Moscow, Russia
It was 1993, just after Perestroika. Russia was
very unsettled and the Ruble was at, or above 5,000% inflation. The Russian
people were wondering what to do with a post-Communist, open market,
capitalistic, economy after 70 years of a government ruling everything. The
Christian Church had been isolated, shunned, and even persecuted under a
Communist government attempting to dictate there was no God.
My sister lived in Virginia at the time. She
called and said that her church was going to take a group to Russia, Romania,
and Hungary on a mission trip. Knowing that I loved to travel, and that I loved
to meet new people, she asked if I would like to tag along. Of course I jumped
at the opportunity.
We met and flew out of Atlanta, making our way
through Heathrow in London, on to Amsterdam, only to board yet another plane
headed to Moscow. As we made our way into the terminal in Moscow I realized
that the only other people that were there were armed soldiers escorting us
from the last gate, down the terminal, to baggage claim. Yes, I did say armed
guards.
The ghost-like terminal served as a reminder as
to just how oppressed the Russian people had been. We had come to their turf to
tell a story of a man named Jesus, who He was, and why He came. It is a simple
story of Redemption for all, but not a concept to be grasped. Godless for over
70 years, the Russian people had long since given up on any kind of hope. Hope
for any kind of capitalist economy, hope for the Christian Church, who had long
since gone underground due to persecution, and hope that tomorrow could be a
better day.
We stayed in a hotel, which we found out was
one of the nicest hotels in Moscow. An interesting fact: Every room had a vent
hole in the floor to allow the methane gases from each bathroom to have an
outlet. The beds were twin size with a simple cotton covering. The room was
stark, as I recall, undefined space. It was cold and unremarkable. It was as
though there was no time, place or space that was definable. It was a
representation of the Russian people and their lack of freedom for so many
years.
Once settled, we were on our Mission to preach
the gospel, in any place someone would listen. We were told that the Russian
people were put off by the bright colors of clothes worn by those from Western
countries, such as the United States. We were told to wear clothes that were
understated in style and dull in color. We were told to blend in. While
attempting to be compliant, I still managed to find a bit of trouble.
One night we were to go to the Olympic village,
where the games had been played in 1980. Once again, we were told that the
Russian people did not like loud music such as was listened to in the Western
world. Accompanying us, was a gospel group, Truth, out of Mobile, Alabama.. They
were a group who sang contemporary Christian music. They also did not dress
like the rest of us had been told to dress. They looked extremely in style and
very much like the Western cultures.
Once at the Olympic village, we were in a
somewhat small venue. The group known as “Truth,” was going to sing to some of
Russian people. Our crew was to be available if any of the people needed to
talk to someone after the service. We were sitting at the top of the venue when
Truth did their warm up. It was loud, very loud. It was not what we were told
the Russian people would be receptive to hear.
Of course, there always must be someone who
tells the truth, no pun intended. No one in our group was willing to tell the
leader of Truth just how loud the music really was. I took it upon my not-so-shy
self to go to the stage and let the leader know. As I stood at the edge of the
stage waiting on the leader, I didn’t think that what I was going to say would
cause such a stir.
The leader finally made his way to me, and I
proceeded to tell him the consensus in regard to the volume of the music. Let’s
just say I was not well received. Let’s just say that the next morning at
breakfast, I was accused of being in the garb of Satan himself. It tore my
heart out, as all I was attempting to do was the correct thing. Sometimes I
wish I were more afraid of telling the truth.
At some point in our 5-day stay in Moscow, we
went about an hour and a half outside of the city to a small village and an
even smaller church that met in a very small house. Upon arriving we were all
shocked at just how time-warped the living conditions had been for the Russian
people. When we got there several of us had to go to the bathroom. It was a
3-seater outhouse with the men’s side directly attached by a thin wall to the
women’s bathroom. As we exited the outhouse there was a very small aluminum
water holder and a clean cotton towel for washing and drying our hands.
Entering through the back door, it took my eyes
a minute or two to adjust to the lack of light in the very tiny kitchen. There
were probably ten or twelve of us in our group. We were told to sit at the
table in the kitchen, although it wasn’t very big. As we squeezed ourselves onto
the bench against the wall and on the outside side of the table, the Russian
women began to bring us something to eat.
Through our interpreters we learned that the
women had prepared Blini bread. As they served it to us with great pride, with their
very dirty fingernails quite visible, the interpretors went on to say that this
was a “thank you” from the people of this church because we represented
America. Also, the interpreters told us the Blini was made of American flour,
sugar and butter.
If I had been anywhere else I would have
refused to eat because of the lack of cleanliness. But, these women just stood
there grinning, not eating, as though they were presenting food to kings. As I
did eat, I was most humbled by their humility. It was in my spoiled ignorance
that I had come to a country filled with hurting people in so many ways. No
freedom to go to church, the school of their choosing, or have opportunity for
improving themselves. All incentive had been removed.
This would not be the last of humbling
experiences while I was in Eastern Europe.
To be continued…
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