Today is the Feast of Pentecost or Holy Trinity Sunday in the Julian calendar-observing Orthodox world. Occurring fifty days after Easter, this religious holiday in Serbian culture has a curious bit of folk magic at its heart, which I describe in detail in Chapter 7 of my book Slava! Slavic Paganism and Dual-Faith Folk Ways (Llewellyn, 2026).

A new friend of mine, whom I met at Paganicon earlier this Spring and who is currently enjoying her Slava! reading experience, took me up on my offer outlined in my previous blog post—that of meeting me at St. Sava Monastery in Libertyville, Illinois, this morning to accompany me to church in order to be able to partake in the day’s folk magick tradition.

My kind friend Kim drove two hours in order to attend, and she exuded a respectful and committed attitude throughout—headscarf and all. I was elated to have served as a Serbian cultural ambassador to her. I translated moments of the Divine Liturgy service when I needed to, but I largely didn’t need to, as the purpose is to just be fully present before Divine Presence.

And it all came down to the last 20 or so minutes of the service—the “this is it!” moment of literally weaving the folk magick together as a community when the Bishop bade us kneel as he sang his threefold invocation of the Holy Trinity. That’s when I excitedly told Kim it was time to scoop up some of the Field Broom grass that had been strewn all over the floor before the church opened its doors.

As the bishop kneeled and sang his words of power, we kneeled and set our magical intentions (of healing, of spiritual and physical protection, of victory over trials and tribulations) and we wove each venica (wreath) between our fingers.

Even though I sensibly brought a small pillow to kneel upon, the kneeling was severely uncomfortable. I kept telling myself it was a mental feat of patience and endurance as much as a physical one, and the reward of having so many blessed venčići (small wreaths) was well worth the pain and irritation.

I joked to Kim upon exiting after the service that she and I need t-shirts that read, “I Survived a Two-Hour-Long Serbian Orthodox Divine Liturgy!”

Behold, my haul! (Photo taken in a restaurant after the service had ended.)

As with the badnjak brought into the home on Christmas Eve, each woven venac is a talisman in its own right. Three I placed on the graves of my mother, father, and brother, respectively; one went straight away into the glove compartment of my car; one went on my ancestor altar at home; one went on my Slavic Deities altar; and the remaining two will be given to friends, one given in person this week and the other will be mailed to my best friend in Texas (each year, he always asks me to weave one for him).

Kim’s wreaths were considerably larger and more crown-like; she wove magick for herself and for some of her family members.

Today was the first time an “American friend” took me up on an offer to partake of this Serbian folk magick tradition on Pentecost, and I will cherish the memory of this day for many years to come. Thank you, Kim, for venturing out to see me and may you and your family be richly blessed!

Slava Rodu! / Glory to the Kin!