Moscow: Red Square

One night while in Moscow we went to the Moscow circus. It wasn’t like any circus I had ever been to before. There were several rings with different things going on, but the one I remember the most was the one with the elephants.

We had had two interpreters while we were in Moscow. Both were beautiful people and very engaging. While we sat in front of the elephants, one of the interpreters, Svetlana had a spiral notebook of drawing paper. She drew what the elephants did as they did it. I was as spellbound by her ability to draw as I was by the elephants themselves. Never before or since have I seen anyone do what she did. It was almost like animation.

The next day we went to Red Square. Quite a moment to remember as we got off the bus in front of St. Basil’s Cathedral. It was extremely colorful, just as in the pictures I had seen and quite an architectural wonder. It was not a structure that did not demand attention. Awe-inspiring would be the catchword of the day.

Walking across the large square on bricks, so many bricks it seemed never-ending, we made our way to the Kremlin. Such history those walls held and continue to hold; the place where Communist leaders dictated a hard life for the Russian people; disallowing the Russian people freedom in all things. I felt more than one shudder run down my spine. Stalin and Lenon had been inside these walls as dictators to the people of Russia; a dictatorship that crushed the will of the people leaving them devoid of hope.

After Perestroika the Russian people had no point of reference as to how to employ capitalism or any kind of free market enterprise. This was demonstrated upon exiting the Kremlin we walked across the vast brick square to a few retail shops attempting to make money. The shops were eerily devoid of merchandise. It was as though it were a ghost town.

I remember walking out of those shops and just stopping in the middle of the square knowing I could only photograph this scene in my mind’s eye; so many people around me with blank stares seemingly going nowhere. With the Kremlin on one side of the square, St. Basil’s was on the adjacent side. So beautiful was the structure built on the order of Ivan the Terrible in 1555-61; its beauty very telling of the beauty of the Russian people themselves.

Making my way back to the bus, there were several street artists selling their work just outside of St. Basil’s. As I made my way to look at each one’s work, I was in a very somber mood. The contrast of the many faces I had seen was great when I looked at all the color in St. Basil’s. As much as color has pulled me in, I was drawn to a black and white rendering which fit my mood. For ten dollars I bought a beautiful drawing of the Cathedral.

  

Once on the bus, I began to talk to Svetlana about her artwork. I suggested that she send it to me in the States, I would sell it and send the money back to her. She burst into tears and ran off of the bus. I stood with my mouth hanging open wondering what I had said to illicit such a response.

Later, after she had calmed down a bit, I asked her what I had said that upset her so badly. She began to tell me that the government would never allow her to receive any money. They would intercept anything of value. My spirit sank as I realized the iron fist these people were continuing to be under. Although Communism was supposed to be dead, it was not.

My mind went back to the ghost-like terminal and the armed guards. Communism had officially been taken down, but the hearts and the minds of the people were still held captive by reality. Seventy years is a long time and several generations. It would take more than a few years to change the hearts and the minds of the people, but it could not change those who were in a position of power. They would continue to hold onto their ideology, sacrificing the will of the people.

It would be a decade later until I learned just how incredibly artistic the common peasant was in Russia. It was when I purchased a crystal chandelier that I bought in Jackson, Mississippi. I asked the shop owner about the history of the chandelier. Supposedly, a local Russian artist, who made one-of-a-kind pieces for the aristocracy, created it. Appreciating the cut of the glass by the hands of artisan, I learned a lot about glass.

I also learned about how a repressed people survived by appreciating simplistic beauty in all that surrounded them. I learned how very fortunate I am to be an American.

Off the Beaten Path: Moscow, Russia

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…