Russia #14 An Interlude Concerning Angels

     One would not be surprised to find angels in cemeteries, carved into the faces of grave markers or perched atop a stone pillar. That and the presence of crosses on Orthodox Churches everywhere in Russia did not prepare me for the angels we found at war memorials. Americans commonly employ angels at war memorials in our country, too, but seeing them in Russia cast them in a new light. It allowed me to see them in a new way.

    This imposing angel-topped obelisk honoring fallen soldiers stands at a large memorial installation in Moscow; it is dedicated to the many who died during WWII.  Russia has suffered greatly and for many centuries from various wars, invasions, the constant need to defend. The figure at the base of this obelisk is St. George slaying the dragon. St. George and the story of his slaying the dragon holds a long and honored place in the Russian narrative.   

     This white memorial with three kneeling angels, as I understand it, had been very recently built when we visited during one of our tours of Vladimir. It was one of several we stopped to see.

     One also finds angels in places and contexts. I might have thought these strange before I encountered them. While we lived in North London, for example, we frequently shopped near "the Angel," identified physically with these silver wings.

 

     Some years after I took this photograph, I came across a reference to "the Angel" in Islington, North London, in Oliver Twist, the Charles Dickens novel. Dickens's reference predates the erection of these wings and he would not recognize "the Angel" were he to return for a visit.

    Still, it was a joy for us to live there and discover this treasure, which like the memorials in Russia signify a deep and complex history of human activity. I am grateful for these opportunities and experiences.

 

 

 

 

      Somewhere in the last few decades Donna has begun collecting angels of a smaller variety for display during the Advent season. These, crafted of a variety of materials, tell different stories, display degrees of formality, and, as one would expect, demonstrate a range of artistic vision. They also offer us different ways of thinking about the role of angels, seen and unseen, in our lives.

Ceramic, wood, metal, fabric; majestic, humble, starkly innocent; faceless or ornately detailed -- all make a contribution to the host of angelic beings we set out for that most holy holiday season. We use them in this seasonal way, but angels are surely not confined to any one season or occasion.

    I do have favorites among these angels, of course. I am very fond of this hand-carved and hand-painted angel from the nativity set carved by our Russian translator and my friend, Andrew. This strong personal connection to Andrew is also a strong connection to the faith community in Russia, to the Russian "folk" culture, and to the Biblical narrative we re-imagine and celebrate at Christmas.

    Angels have served many functions, of course; they are not confined to Christian holy days. In our own family life, Donna and I have experienced the presence of angels. Those experiences deserve their own story on another occasion; their reality, though unseen, is tangible for us.

     Apart from that, we know that however much we are attracted to its "weight" angel figures can be misused in ways that make them superficial. Or in ways that attach them to deeply meaningful, deeply disturbing events or beliefs or circumstances. A careful look at the angel with the trumpet in the first photo will show that the obelisk takes the shape of a bayonet, which is attached at bottom to the muzzle of a rifle. For me at least, that coupling of angels to the bloody end of a weapon of war is hard to resolve.

     Nevertheless, in this Easter season, I come back to our Christmas angel collection. My favorite is a seated angel. Like its counterparts at the war memorials in Russia this one, too, is a cemetery angel, where it appears as a sign of hope for the dead. 

Unlike the other angels, however, I imagine this one to be seated at Jesus' tomb. In Mark's account of Easter morning, he greets the women who have come to anoint his body. "Do not be alarmed," the angel tells them. "You seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here. He has risen." 

    The angels we find in cemeteries signify our hope of resurrection. The angel at Jesus tomb testifies that resurrection is an accomplished fact.

Russia (#13) Places off the Beaten Path, thank you please

      Back at the Mission Center on April 7th, after our morning at the orphanage, we had a "Russian lunch" -- salmon soup with potatoes and carrots, bread, followed by circular pasta and tiny meat loaves that might have been sausages. And very hot tea instead of very hot coffee. No yogurt, sadly. I was getting used to it, but there you are.

     We boarded the bus at 1 for a trip out of town.

     We traveled for an hour and a half through incredible countryside, seeing monasteries, old churches, even some famous ones none of us had ever heard of -- all at some distance. That the countryside is filled with this historic evidence of Christianity is evident everywhere.

     We saw huge fields where farmers were burning off detritus from last growing season, smoke drifting toward the horizon. Here and there, many old-style villages -- two rows of facing wooden houses on either side of a dirt road, many of the houses painted bright blue or green. And the famous birch forests that I have read about in Russian novels.

     We traveled on a two-lane road, rough as rough, dodging potholes when possible. At one point we saw police around a car accident -- a truck had bumped into a small car, rear-ended it. The presence of police on the highway created a great deal more interest on the bus than pastoral landscapes and ancient villages that held my attention. Perhaps we were looking for some signs of confrontation, but there were none.

    We turned off the main highway onto another road that led through a very primitive town, on toward Kovrov, a city used for high security industry during the Soviet era.

                                 

   We played our basketball games in a munitions plant on the nicest floor we had seen to that point. The boys played tough once again, winning by one point in overtime. There were lots of spectators, especially kids. The Dads played a better game overall than our first one although we still lost by 13 or 14 points. I noted for posterity or, perhaps, to revive my shrinking hopes for basketball respectability, that I scored 7 points. Thus, the high point of my international athletic career.   

     After the games we gave away all the WWJD bracelets we had brought along to the teenagers and especially to the smaller boys who came around to ask questions and get autographs. There were many opportunities to tell who we were and why we had come.

    Then both teams climbed onto our bus for a short trip down tiny lanes to a restaurant. John Horton and I were joined by Andrew, our interpreter, and the three big players (center, two forwards) -- Yuri, Mikhale, and Sergei. 

     We asked about each other's occupations, man-talk as it were. When John said he was a pastor, Yuri started asking him questions with Andrew interpreting. Before long John had shared his testimony, John Wesley's testimony, and the plan of salvation. It was amazing.

     I managed a halting conversation with Sergei, who spoke as much English as I spoke Russian. As we got up to leave Sergei gave both John and me a coin from the old Soviet Union. The coin showing Lenin with right arm raised in that pose familiar to everyone from that era was well worn on the front side as if it had been rubbed repeatedly with a thumb. I don't know if these coins were or had been in common circulation. What it cost Sergei to part with this coin, I can only imagine; but as a gesture of friendship it was unmistakable and touching.

    As our bus began to move back toward Vladimir through the dark, dark countryside, we were asked to move toward the back for team time, leaving our Russian translators and organizers in front behind the driver to have their own conversations.  As we sang a couple of hymns at the end of our team time, two of the Russians -- Alexander, our contact with teams in Kovrov, and Oxana, a university professor -- came back to sit near us. 

    When we stopped singing, Oxana stood and said, "Can you sing more?"

    So we sang more, maybe 8 or 10 hymns and songs of the faith, often singing three or four or five verses of each if someone knew from memory how the next verse started. All of the us Dads (churched fathers) and many of the boys knew these songs well from years of singing them in church. Many of us knew harmonies as well, so the singing took on a richness as if we had been singing together for decades. Singing them acappella, in the dark, in this unplanned way as the bus bounced along, was a uniquely moving experience for many of us. As had happened earlier at our visit to the orphanage, I was aware of how profoundly my world was being enlarged, and I was extraordinarily grateful for God's goodness.

    I don't know what this experience meant to our Russian companions, but when we ran out of time or ideas or songs and the bus grew quiet again, Oxana stood again and said "thank you, please."

Russia (#12) Places Not on the Map

 07 April 04

     In these days of ubiquitous and instantaneous communication, it is both strange and surprising to consider just how few options we had in 2004 on our trip to Russia. We had one satellite phone and no cell phones with us. No one but John Woodard, our IT guy, had a computer. We had given over sending "news" home to Skip, who would log on every couple of days to provide updates.

     When we were given place names as we boarded the van for our site visit, I wrote them down along with whatever information might also be disseminating from the group leader. The further back in the van or bus one was seated, the more fragmentary or generalized the information. I note this difficulty because when we would headed out, as we did to an orphanage on this morning of the 7th, I cannot locate it geographically except to say that it was not far away.

    At the orphanage, we heard from the Director and from the school psychologist. The Director explained that he was "Papa" for the children residing there.

    Then we moved to another room to watch the children perform. One teacher sang and told stories. She called on several of the eighteen kids assembled to participate at different points of the performance.

    Most of the kids living in this home were not orphans as we normally think of that term. They were "temporary" due to family problems such as alcoholism, domestic violence, and the blight of extreme poverty. "Temporary," I gathered, meant that they could go home when conditions there improved or when foster homes became available, although it struck me that neither situation was likely. Their parents were not deceased, as a rule, just not able to care for their kids adequately.

    While we watched, one little girl showed off her gymnastics skills. Then the "sports director" -- a retired gymnastics coach of some national reputation -- did hand stands, balancing on the hands of another adult who was lying on the floor. We cheered and applauded, of course.

    When they had entertained us for a while, our group stepped in to provide a few entertainments of our own for them. One of the guys juggled basketballs;

 

another demonstrated a rope trick that required two participants attached with ropes to separate themselves from one another without untying the ropes; and a third person (neither photographed nor named in my notes) performed several card tricks.

    The show stopper, however, was clearly Mason Sorensen who played an animated version of "Mama's Little Baby Loves Shortn'n'in Bread" on his harmonica. The entire room got into it -- even the smallest kids were clapping to the rhythm.

      When he was finished, he gave the harmonica to the Director for the kids to use, and then he gave out candy bars. We donated the basketballs as well. It was a great way to end our short visit.

     As we climbed back into the van,  I thought about our short trip to the orphanage. What is to be said for showing up if only to sit, smile, clap, and observe as I had done? We tend to think of ministry opportunities in terms of grand gestures of some sort. Our thinking emphasizes doing. Was it enough just to be there? 

     I don't have a good answer to these questions, yet I know I would not have missed this experience for whatever else I might have been doing. My view of ministry was undergoing major reconsideration. In our technology saturated times, maybe making the trip, being in the room, seeing these kids face to face was communication enough. I know it was for me.