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 which ruled 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 also present in the terminal, 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 interpreters 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…
