Christmas - Not Yet Christmas

As I prepared to lead Bible studies and preach this past Advent season, the Scripture passages I was studying drew my attention to a particular image, one I had not paid much attention to before – the process of giving birth, of labor pains. Biblical authors in both Testaments used this dramatic metaphor to underline the struggle that occurs while God's Reign is breaking in. In this image the physical and spiritual are closely tied together - God working in and through human vulnerability and giving strength to bring new life.

Having been present for the birth of Matvey, Martin and Lukas, I know that it can be difficult to see someone you love hurting, especially when you feel mostly powerless to do anything about it. You know that this is the way it should be and you have reason to hope that in the end everything will turn out alright. But in the meantime it's not easy to witness suffering...and you wonder what it must be like for those directly impacted by the pain.

As I write this on the evening of Christmas Day, I am once again feeling pain for those whom I care about. While I was not personally acquainted with the victims of yesterday's plane crash, this loss is particularly disheartening. The Alexandrov Ensemble (one of two groups to use the title “Red Army

 Choir”) represented the Russian musical tradition both at home and abroad; it's numbers were cut by more than 1/3 in a blink of an eye. And on that plane to Syria was Dr. Elizaveta Glinka, “Dr. Liza” to everyone here. She was an American citizen as well as a Russian citizen, and I hope that with her death more will be informed about her life. Dr. Liza felt like an ally...or, to be more precise, she made you feel like you wanted her to consider you her ally. She was incredibly dedicated to bringing medical care to those who needed it desperately; she started in the field of palliative medicine (doing much in the 2000s to, for the first time, bring hospice care to people's attention) and then, over the past few years, concentrated on those in need in the war zones of eastern Ukraine (“Donbas”) and Syria. She was one of literally two or three people in the country who have fought for human rights successfully and without compromise in a way that draws public attention on a national scale, including the attention of the country's leaders. Just a few weeks ago she received a government award for her work and in her speech used the opportunity to acknowledge that it is risky work, but ultimately we have no other real choice than to believe that the power of good will overcome.

Here in Russia, where the majority of the country's Christians follow the Gregorian calendar, many people are still waiting for Christmas. Even if Christmas Day is behind us, though, to one degree or another we are still all living in the midst of labor pains. The church's tradition reflects this – marking the massacre of the innocents just days after Christ's birth. The hard truth of this and every season is that a full-throated celebration of Christmas is almost impossible while the labor pains continue. Our faith calls us to trust that new life will come. In the meantime, though, our call is not only to witness the suffering, but to do all in our power to ease it, whether that be by singing as a member of a choir, healing and advocating as a doctor / human rights advocate, or in whatever way God has called each of us to be instruments of the Kingdom. Every day that we are given.

Equipping for Service in Perm

The art museum has a large collection
of wooden carvings of Christ, all set
during his trial. I've never seen anything like
this anywhere else in an Eastern Orthodox
context.

   It promised to be a long week.

   When Len and I went to St. Mary's Lutheran in Perm on the first morning of our four day seminar, we found that the pastor (Area Dean David Rerich) had come to the morning session. As had Lilia, a faithful member of the church council. That was all. A large amount of the material we had planned to use would work most effectively only if there were at least four people in the group. I was wondering if we would have to move to “plan B,” which was my doing Bible study lessons around the theme of “hope.” While I would not have been opposed to doing this, I really hoped that the congregations could take full advantage of having the unique opportunity to hear from Len – after all, God willing they'll be able to hear from me some other time!
   The first meeting, though, was not indicative of the rest of the week. After the slow start, by the evening session planned on that first day attendance had increased, and that meant as the week went on we had the chance to cover a full (or at least reasonably full) “tool box” of activities that the congregation could use as part of a concerted effort to work on transformation. Having adequate time allowed us to present more than just a snippet of the process (in contrast to other places on our trip), but instead to show the material according to its natural flow  – starting with the Bible and then moving from there to speak in a wider sense about the ways in which it is possible to live out the Great Commission...or, rather, in the ways this congregation can live out the Lord's call to mission in their particular place. 
   Their place, as it turns out, is really quite wonderful. I was really surprised at how much I

enjoyed the city itself - its history, culture, architecture, and natural surroundings - and congregational members were happy to show us around. They felt blessed to live there and that God has provided them with a historic church building in the city center; they've responded by taking great care of the building and have begun to use it for concerts as well as worship. They also have what is one of the only a few parsonages to have survived the Soviet era. They have room there for the pastor's family to live as well as other space that can be used for various purposes – including, this time, for housing me and Len. They have an active church council and a group of lay leaders outside of the council, some of whom are young and many of whom are well-educated. They've also benefited by having stable leadership; while Pastor Rerich (far left in the picture above) is moving toward retirement (not without some bumps along the way for him and for the congregation) having a reliable leader throughout the years has allowed the congregation to weather the storms that it has faced. 

  Stability, though, is not an eternal or absolute value. Change is also necessary, ,and after our visit to Perm I feel confident that God brought Len and me to the right place at the right time, “equipping for service” in that place for the work God has for them as they move in to the future. I feel privileged that I'll have the opportunity to follow up with them to see how their plans (including living in their draft mission statement and trying new ministries in December and January) have worked, whether they be successful or “excellent failures” (i.e., those failures from which we take something useful for our future development). 

Transsib |trænz-SÍB| verb [intransitive]

   The title of this entry includes a word that, of course, exists in no other dictionary than the one in my mind. But some words virtually demand to be brought into existence. Riding through northern Asia on the train is certainly a unique mode of travel, and after celebrating its centennial recently I think that the Trans-Siberian Railroad deserves its own verb. 
   Len Dale and I were not on a leisure trip, of course – if  we were we would have found a train that left Khabarovsk at a reasonable hour and whose wagons would have been new and modern. As it was, however, for us the scheduling of congregational events held priority and that meant getting on the train after midnight and putting up with an antiquated system of heating the passenger cars that slowly roasted us over the next few days and nights. 

   I had ridden significant portions of the Trans-Siberian before, mostly in my time in service as a pastor and acting dean based in Novosibirsk. In western and central Siberia it can seem like the birch forests and fields of cereal grains go by at 50 mph for  whole days at a time. There was some birch in the east, too, but also a greater variety of hills, steppe, thick coniferous and mixed forests, rivers and streams. On this trip stops between Khabarovsk and Chita (our next destination) were even less frequent than in other places of the “magistral” – about twice in 24 hours there was a stop of 20 minutes or more, with 1-2 minute stops every four hours or so. I knew that this area (“Zabaikalsky krain” and the “Amurskaya oblast”) was among some of the least densely populated areas along the Trans-Siberian, and we rode through abandoned villages with some frequency. At the same time, there were enough people living there that I thought of what life must be like in rural Siberia, and it made me miss home. 

   As we approached Chita and saw the spreading urban development, I couldn't help thinking about what it is like coming in to Billings – a place that is not very large in terms of its population, but important insofar as it is the biggest town for many miles around. Chita, though, is bigger, older, and draws in people (for shopping, trade, and work) from an entire time zone. As with Magadan, Chita has a reputation in Russia as a city where the people (as the joke goes) have been in prison, are in prison, or are planning to go to prison in the near future. Our experience there, however, was wholly positive; we stayed in the charming older part of the city which, like with almost all Russia cities, has a mix of new buildings, restored older buildings, and buildings that are still occupied though they should be condemned for safety's sake. 

The oldest building in Chita, now a museum, formerly a
church used by the Decemberists who were exiled to Siberia

   We spent three days with the tightly-knit, multi-generational Lutheran congregation there, made up of two or three extended families and explored with them how God might be calling them to develop their ministries. We introduced ourselves and our work there by reading the story of Paul's meeting with Christ in Acts 9, using the very simple method of asking three questions about a text: “What is God doing here?” “What are the people of God doing here?” “How does this apply to us?” These discussions helped us get a sense of what was important to them, which was, most of all, raising their kids (which are many!) in the faith. One of the men there, Viktor, shared how he taught his kids to pray in part because his parents never taught them, and he knows his own life has been enriched thanks to prayer. Together with them we realized that God had put among them a desire to grow in discipleship and Christian education at all levels.
  That is a long-term goal; Len and I were able to meet some of their immediate needs by leading worship with Holy Communion, baptizing a newborn, and preaching at a mid-week worship service arranged to coincide with our visit. Congregation members provided hints that their worship life has suffered recently, mostly due to a lack of a clear leader in spiritual questions. Dean Manfred Brockmann in Vladivostok has made efforts throughout the years to support the congregation by sending interns there, but one of their clear needs is to develop their own lay leaders; Chita is not moving anywhere closer to any other city and the nearest full-time pastor is still two time zones away (in either direction.) I hope that I was able to provide them with the resources they need in order to take steps toward resolving this issue for themselves. We left the city knowing that there is much more to do there and with prayers that they can gain strength both through developing internal resources and by finding new ways to relate to those outside. 

   Then Len and I hoped on the train once again, continuing our westward journey another day to Irkutsk, where Pastor Thomas Graf Grote met us VERY early at the train station. He was our kind guide around the area for the day we were there, taking us to the amazing Lake Baikal – where our walk turned rather meditative as we stopped trying to shout over the wind – and to the impressive museum of wooden architecture, Tal'tsy.

   As we drove around the area and as we conversed with Thomas in his home, he spoke to us about his ministry. This helped prepare us for meeting congregational leaders in Shelekhov, an Irkutsk suburb, late that evening. We began only at 8 pm, since a number of key people were busy until that time either at work or at their (para-church) ministry with developmentally challenged children. (This ministry, together with the other aspects of Pastor Thomas' story, are worth a separate blog post some time...)

 The group of congregational leaders gathered that evening once again brought us hope – they were clearly people who cared deeply about their faith and were open and energetic enough to think creatively about the ways the church might develop. Len spoke with them about congregational life cycles and re-assured them with words he repeated frequently throughout our travels; they sound something like this when translated back into English from the Russian - “God gives you everything you need for mission in this time and this place.” Insofar as the congregation anticipates changes in the next few years, it was a timely conversation, even if it was only a start. From discussions with Pastor Thomas both immediately after the meeting and when we met again a couple of weeks later I learned that in Shelekhov they intend to continue their work together in order to grow in their sense of the Spirit's leading. 
   From Irkutsk we needed to make it quickly to Omsk in order to take part in the last day of the ELCUSFE synod assembly. Regretfully, then, we exchanged the train for a plane in order to catch one of the relatively few flights that directly connects Siberian cities with one another. While the flight was fine, I already missed the train's rhythms, the gently swaying cars, contemplating the scenery for hours on end...everything, actually, except the heat. It was good to know that, though the longest trips were behind us, we still had plenty of transsibing to do before the month was through. 

Transsib |trænz-SÍB| verb [intransitive]

   The title of this entry includes a word that, of course, exists in no other dictionary than the one in my mind. But some words virtually demand to be brought into existence. Riding through northern Asia on the train is certainly a unique mode of travel, and after celebrating its centennial recently I think that the Trans-Siberian Railroad deserves its own verb. 
   Len Dale and I were not on a leisure trip, of course – if  we were we would have found a train that left Khabarovsk at a reasonable hour and whose wagons would have been new and modern. As it was, however, for us the scheduling of congregational events held priority and that meant getting on the train after midnight and putting up with an antiquated system of heating the passenger cars that slowly roasted us over the next few days and nights. 

   I had ridden significant portions of the Trans-Siberian before, mostly in my time in service as a pastor and acting dean based in Novosibirsk. In western and central Siberia it can seem like the birch forests and fields of cereal grains go by at 50 mph for  whole days at a time. There was some birch in the east, too, but also a greater variety of hills, steppe, thick coniferous and mixed forests, rivers and streams. On this trip stops between Khabarovsk and Chita (our next destination) were even less frequent than in other places of the “magistral” – about twice in 24 hours there was a stop of 20 minutes or more, with 1-2 minute stops every four hours or so. I knew that this area (“Zabaikalsky krain” and the “Amurskaya oblast”) was among some of the least densely populated areas along the Trans-Siberian, and we rode through abandoned villages with some frequency. At the same time, there were enough people living there that I thought of what life must be like in rural Siberia, and it made me miss home. 

   As we approached Chita and saw the spreading urban development, I couldn't help thinking about what it is like coming in to Billings – a place that is not very large in terms of its population, but important insofar as it is the biggest town for many miles around. Chita, though, is bigger, older, and draws in people (for shopping, trade, and work) from an entire time zone. As with Magadan, Chita has a reputation in Russia as a city where the people (as the joke goes) have been in prison, are in prison, or are planning to go to prison in the near future. Our experience there, however, was wholly positive; we stayed in the charming older part of the city which, like with almost all Russia cities, has a mix of new buildings, restored older buildings, and buildings that are still occupied though they should be condemned for safety's sake. 

The oldest building in Chita, now a museum, formerly a
church used by the Decemberists who were exiled to Siberia

   We spent three days with the tightly-knit, multi-generational Lutheran congregation there, made up of two or three extended families and explored with them how God might be calling them to develop their ministries. We introduced ourselves and our work there by reading the story of Paul's meeting with Christ in Acts 9, using the very simple method of asking three questions about a text: “What is God doing here?” “What are the people of God doing here?” “How does this apply to us?” These discussions helped us get a sense of what was important to them, which was, most of all, raising their kids (which are many!) in the faith. One of the men there, Viktor, shared how he taught his kids to pray in part because his parents never taught them, and he knows his own life has been enriched thanks to prayer. Together with them we realized that God had put among them a desire to grow in discipleship and Christian education at all levels.
  That is a long-term goal; Len and I were able to meet some of their immediate needs by leading worship with Holy Communion, baptizing a newborn, and preaching at a mid-week worship service arranged to coincide with our visit. Congregation members provided hints that their worship life has suffered recently, mostly due to a lack of a clear leader in spiritual questions. Dean Manfred Brockmann in Vladivostok has made efforts throughout the years to support the congregation by sending interns there, but one of their clear needs is to develop their own lay leaders; Chita is not moving anywhere closer to any other city and the nearest full-time pastor is still two time zones away (in either direction.) I hope that I was able to provide them with the resources they need in order to take steps toward resolving this issue for themselves. We left the city knowing that there is much more to do there and with prayers that they can gain strength both through developing internal resources and by finding new ways to relate to those outside. 

   Then Len and I hoped on the train once again, continuing our westward journey another day to Irkutsk, where Pastor Thomas Graf Grote met us VERY early at the train station. He was our kind guide around the area for the day we were there, taking us to the amazing Lake Baikal – where our walk turned rather meditative as we stopped trying to shout over the wind – and to the impressive museum of wooden architecture, Tal'tsy.

   As we drove around the area and as we conversed with Thomas in his home, he spoke to us about his ministry. This helped prepare us for meeting congregational leaders in Shelekhov, an Irkutsk suburb, late that evening. We began only at 8 pm, since a number of key people were busy until that time either at work or at their (para-church) ministry with developmentally challenged children. (This ministry, together with the other aspects of Pastor Thomas' story, are worth a separate blog post some time...)

 The group of congregational leaders gathered that evening once again brought us hope – they were clearly people who cared deeply about their faith and were open and energetic enough to think creatively about the ways the church might develop. Len spoke with them about congregational life cycles and re-assured them with words he repeated frequently throughout our travels; they sound something like this when translated back into English from the Russian - “God gives you everything you need for mission in this time and this place.” Insofar as the congregation anticipates changes in the next few years, it was a timely conversation, even if it was only a start. From discussions with Pastor Thomas both immediately after the meeting and when we met again a couple of weeks later I learned that in Shelekhov they intend to continue their work together in order to grow in their sense of the Spirit's leading. 
   From Irkutsk we needed to make it quickly to Omsk in order to take part in the last day of the ELCUSFE synod assembly. Regretfully, then, we exchanged the train for a plane in order to catch one of the relatively few flights that directly connects Siberian cities with one another. While the flight was fine I already missed the train's rhythms, the gently swaying cars, contemplating the scenery for hours on end...everything, actually, except the heat. It was good to know that, while the longest trips were behind us we still had plenty of transsibing to do before the month was through. 

"Sektanty" as Faithful Disciples

  From Magadan Len and I flew south to Khabarovsk; we spent four days with two congregations in the Khabarovsky krai. Clear skies during the flight allowed us to see the incredible beauty of Russia's eastern coast and the Amur River region. The area is very sparsely populated, and from the air it seems to be a vast wilderness inviting you to explore...from what local residents told us, though, bears might not take too kindly to human visitors tramping through their territory!

  Well, we didn't have any time for camping anyway. Our hope instead was to raise questions and provide tools for congregations that might help them develop a sense of their own, particular call in and for their communities. Len provided many years of experience in the field and knowledge about the process of congregational transformation; my job was to translate and, from time to time, adapt and add in a way that would be appropriate to the cultural context.

  One of the realities that we ran in to again and again is the degree to which Lutheran (and any non-Russian Orthodox, really) congregations are at a disadvantage here in terms of people's stereotypes. “You don't have a church building?” their neighbors ask. “Well, then you must be a 'sektanty' (said with the same intonation that we might say “cult members” in English to speak of those who belong to a dangerous religious group). People who are less set in their stereotypes might ask - “how does your faith differ from Christianity?” You can imagine, then, what a challenge it is to even get a sense of how to talk to people in a way that witnesses to the Gospel without in any way “stealing sheep” from our sisters and brothers in the Orthodox church.

  In the Far East, though, groups of mostly professional people (doctors, musicians, artists, businessmen and most especially teachers) have found their way to our small congregations and have made their spiritual home there. Because of their life situation, though, they run in to a problem we see frequently in the West – the busyness of lay leaders, some of whom are on the edge of burnout. On this trip I noticed again just how difficult it is for working-age people to find time to meet on weekdays, and so our first couple of mid-week meetings were rather disappointing. By the weekend, though, we were visiting St. Catherine's Lutheran, a congregation that was dealing with yet another extra layer of difficulty – their location. Located a 6+ hour bus ride north of the Trans-Siberian railroad, they get pastoral visits even less frequently than others in the region.

  In spite of that, the congregation remains committed to the Gospel and to one another, led by a team of gifted lay women. Len and I found it a joy to work with them and to share in their fellowship. It is my prayer that the Lord would provide opportunities for them to widen their circle so that others may join them on the journey of discipleship.  

Far, Far East

Ernest Neizvestny “Mask of Sorrow”
Monument to GULAG victims 

  It's not every day that one gets to Magadan, a city in Russia's Far East that even in Russians minds is associated with stereotypes about Siberia – cold, isolation, gold mines, prison camps...did I mention cold? As I flew in to the city on October 1st the needles had already dropped from the larch trees and were covered with a fresh dusting of snow; the long winter was about to begin.
  Yet the reality of Magadan was much more complex than the stereotypes. Yes, the Kolyma region is very cold, but Magadan itself is saved from the worst of it thanks to the mountains surrounding the city and its port. Yes, mining was a big part of the region's economy, but today it is no longer at the center. And the camps? Well, Magadan knows its past and, unlike much of the country, makes a serious attempt to confront it – through moving memorials, museum exhibits and, most of all, the stories of survival passed on from one generation to the next. 
  What everyone has right about Magadan, though, is its isolation. Yet being “geographically marginalized” was part of the reason that I made it there. The “Equipping for Service” project for which I am responsible devotes special attention to those areas for whom Christian education is not accessible; for that reason Magadan became the first stop on a month-long journey that Pastor Len Dale (recently retired Director for Evangelical Mission in the Central States Synod of the ELCA) and I made through Russia visiting Lutheran congregations.

  Len and I were welcomed into the small Lutheran family in Magadan in order to listen to their stories and to try to encourage them to see how God might be calling them in to the next chapter. Their long-time leader, lay preacher  Andreas Olzols, together with their new chairman Yur Fogel, shared their own stories and their insights into their congregation's life. Throughout the years they've had hopes to have their own full-time pastor, but each time they've been disappointed. Dean Manfred Brockmann makes it up to visit them when he can, but Magadan is accessible only by plane, and tickets are expensive. Visiting the city is expensive for another reason, too – since almost all food (except the amazing local fish and crab) has to be brought in from the outside, it can be many times more expensive than in the rest of the country. Utility prices

(including for the congregation's apartment, where they meet for worship, have fellowship and put up guests) are also twice as expensive as elsewhere; these factors, together with the decreasing population of the city, make it easy to become depressed. While we were obviously unable to solve these problems, our hope in our time together was to help them see the multitude of gifts that God has given them and to concrete on using those gifts in a way that is most effective and life-giving. 
  If we were able to help them focus on their possibilities for mission (while not ignoring the challenges) then the resources spent on this visit will have been worth it. One small story heartened me; as Annete from the congregation was giving us a tour around the city and was telling us about the climate, her daughter Marina piped up with: “I don't like summer!” This was surprising to hear from a little Russian girl, so I asked her “why?” Her answered had everything to do with snow – she was a serious skier, and practices in the summer, she said, are rather boring. I thought that was great – if you live in Magadan, you'll be much happier if you love snow! In life it isn't possible to totally avoid such “negative” phenomena as summer (even in Magadan), but your much more likely to have a sense of God's grace if you focus on what you have instead of what you don't. 

Justice for Russia

  In recent weeks Russian media has been actively reporting efforts by the World Anti-Doping Agency, various sports federations and athletes from other countries to try to get the entire Russian Olympic team disqualified. The accusations against coaches, athletes and sports bureaucrats (most damningly from the Mclaren Report) are very serious, so much so that it is understandable that all those concerned about clean sports and fair competition would seek a way to insure that those responsible would be punished and that others would think twice before cheating.
  And yet... Russian athletes are in Rio. Some of them. The clean ones. Maybe. But probably not. Probably we will find out later that one or another or half a dozen others had been taking some forbidden substance. And we will find out similar things about other athletes from other parts of the world. So far no method has been found to exclude all those who refuse to abide by the rules of fair play. 

  But this is not what concerns me. What concerns me is the large number of clean athletes (including the entire track and field team, many of whom have never even been suspected of doping) who have become the victims of the inconsistent and unjust search for a scapegoat in this situation. Russian athletes do not train together as one national team, nor do the sports federations (e.g., track and field) even spend that much time together. Even if Russia's problems with doping are worse than anyone else's (and that has yet to be proven) that still does not mean that the only solution was to exclude athletes from the Games. 
  And now, as of yesterday, the entire Paralympic team has been disqualified. This despite the fact that most of the problems with the Russian Paralympic team had to do with athletes for the Winter Games, and so these athletes have nothing to do with that situation.  
  From my perspective this reminds me of first grade, when our teacher, Ms. Helt, punished the whole class because someone knocked down one of her posters. Now sometimes such an approach might be necessary, but there should be no illusions about this having anything to do with justice. In fact this sort of punishment undermines the very idea that a just solution can be found. 
  I reflect upon this situation in particular as a person who attempts to teach Christian ethics in Russia. This has been one of the more interesting (and, to be honest, frustrating) parts of my ministry. When teaching for the full-time program at the Theological Seminary I taught two courses for all of our students, and it remains a relevant topic for my work with laity in my current call – I look forward to returning to the theme this winter, for example, when I visit congregations in south-central Siberia this winter. 
  One of the central aspects of any course on ethics is “justice.” Usually I approach the subject in this way: in coming to understand whether or not or judgments are just, we begin with the basic equality of all people. We then consider consider rewards and punishments based on actions, and finally take into account relevant qualifiers. Of course this relatively-easy-sounding formula becomes quite complicated when applied to concrete situations, but this framework can at least help us to sense where grave injustices lie and can help lead us into the theme of personal responsibility.
  And it is when we approach responsibility where I ran into serious challenges as a teacher, especially with the younger students in Novosaratovka. (As an aside, I must say that many people in our church understand responsibility quite well – in fact, this is especially true among the laity with whom I work; they are grown adults who have had to make many responsible decisions, including the responsibility of being a member of a church that is not well understood in their society.) Many of the full time seminary students had serious doubts about the initial premise of my approach to justice – equality. Their own experience frequently confirmed what the older generation had learned after the disillusionment following the Communist period – even when everyone is equal, some are more equal than others. 

The smallest fish says "there is no justice in the world."
The middle fish says,"you can't say that the world is completely injustice."
The largest fish says, "the world is just."

  In terms of justice as it relates to their own person and own interests, many seem resigned to Fate. But when it comes to international affairs (and this can bee anything to visa rules to the results of Eurovision to world politics) many people here have a heightened sense of lack of justice in regards to their country; they are convinced that the world has it “out for them.” Sometimes these concerns seem to me as an outsider to be unfounded, but other times (and the scandal around doping seems to be one of those times) it seems that if the country involved were not Russia (but some country with a better reputation or, lacking that, more clout, worldwide) the reaction to the problem would be quite different. In this case, if there is no basic equality, any conversation about merits or faults becomes meaningless. How can we say that the standard is “innocent until proven guilty” when the case with the Russian Olympians has been just the opposite? How can we talk about personal responsibility when just for being a paralympic athlete with a Russian passport, you are immediately disqualified from competition? 
  This is not just about a country, but about real individuals. There is a “human cost” for those whose countries are disqualified from competing, as the Washington Post pointed out. The story of this athlete is from Kuwait, but there are dozens of similar stories from here.  

Pole Vaulter Elena Isinbaeva, one of the those athletes whose dreams were shattered
 by the decisions made about the Rio Olympics.  

  I do not claim to have a perfect solution to the problems raised recently about doping in Russian sports. But what I do know is that the current actions of those in the West fighting for Russian disqualification should realize that such an approach undermines efforts to be seen as fair and unbiased and instead reinforces the sense of many here that justice is at best an illusion and at worst a tool the powerful use against their opponents. 
  And that makes it not only more difficult to teach Christian ethics, it also hinders the Christian churches' efforts to work for justice in this place. Perhaps the world should be less concerned with justice for Russia and more concerned about justice for Russians. 

Learning in the Northern Caucasus

      It all felt vaguely familiar, until it felt not that familiar at all. The rolling hills, the scrub brush, the empty roads... Yet roaming this landscape were Saiga Antelope instead of the Western Pronghorn of my Montana home.

 

When we did see people, it became clear that not only was I far from the American West, I was far from the Slavic-majority parts of Russia. Instead of the churches (many of them new) dotting the landscape over the previous hundreds of kilometers from St.Petersburg, here the places of worship were Buddhist temples - Kalmykia is the only region in Europe where Buddhism is the most widely practiced religion.

Buddhist temple in Elista, the capital of Kalmykia

     As daylight faded away, we moved further south and west, closer to the Caucasus. It didn't feel like the mountains yet, but as we drove through Budyonnovsk in the pitch dark, we felt close to the region's recent, violent past; we have family friends that witnessed the terrorist occupation of a maternity hospital there in 1995. In the coming week again and again we would find ourselves in places which caused cognitive dissonance when we met with peaceful people in idyllic surroundings (Nalchik, Beslan), knowing the horrible tragedies that had happened there. We wondered frequently – have things really called down, or is it dangerous? Have the peoples of the Caucasus really decided that they feel better as a part of Russia than outside of it, or is the whole region a powder keg?

       But my family and I weren't there primarily to learn about politics; we had come to the Northern Caucasus at the invitation of area Dean Sergei Maramzin in order to take part in congregational events...and only second to get acquainted with the region's nature and culture. We arrived in the small city of Prokhladny (“cool” as in “cool weather”) in Kabardino-Balkaria in time to get settled and have some rest before guests began to arrive for the deanery gathering. That first morning two of our stereotypes were confirmed – yes, there really were a lot more Ladas (Russia-made cars) in the south than in the north. And, yes, Caucasians really know how to do hospitality – the congregation had a refrigerator full of food waiting for the guests who had come from afar. Reflecting back, however, it seems to me that it was only on the roads (where traffic police seem less informed about anti-corruption campaigns than in other parts of the country and where drivers tend to have rather vague understands of the traffic laws) where our stereotypes of the Caucases were once again confirmed. As a rule, we found ourselves surprised...
     One of the ways was through getting acquainted with the congregation in Prokhladny. 
While I knew that some German Russians had formed colonies in the N.Caucasus, I hadn't known that the foothills of Kabardino-Balkaria had become a gathering point for those who wanted to leave their places of Stalin-imposed exile in Siberia, Kazakhstan and Central Asia.

Caucasian generosity on display among Russian Germans in this picture
from the congregations annual harvest festival. 1970s.

The congregation was apparently visited by Bishop Kaunis from Latvia (center).

     The congregation that formed upon their return was strong in the pietist “brother” tradition, much like the congregation I served in Novosibirsk; when it was registered in 1971, it was the biggest Lutheran congregation in the Russian part of the USSR. It had become a gathering point for ethnic Germans since many found it impossible to return to their homelands (especially on the Volga). In Prokhladny Russian Germans purchased a single-residency home and transformed it into space for worship where probably 150 people could sit if they were willing to be stuffed in; they built on and added places for another 50 or so, but old timers told us that many times people would not find a place in the building and would participate in the service while standing in the courtyard. 
     Today the congregation, celebrating 45 years of existence, is small. They were hit hard by a very early wave  of emigration (already in the 1970s), but they did their best to remain true to what they knew. With time they moved the worship service into Russian (with the exception of the hymns, which still are usually taken from the Wolga Gesangbuch), and they try to be good stewards of what they have – taking care of the elderly, of their buildings (including a parsonage – very important if they are going to have a chance to attracting a full-time pastor), and their faith. One advantage they have over “brother” congregations in other places is that that in the Northern Caucasus valuing one's elders and one's heritage is considered very important. For that reason many more young people show up in church than in other comparable congregations; from my short contact with people there, I think that some of them are there to stay. It was a privilege to have a chance to talk with them (and with guests from neighboring Maisk and from other congregations in the region) about critical aspects of Reformation history that might be relevant for congregational life today.

Valery with the older boys at the amazing feast of local, Chechan
food that our new friend and host Said arranged for us.

     Part of long weekend together with believers in the region was a day trip to into mountains; our guide for the day (and our family's great helper for the rest of the week) was Valery Fogel, the head of the congregation in Maisk. Valery has played an important role in the region (and as a synod council member for the whole ELC-ER) for decades; he was born in Kazakhstan and still loves his hometown of Almata, but he's come to appreciate life as in the Northern Caucasus. He has great respect for those who take their faith seriously – whether they be Lutheran, Orthodox or Muslim. He knows the region and its people well; he showed us many sides of life in the region – from the Tsey glacier on the border with Georgia to the moving (beyond words moving, actually) monuments in Beslan (where over 300 children and adults where killed when terrorists occupied the school) to the quaint beauty of Nalchik to Grozny, the pride of the Chechen people as their republic is being rebuilt after the war. I learned much from each of these visits, and I also had a wonderful time growing to know Valery as a brother in faith. 
    A week's visit, though, certainly couldn't give me a clear and full impression of the Northern Caucasus. I was confused (and remain so) about how in Grozny there is now no sign of or memorial to the war that flattened the city just over a decade ago; in Northern Ossetia I wondered about the revival of traditional (shaministic?) forms of faith at the expense of the Orthodox church... I noticed time and again the tensions among the  Caucasian peoples – is there a chance for long-term peace when people have such heightened awareness of tradition (including traditions of disliking certain neighbors)? Why did we see so many positive images of Stalin in the region (on vodka bottles, car stickers, mountain murals) when so many of these very peoples who honor him were targets of repression?… On a less serious note, I still don't know what to think about all the drinking of and bathing in mineral water that seems to be a big part of local understandings of health...

A museum in downtown Grozny with tradition clan defense towers.
It seems that it, and everything else in the city, is brand new.

Martin testing out a mountain
mineral water bath.

     I'm not sure thaat I gained a handle on what is going on in the Northern Caucasus, but after visiting there I'm happy to join Dean Sergei Maramzin's encouraging words - “I wish you a happy upcoming Reformation anniversary, dear Church! You are young, fresh and fit, like a daughter of the Caucasus mountains!” With God's blessing, Sergei, Valery, and others will continue to work so that the message of peace and God's steadfast love continues to echo throughout the mountains and foothills of this beautiful and very interesting region.