A mixed crowd and some mixed feelings

The grace of God shows up in the strangest ways. When I came here, I knew no-one in the whole country (besides my hosts), and now I feel very close to my students and the people I work beside. I do not have to psyche myself up for teaching; I love these people in a way I would not have thought possible, and am thrilled to study the scriptures together. Let me introduce just a few of them.

Ileac possesses more passion for the truth than almost anyone I know. He seems about to explode. He was saved about six years ago out of a hard-drinking lifestyle, and now, still in his twenties, I would not be surprised to see him become an evangelist, pastor or Bible teacher. He certainly knows more than I did at that age.

Igor is not a Christian, but comes everyday to catch some native English. He is a physicist between jobs (I’m not sure how that works). Igor says he likes the Christians very much, but is not ready to become one himself.

Valentine is a university student who also comes just for the English. He’s getting a lot more.

Sveta is a doctor of around 45, and has very deep Bible knowledge.

Luda is a young woman of perhaps 30, who is a mother of six. She seems a very vibrant Christian.

Kitya looks 20, but she is the mother of a five year old. I’m not sure if she is a believer.

Valentina is one of my favorites. This woman is perhaps 70, yet takes a two hour bus trip each way for the bible classes. From what I understand, she has the entire book of Psalms memorized. Valentina’s face is as wrinkled as a crumpled-up paper bag, but it is beautiful to me. Her smile could light up a stadium.

This tableau shows what a mixed crowd we have. Some will quote Bible passages relevant to our study from the top of their heads, leaving me wishing I had thought of that one. Others could not find the book of Matthew if you held a pistol to their head. Budding theologians and confirmed atheists. But God has given me a great affection for them all.

I have only two more classes. This is the first mission trip where I felt such a wonderful melding of my gifts, the needs of the students, and my love for them. I miss my family and church greatly, but still it will be hard to part.

The Calvinist and Cabooses

So Amy, the Calvinist, and yours truly were sitting at lunch a few days ago, and the talk came round to women’s fashion in Russia, particularly the skin-tight jeans. The Calvinist wanted to communicate how much they revealed about a woman’s legs and butt. But, being a bit of a high-brow Presbyterian, he did not want to say the word, “butt”. So he instead he substituted the word, “caboose”. Amy and I, of course, cracked up at this, and teased him the rest of the day.

At the dacha that night, the three of us were in a room talking with Masha, a university student who is a good friend of Amy. Here is her picture with the Calvinist. I think she enjoys him in a great, great, great, grandfatherly sort of way.
Anyway, we were teasing the Calvinist about looking at women’s cabooses, and Masha, despite having excellent English, of course did not know the word. We explained it was the last car of the train, and the Calvinist, eager to facilitate intercultural relations, added that a woman’s caboose was, “the south end of a cow facing north”. Masha looked a little confused about what to do with this new piece of knowledge.

I, for one, was simply gratified that Princeton Seminary still imparts to its graduates a proper appreciation of bovine anatomy.

He giveth more grace!

So yesterday (Monday) was the first day I actually overslept my alarm. After a week of teaching (and then preaching yesterday), I was feeling pretty drained. So I scarfed down some yogurt, and we ran out the door. After hoofing it to the Cultural Center, I settled down in my little nook, waiting for Divine inspiration to enlighten my teaching plans.

Well, it did not come. Sleep came, but no inspiration. I fought off the sleepies all morning, and anticipated an afternoon of the students doing the same.

And as I sat, weary and undone, I dreaded going before those students, those who had given up their day to sit and listen to me. I felt like the leader of a bankrupt soup kitchen who looks out the window, and sees the hungry crowd lined up in front of the building. It is not a pleasant thought to realize you’ve traversed ten times zones, only to appear empty-handed before those you have come to minister to. But God retrieved a hymn (entitled, He Giveth More Grace) from my memory banks and put it in my heart:

When we have exhausted our store of endurance,
When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources
Our Father’s full giving is only begun.

His love has no limits, His grace has no measure,
His power no boundary known unto men;
For out of His infinite riches in Jesus
He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again.

So instead of berating myself for feeling dry and empty, I simply began praying. And when class began, instead of me praying for the group, I asked them to pray for me. I won’t say I saw heaven open and the Spirit descending like a dove. But I will say it was by far the deepest and best discussion time we have had yet.

This “grace” thing; it’s not bad.

Preaching at the Presbyterians

So I got to preach this morning. There were a few barriers. First, of course, is the language. But also, the church is Presbyterian, and I am closer to the Baptist tradition. Not that I have anything against Presbyterians. Some of my best friends are Presbyterians, and I pray for their salvation daily.

The church starts at noon. Yes, noon. Apparently some people like to sleep in. After several songs, the crowd of twenty thousand rise up and, stomping their feet, chant in joyful unison, “DANIEL!! DANIEL!! DANIEL!! I rise to the bank of microphones, and the stadium erupts in thunderous applause. I make sure all the tv cameras are ready, reach over and thank David Crowder for the music, then begin.

Okay, maybe that last paragraph was a bit of exaggeration. But we really did start at noon.

The Church in Siberia

I thought I should write about the religious scene in Tyumen for a post or two; this means, of course, that I am reliant on second-hand knowledge (except for the pics). Here goes.

Of course, the Russian Orthodox Church dominates the religious landscape, both literally and figuratively. Golden onion domes rise up between the apartment complexes and office buildings in every part of the city, and something like 70-80% of Russians are somewhat associated with the Church, though only a small percentage actually step inside a church building in a decade, (unless for a marriage or some special occasion). Here are some pictures:

I won’t pretend to have enough knowledge of Russian Orthodox theology to give any sort of intelligent critique (check out the Wikipedia article on "orthodox church" to get details). But I will say that it is quite different than ANY protestant church. Instead of being based around worship services, with the preaching of the Word, it is based around icons, which mediate God’s grace to those who venerate them. So the faithful come into the building at any time of the day, buy candles, and genuflect or bow before the icons. Services are held at different times, and focus on ritual.

How different Protestant services must feel to these people! Plain buildings, complete lack of icons, music that is sung rather than chanted, and some preacher talking in front for a half hour: this must seem so alien. No wonder that protestant denominations that have existed in the west for hundreds of years are looked at as cults here.

No wonder, either, why the protestant church is so small. In a city of a million people, perhaps a few thousand are protestant. There are a couple Baptist churches, some charismatics, a few Methodist congregations, and one lone Presbyterian Church, located at the Cultural Center. I’m sure there are others I don’t know of, but I’m told the Protestant ministerial association has around a dozen members, and represent small and struggling congregations.

Most people in the city are simply atheists or agnostics, and express very little spiritual interest. Apparently there was something like a stirring of interest in spiritual things about ten or twenty years ago, after the oppression of Communism was broken. But now, as incomes increase, and better houses and apartments are built, and western goods flow in, materialism has become the new god. Construction cranes compete with onion domes for the skyline, and the din of the crowded department store drowns out the still, small voice. Spring has not yet arrived in Siberia.

About puns

So I let the Calvinist read my post about him yesterday. Such is his good nature that he only laughed at my cracks about his age and Sponge Bob pajamas. About that last point: no, he does not actually wear Sponge Bob pajamas, but he perhaps the only man I know under 60 who does wear a full set of formal striped pajamas to bed. But I was not surprised by this. After all, this is a man who uses a shaving brush and mug, owns a creme brulee torch, and drives a BMW 7 series. The man is one of the last hold-outs of the type of elegence once described as "continental" (Keith, look it up).

But anyway, the only real howl of protest I got from the man was when I described his puns as, "horrible". His face looked ashen, and tears welled up in his beady Calvinistic eyes. But I cannot disown my remark.

To be fair, I am not a fan of puns. In fact, I despise them. To me, there are two kinds of people in the world: those that make and enjoy puns, and.......sane people. Now, I relialize that a pun does take a type of mental quickness and verbal acuity. But just because one CAN do something does not mean one SHOULD do something (insert your favorite Tim Robertson anecdote here).

In fact, in my 38 trips around the sun, I have found only one person who's puns I actually enjoy. But, gentle readers, I am loth to publish his name (but am quite happy I have worked both "acuity" and "loth" into the same post). Complimenting someone on his puns is like telling a poacher what a good shot he is. Still, I did quite slander the blighter in an earlier post (and just called him a blighter to boot) so I suppose I should make amends. So here goes. The only person I have met who can consistenly pun in such a way as to bring laughter and not groans is....(long dramatic pause)....Chris Huff. There. I said it. My apologies to the Calvinist and to the world.

How to dress like a Russian

If you are a woman:

If you are a Russian woman, the first rule is quite simple: You must always be made up. I have yet to see a Russian woman without make-up, very nice hair, and pretty clothing. I get the impression that a Russian woman would probably get dressed up to take the trash out.

If you are a Russian woman under 40, two additional things will be true of you. You will be very thin, and everyone will know this since your clothes are skin-tight. I have seen women who looked like they were poured into their jeans (and forgot to say, “when”). Actually I take that back. I have not noticed this at all, since I do not look at other women like that. Ever. The Calvinist told me about it.

Also, you will probably wear 15 inch high heels, even though you must walk to work, with the point of the stiletto coming to a point about the size of, say, a needle.

All this to say that most Russian women are head-turners. Again, this is second hand knowledge from the Calvinist.

If you are a man:
Wear whatever you want.