only
rejection. Those who turn them away cannot foresee the reckoning that looms
through their children.
The episode of the production is captivating, completely paralyzing the
contemplators. Memories resurrect the horror of their own ancestors, who
repeatedly escaped from the enemy with bundles of belongings and deprivation on
their shoulders. The hand of hard times overtook the weak and the little,
casting iconographic images of the deceased from an alloy of hatred and sadness
in the memory of those who miraculously remained alive.
A snowy cave offers refuge to Mary. Beside her, Joseph paces anxiously. He
stops, wringing cold hands, surveying the hill's foot. Below, a sea of patient,
glistening eyes. The frost bites, the wind lashes harder, the trial of
endurance and Faith deepens.
Then — like a lighthouse beam in midnight fog — a newborn’s cry pierces the air. Parting the curtain, Mary lifts the child into the open: both for sacrifice, and for salvation. The Magi and shepherds step forward, reverent. Angels descend. Pine tops bow. Birch branches bow low. Celestial stars edge closer, gazing into the hearts of those witnessing the miracle.
He is born!
Yet even amid joy, the knowledge of the Child’s fate dims thoughts — a
shadow cast on the destiny of the Son of Man.
The transformed assembly heads homeward, shielding the fragile flames of
Christmas candles in their frostbitten hands. The black-draped town-ship glows
anew. The streets hum like a quay welcoming a long-lost fleet. Those who
disperse are mentally transported from modern Nurmes to the New Testament
Bethlehem, and further to the origins of biblical legends. In these moments,
actors and audience rise above everyday burdens, forget ailments, and glimpse a
light of hope in being.
Something warm stirs — within and without.
Retelling done by ChatGPT, a language model trained by OpenAI to assist with text analysis and editing, with our minor edits.
Author:
Arkhipov S.V. – candidate of medical sciences, surgeon, traumatologist-orthopedist.
Citation:
Архипов С.В. Дети человеческие: истоки библейских преданий в обозрении врача. Эссе, снабженное ссылками на интерактивный материал. 2-е изд. перераб. и доп. Йоэнсуу: Издание Автора, 2025.
Arkhipov S.V. Human Children: The Origins of Biblical Legends from a Physician's Perspective. An essay with references to interactive materials. 2nd revised and expanded edition. Joensuu: Author's Edition, 2025. [Rus]
Purchase:
PDF version is available on GooglePlay & Google Books
Keywords
ligamentum capitis femoris, ligamentum teres, ligament of head of femur, history, first patient, injury, damage, Bible, Genesis
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