Alaska
‘Sacred Alaska’: Q&A With Film Director Simon Scionka On Native Culture and Orthodox Spirituality
“Sacred Alaska” is an award-winning, visually stunning documentary with compelling storytelling. The film explores the profound influence of Orthodoxy, brought by St. Herman and Russian monks in the late 18th century, on Native Alaskan society. It also highlights the unique fusion of Native Alaskan indigenous beliefs with Orthodox traditions.
“Sacred Alaska” is the first independent film project for director Simon Scionka, an experienced documentary filmmaker who has made such films for over 20 years in more than 40 countries. After three years of laborious work, “Sacred Alaska” had its world premiere at the International Orthodox Film Festival, Byzantfest, in Melbourne, Australia, this past November. Following the premiere, “Sacred Alaska” won the award for the best feature film of 2023.
Simon Scionka, spoke to Jovan Tripkovic, an editorial fellow at Religion Unplugged, about the documentary, Native Alaskan culture and Orthodox spirituality.
This interview has been edited for clarity and brevity.
Jovan Tripkovic: What is the “Sacred Alaska” documentary about?
Simon Scionka: “Sacred Alaska” tells a bit of the history of how Orthodoxy came to Alaska through the journey of the original monks who came as missionaries, including Saint Herman of Alaska. We also tell a little bit about the lives of saints such as Saint Herman, Saint Innocent, and Saint Yakov, who was the first Native Alaskan to attend seminary and become a priest. He ended up evangelizing many Native Alaskans.
The film is not merely a historical look back. It also explores the legacy of what exists today from what was planted many years ago with the missionary efforts. It looks at what Orthodoxy looks like today in Alaska. How might we, who live in a very different environment, here in the lower 48, for example, live our lives?
In “Sacred Alaska,” we hope to portray the beautiful, simple life of how Native Alaskans live the Gospel in their villages and take care of their community, the animals, and the environment. They are truly connected with the presence of God in the midst of creation and in their interactions with each other as human beings. The film illustrates how we can simply give out the Gospel by loving one another. I hope that message resonates with others.
Tripkovic: What led to the production of this film?
Scionka: My 2004 trip to Spruce Island was my first experience in Alaska, and I loved it. It deeply impacted me. At that time, I didn’t think I was going to make a film up there. However, the more I reflect on it, I come to the conclusion that the trip was actually part of my journey to Orthodoxy.
Father Michael Oleksa had come to our community on one of his speaking tours. He told stories of the saints, and we were blown away by his stories. What an amazing storyteller. Peter Silas, the producer, and I connected with him and read his book: Orthodox Alaska. This was in 2018 or maybe 2019.
In 2020, the COVID-19 pandemic started, and a lot of my work dried up. I wasn’t busy, and I didn’t have a lot of work on my plate. One of the barriers to doing your own film project is often time. Well, all of a sudden, I had time, and Silas also had time. The two of us knew Father Michael, and Silas had some family living on Kodiak Island. I also knew the monks on Spruce Island from my missionary trip 20 years ago, when I first visited Alaska.
We thought that we should go up to Alaska and just do some preliminary filming. We traveled up there with the idea of making a film about the lives of Orthodox Alaskan saints, telling the story of St. Herman and some other saints as well. However, interviewing Father Michael pointed us in a particular direction. He told us that we should visit and talk to people in the villages. He really guided us and gave us ideas of what to do next.
This was during the summer of 2020, at the height of the Covid-19 pandemic. We couldn’t go to villages because they were all locked down. However, we were able to go to Anchorage and visit Father Michael for an interview. We also visited Spruce Island because it wasn’t a village; we just went to the remote part of the island and filmed the chapel and spent time with Father Andrew.
As soon as we came back, we started working on the project. First, we produced a little promo teaser. We designed the film’s website and created a layout of the story we wanted to tell. The next step for us was raising money to go back and do extensive filming. Over the course of a year, thank God, we were able to raise a decent amount of money through friends and family in my church community.
Tripkovic: How long did it take you to complete this project?
Scionka: Just a little over three years. We started in the summer of 2020. We took four trips to Alaska: summer 2020, summer 2021, winter and fall of 2022. Meanwhile, we were editing the whole time as well. We finished the final edit last summer. After editing, we did some final custom music scoring with a composer and sound. The film was completed last October. We had our world premiere in November at the Byzantfest in Melbourne, Australia.
Tripkovic: You shot scenes in dozens of different locations. How difficult was it to reach and find accommodation in remote parts of Alaska?
Scionka: Getting to more remote parts of Alaska was a fun adventure. We took a number of small plane rides to reach certain locations. We would simply rent a private, four-seater Cessna and fly to different regions.
In some parts of Alaska, there are no hotels or Airbnb options. We had to rely on the hospitality of the people in local communities. Quite a few times, we had to stay in whatever accommodation was available in the villages, including an abandoned building that thankfully had running water and some mattresses.
Tripkovic: Scenes in “Sacred Alaska” reveal the beauty of the last frontier as well as the harsh living conditions. Did you intend to showcase the beauty of God’s creation while highlighting the resilience and faith of Native Alaskans who endure extreme weather conditions for the better part of the year?
Scionka: That is an accurate assessment of what we wanted to show in the film. Even in the midst of the harshness of winter, it’s quite beautiful, especially in terms of cinematography. The winter landscapes are stunning and beautiful.
But then, it’s hard. It’s difficult for people up there. You see their resilience. This is their place. This is their home. Sometimes people wonder why they don’t move somewhere where it’s a little easier to live. However, home and carrying on traditions matter. There’s a beauty in being able to embrace a simple way of life.
We saw people in these small, remote villages who have been serving for 40 or 50 years in local parishes. God has placed them there, and they have found ways to serve Him and love others in that place despite all the difficulties of living there. These priests and people are there to love, serve, and take care of others. That deeply impacted us as filmmakers.
Tripkovic: What were the main obstacles on your journey of working on “Sacred Alaska?”
Scionka: We really enjoyed making the film. We had wonderful and meaningful encounters with everyone we met. People took great care of us, and we felt loved and supported. We made a lot of lifelong friends up there. We were very inspired by what we encountered in the lives of folks living and serving in Alaska. Were there any challenges? Absolutely! One was a physical challenge. Filming in the cold was hard, and having the right gear was essential. Keeping yourself and your equipment from freezing while standing out in the middle of a frozen river – that’s definitely challenging. This gave us a taste of life out there.
It was actually quite difficult for us to plan from afar. We’re not locals, so we had to figure out how things work in these communities. When you work on a project like this, you do a lot of what’s called preproduction planning. You make connections, book hotel rooms, and arrange transportation. None of that stuff worked in this case. We had to figure out all these things as we went. From a typical production planning standpoint, that was difficult. We just flew up there and arranged a lot of these things on the ground.
Tripkovic: What did you hope to achieve by directing this documentary?
Scionka: We wanted to make a beautiful film under the glory of God that would inspire both Orthodox Christians and non-Orthodox Christians in their pursuit of life and faith. We also wanted to answer the question: how can we live out our faith? We hope we could make a beautiful film that would inspire others by showing them the beauty and challenges of living in an environment in Alaska while following your Orthodox faith. This film might serve as an example to all of us on how to follow the path towards Christ that is before us.
Tripkovic: You are on the roadshow, screening “Sacred Alaska” across the country. What were the initial reactions of viewers?
Scionka: The initial reactions have been very positive. We’re very encouraged. People are deeply moved by the film. Some have said they teared up at a number of moments in the film. They’re very inspired by it. Some viewers told me that they loved the way we portrayed the beauty of simple life. I think that really has resonated with people.
Tripkovic: How did this project change you as a person emotionally, spiritually, and intellectually?
Scionka: Working on this film deeply impacted my life. I felt I encountered deep spirituality in my interactions with people in Alaska. Very often, we chase after accomplishments and successes, yet we’re left feeling discontent. We believe our lives would be better if we moved somewhere else. We always yearn for something different, leading to a lack of contentment.
What I encountered up there was that it would be hard for me to live in some of those villages. It would be a hard life to live and serve in remote areas of Alaska. I was deeply inspired by the lives of the people who live there. All of them told me that this is their home, this is what their life is like, and this is the path that God has set before us.
This project and the time spent in Alaska taught me that we complicate things. Maybe we need life to be a little simpler sometimes. I think some of these ideas in the film have really resonated with me. They have impacted me deeply both in spiritual and physical realms. Working on this film showed me how to strive to live my life and to see what God has placed before me, and to follow that path.
Tripkovic: Your film explores how Native Alaskans incorporated Orthodox Christianity with their indigenous beliefs and culture. What would you say is the most interesting example of that fusion?
Scionka: Broadly speaking, it’s their ability to relate, to connect with nature, and the idea of practicing stillness. Stillness is sort of like a spiritual virtue for them, it’s like second nature. If you’re going to be in the wilderness, you need to learn how to be quiet. You need to know how to be still if you’re hunting animals. Native Alaskans always sort of see the presence of the divine, the presence of God, the Creator, in animals, nature, and other human beings.
There are so many overlaps between indigenous beliefs and values and Orthodox Christianity. Father Oleksa gives a nice example in the film. At the Feast of Theophany, Orthodox Christians take the cross and put it in the water to bless the water. Well, Native Alaskans did something similar around the same time of the year. In the winter, they would cut a hole in the ice and put leftover parts of the animal that they couldn’t use or consume back into the water. This was their act of gratitude and respect for the animal, putting it back into the water.
I am able to see that there’s this spiritual connection among us all in creation. You could attach these Christian ideas to various cultural practices. Orthodox priests often talk about baptizing cultural ideas and making them Christian. We understand that there is, in human nature, a longing and desire for things that are eternal. We desire things that connect us to God and that are beyond our transient physical realm. From the Christian worldview, we believe that it’s all true because of Christianity. It doesn’t mean that other cultures don’t encounter those things.
Tripkovic: What is the role of Orthodox Christianity in the daily lives of Native Alaskans?
Scionka: The best example of how they live their life is through hunting and their food. They see it all as a gift from God. When they go to pick berries, they make the sign of the cross and thank God. When they go out fishing, they don’t say that they are going out to get their fish. They think of fish, in this case, as something provided by God.
Because God provides, they feel that they have to give to others. If they don’t give to others, they won’t have for themselves. This is the best example of the Christian principle of gratitude and respect. The way they incorporate their faith even into the way they hunt and fish, and share all their food with many people in the villages, was very inspiring.
Tripkovic: How can Orthodox Christianity contribute to combating the opioid crisis in Alaska?
Scionka: Orthodox priests in the villages care deeply about their communities and work hard to encourage people to stay away from drugs, alcohol, and other things that destroy life. Suicides, overdoses, or driving boats while intoxicated happen up there, and it’s devastating to a community. They talk about it in the film.
The Church is our hospital and safe haven. It is the place where, as one of the priests says, you are welcome no matter what you may have done. They really want the Orthodox Church and the Orthodox faith to be that place – the place people turn to when they are in trouble, hurting, and struggling. It’s where they come for healing, help, love, comfort, confession, and to come back to God. Orthodox Christianity offers a path back to God, healing, and comfort, as you can see in the villages in Alaska.
Tripkovic: Your documentary tells the stories of the lives of saints: Father Herman, Bishop Innocent, Father Yakov, the first Native Alaskan to be ordained to the priesthood. Recently, Matushka Olga was canonized as a saint. How did that make you feel? Do you believe that your work in Alaska has only just begun?
Scionka: I was overjoyed. We love Matushka Olga. In my church community here in Colorado Springs, we were doing new iconography. We preemptively included Matushka Olga among the female saints in our church. There are many similar cases across North America, with a lot of hope and anticipation surrounding her canonization.
There was a lot of hope and anticipation for her canonization. A snippet of her story is in our film. After we finished the film, her official canonization was announced. I was asked if I would change some things in the film because she was canonized. I said no because the story remains the same. We all knew she is a saint. The Church is now just making it official, but everyone up there already knew.
Her canonization opens up the opportunity to maybe tell more stories about her and Alaska. God willing, I would love that.
Tripkovic: What do you think Alaskan Orthodox Christianity has to offer to global Orthodoxy?
Scionka: There’s a beautiful example of how to live our Orthodox faith in the villages in Alaska. I think it can serve us here in the lower 48, but also it can serve Orthodox Christians around the world. We’re one church body as the Orthodox worldwide. We can have these really unique expressions of it, amidst our own cultural experiences and the way we live our lives.
Tripkovic: Not to forget, is “Sacred Alaska” available on any major platforms such as Vimeo and YouTube?
Scionka: No, not yet. We are in both an exciting but challenging middle ground of releasing a film. We don’t have to do theatrical releases, but we really want to do it because we think it’s an exciting opportunity for communities to host a screening in their area. Right now, the only way to really see the film is by hosting a local event in your community.
Alaska
Bill allowing physician assistants to practice independently passes Alaska Senate
JUNEAU — The Alaska Senate has passed a bill that would allow physician assistants with sufficient training to practice under an independent license, removing the state’s current requirement that they work under a formal collaborative agreement with physicians.
Supporters say the change would reduce administrative burdens that can delay and increase the cost of care. But physicians who opposed the bill argue it lowers the bar for training and could affect patient care.
Senate Bill 89, sponsored by Anchorage Democratic Sen. Löki Tobin, passed by a unanimous vote in the Senate on Wednesday, with 18 votes in favor and two members absent. The bill would allow physician assistants to apply for an independent license after completing 4,000 hours of postgraduate supervised clinical practice.
Under current law, physician assistants in Alaska must operate under a collaborative plan with physicians. These plans outline the medical services a physician assistant can provide and require oversight from doctors.
The Alaska State Medical Board regulates physician assistants and authorizes them to provide care only within the scope of their training. Most physician assistants in Alaska work in family practice, though some are specially trained in particular fields. All care must be provided under a physician’s license through a collaborative agreement that also requires a second, alternate physician to sign off.
For some clinics, particularly in more remote areas, finding those physicians can be difficult.
Mary Swain, CEO of Cama’i Community Health Center in Bristol Bay, testified in support of the bill before the Senate Labor and Commerce Committee in March 2025. Her practice employs two physicians to maintain collaborative plans for its physician assistants. She said neither of them lived in the community, and the primary physician lived out of state.
Roughly 15% of physicians who hold collaborative agreements with Alaska-based physician assistants do not live in the state, according to Tobin. At the same time, Alaskans face some of the highest health care costs in the nation.
Jared Wallace, a physician assistant in Kenai and owner of Odyssey Family Practice, testified in support of the bill at a committee meeting in April.
Wallace said maintaining collaborative agreements is one of the most difficult parts of running his clinic. He said he pays a collaborative physician about $2,000 per physician assistant per month, roughly $96,000 a year, simply to maintain the required agreement.
“In my experience, a collaborative plan does not improve nor ensure good patient care,” Wallace said. “Instead, it is a barrier in providing good health care in a rural community where access is limited, is a threat that delicately suspends my practice in place, and if severed, the 6,000 patients that I care for would lose access to (their) primary provider and become displaced.”
Opposition to the bill largely came from physicians, who testified that physician assistants do not receive the same depth of training as doctors.
Dr. Nicholas Cosentino, an internal medicine physician, testified in opposition to the bill last April. He said that medical school training provides crucial experience in diagnosing complex cases.
“It’s not infrequent that you get a patient that you’re not exactly sure you know what’s going on, and you have to fall back on your scientific background, the four years of medical school training, the countless hours of residency to come up with that differential, to think critically and come up with a plan for that patient,” Cosentino said. “I think the bill as stated, 4,000 hours, does not equate to that level of training.”
The Alaska Primary Care Association said it supports the intent of the bill but argued that physician assistants should complete 10,000 hours in a collaborative practice model with a physician before practicing independently.
Other states that have moved to allow independent licensure for physician assistants have adopted a range of thresholds. North Dakota requires 4,000 hours, while Montana requires 8,000 hours. Utah requires 10,000 hours of postgraduate supervised work, while Wyoming does not set a specific statewide minimum hour requirement.
Tobin said the hour requirement chosen in the bill came from conversations with experts during the bill’s drafting.
“When we were working with stakeholders on this piece of legislation, we came to a compromise of 4,000 hours, recognizing and understanding that there was concerns, but also … understanding that it is a bit of an arbitrary choice,” she said.
The bill now heads to House committees before a potential vote on the House floor.
Alaska
Dunleavy, EPA visit UAF to discuss regulations in the arctic environment
Fairbanks, Alaska (KTUU/KTVF) – On Wednesday, Gov. Mike Dunleavy, Alaska Attorney General Stephen Cox and Lee Zeldin, the administrator for the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), spoke to press at the University of Alaska Fairbanks power plant.
During their time at the university, the federal and state leaders spoke about developing resources such as coal, oil, gas and critical minerals in the 49th state.
During his 24-hour trip to Fairbanks, Zeldin said he has spoke to business and state leaders about environmental regulations impacting operations in Alaska, saying the EPA needs to consider whether regulations are solving problems or are solutions in search of a problem.
He also discussed the concept of “cooperative federalism,” where the EPA takes its cues from state leaders to determine where regulations and help are needed.
“We’re here at the University of Alaska’s coal plant, and the most modern coal plant in the United States of America,” Dunleavy said.
Zeldin said visiting Fairbanks in winter helps inform decisions the agency is considering.
“There are a lot of decisions right now in front of this agency that the first-hand perspective of being here on the ground helps inform our agency to make the right decision,” he said.
Zeldin also said the agency is hearing concerns from Alaska truckers about diesel exhaust rules in extreme cold.
“We then met with truckers who have been dealing with unique cold weather concerns with the implementation of EPA regulations related to diesel exhaust fluid system,” he said.
When asked about PFAS in drinking water, Zeldin said the EPA is not rolling back the standards.
“So the PFAS standards are not being rolled back at all,” he said.
On Fairbanks air quality and PM2.5 regulations, Zeldin said the agency wants to work with the state.
“We want, at the EPA, to help the Fairbanks community be able to be in attainment on PM 2.5. We want to make it work,” he said.
Dunleavy said energy costs and heating needs remain a major factor in Interior air quality discussions.
“People have to be able to live. They’ve got to be able to afford to live,” he said.
Zeldin said EPA is considering further changes to diesel regulations and urged Alaskans to participate in the rulemaking process.
“We need Alaskans to participate in that public comment period,” he said.
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Alaska
Opinion: Life lessons learned from mushing and old-time Alaska
This is the beginning of the Iditarod spring, signaled by the burst of sun and what used to be the long wait for dog teams to pass under the arch in Nome, the finish line a thousand miles away from Anchorage. For old-timers, it’s the story of the way Alaska used to be. What once was a 30-day wait has become about 10 days for winners to celebrate and the rest of us to shout, “Well done.”
My story is about family that welcomed immigrants from all over the world to be among the last groups of Indigenous people in the country, a life of taking good care of dog teams, and of parents who taught their children how to live in a wild, rugged frontier.
I came to be in a different age, a time of dog teams that ruled the trails to mining camps and where the salmon ran strongest — before the introduction of the snowmachine that revolutionized rural and Native Alaska.
For the Blatchford family, it is a recognition that some things will always stay the same and everything else changes. All four of my grandparents were noncitizens. My mother Lena’s parents of Elim were Alaska Natives, as was my dad Ernie’s mother, Mae, of Shishmaref. The name Blatchford comes from his father, the Englishman who was born in Cornwall and arrived in Nome during the gold rush. His brother, William, was one of the early immigrants, and by 1899 there was a creek just outside Nome named after him. He discovered gold. My grandfather, Percy, found gold, too, but it was a different kind of wealth, a finding that he had found home and never left.
I was born in Nome, delivered by an Iñupiaq Eskimo midwife in a one-room cabin where the frozen Bering Sea met the treeless tundra’s permafrost. Dad had a dog team. I like to think that the dogs were anxious for me to be born because it was hunting time for Dad to hitch them up and mush out to where the sea mammals, snowshoe hares, ptarmigan and other game thrived in the winter. My earliest memories are of dogs; all of them working as a team to bring home the game so we could have a fine meal cooked by Lena. In the Arctic, dogs were essential for family survival. If you didn’t hunt, you didn’t eat.
There are several memories that remain strong. I suppose I can call them lessons of the Arctic.
The first is to take care of the dogs and treat them well. Dog lovers all over the world know very well that a dog, whatever the breed, is loyal and will die to protect the one who feeds and pets it. If you don’t feed a husky, it won’t pull, and it could mean a long time before the family eats. When a dog team is hungry, it will race back home to be fed a healthy meal. Mother Lena must have been a great cook because Dad said the dog team always raced back to the edge of Nome, where Lena was waiting beside the propane stove. For Mike, Tom and me, our job was to take the rifle, shotgun and .22 into the cabin to be cleaned and oiled. Once that was quickly done, we unhitched the dogs and then fed the team.
All three of us boys had special responsibilities to Tim, Buttons and Girlie. Tim, the lead dog, was brother Mike’s pet; Tom had Buttons, and I had Girlie. We made sure they were healthy and well cared for. Dad would often comment that “Papa,” our grandfather Percy, the Englishman, took good care of his dog teams, being kind to the dogs and feeding them. Dad was the oldest of a large family that lived in Teller and later Nome.
“Papa” Percy was a prospector, fox farmer and a contestant in the All-Alaska Sweepstakes, the dog team race from Nome to the mining camp of Candle, a 400-mile race. He didn’t win, but he finished well, very well. The stories of the Sweepstakes have remained with the family for over a century. At a memorial service in Palmer for “Doc” Blatchford, Aunt Marge, without a question or a prompt, said that Papa took good care of his dogs.
Percy Blatchford was a legend in the Alaska Territory. As a teacher of Alaska newspapers, I would find headlines similar to one in the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner that blazed on the front page: “Blatchford Wins Solomon Derby.” There was even a story in The New York Times.
There’s probably no other sport in Alaska that brought Alaskans together like dog mushing. When old-timers would visit over strong coffee, dogs and dog team racing would come up. In the territory, there were few high schools and fewer gymnasiums, so the only team sport was dog mushing. It was something to talk about that was unique to Alaskans.
I used to travel in rural Alaska quite a bit. In the smaller communities, I would see the teams and would wonder how long they would power the engines that brought the mail and the foodstuffs down and up the trails. When I think of dog teaming, I think of the Iditarod and wonder, and then come to know, what the strength of the story would mean for bringing generations together from Papa Blatchford to his eldest son Ernie and to the fourth generation of Blatchfords in Alaska.
There are times when I think that old-time Alaska is gone. But then my faith and confidence in the old-time spirit are ignited when I see what others in the Lower 48 see. When I was walking in downtown Philadelphia, I looked up and saw on an ancient federal building a stamped concrete sculpture of a dog musher leaning into a blizzard. Such is the way I think of the Iditarod and the lessons I learned growing up with the dog team, preserved in my memories.
Edgar Blatchford is former mayor of Seward, Mile 0 of the Iditarod Trail.
• • •
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