Home Is Where the Heart Is

Yesterday was the Lord’s Day. All my life, the Lord’s Day has been a day to spend with the church. For half of my life, I went through the motions of this exercise because it was a cultural moor and family tradition – and I genuinely enjoyed it. But not until I finally bowed my heart to the the King of glory did it become absolutely essential.

Yesterday, I started a post entitled “When Providence Swallows Fear”. It was about the intense feeling of separation and loneliness that begins to set in during situations like Marie and I are in and how the loving care of God effects what we do with those emotions. I’ll probably still post it. But the reality is I started that post before attending a church service. I hadn’t been a part of any meaningful corporate worship since November 28th, having missed December 5th because of our arrival in Kiev. The effect of being away from the church was definitely taking its toll.

I had almost given up on going yesterday too. I just didn’t feel like it at the time. Marie and I even started to bicker a little as we were getting ready because we had been asked to sing and had accepted, but hadn’t really practiced anything and didn’t know what to do. Then I started making excuses that sounded a little more righteous. What kind of church was this anyway? Was it going to be some washed out cokes and jokes gathering? Was it going to be some sort of dead traditionalism? I had almost convinced myself that the congregation that I knew nothing about was not worth my time. Amazing – the pride that is in my heart!

We went to a gathering of Christian teens – college students mostly. We were invited by a friend of ours, an aged-out orphan who lives by herself and attends trade school. Her dilapidated apartment full of soggy mold and a hose for a shower, she is the poster child for poverty. Yet her face doesn’t show that. Her smile is bright and warm. Her charm undeniable and she has a grasp on what it means to actually live, not just survive. So far she has beaten the odds put out on her because she’s fatherless. She said the service lasted two hours and that it would probably be longer because no one ever wanted to leave each other.

“How sweet,” I thought. But not likely to be my experience.

The name of the gathering is God’s Family. It is a start-up of Campus Crusade for Christ, helmed by a man named Stepan who spent three years trying to establish a work in Russia as a missionary. He married a Ukrainian girl and decided to try his hand near a University here. The result after four years is about 50 teenage parishioners, gathering three times weekly for bible study, community, and corporate worship. They share each others lives and pass around a sock hat during the offering.

Around City Center there are massive white buildings. I think they’re probably hold-overs from Soviet times. Large and imposing…and some empty. They are the stuff of grand government with their power stripped, like a tired, old, toothless bear. Today, they serve a number of different functions. One is a cultural center where area children come for dance, art, theatre, and crafts. I was surprised that we were walking into one of these buildings. We made our way up the stairs into a mid-sized theatre where a handful of students stood in the foyer and loud music thumped the floor.

“It’s just a bunch of kids,” I said to Marie.

The music inside was familiar but didn’t strike me until we actually entered the theatre. Mariah Carey was belting out “All I Want for Christmas Is You”. My worst fears were confirmed – no gravitas, no real church, just a bunch of people gathering vainly in the name of Jesus. The pastor came up to us quickly and greeted us warmly. He was a dark-haired man probably not yet in his thirties. He smiled and tried to speak his broken english over the beat of American pop. We talked about getting my computer hooked up to their sound system so Marie and I could sing to an accompaniment track. He looked skeptical and when our translator, Linda, asked if we could say a few words of greeting, he quickly informed us that  we could only take about a minute.

The band on stage was something you’d see in any youth room across America. Keyboard, bass, electric & acoustic guitar, drums, & singers. Once they cut off Mariah, the band started. I was surprised at how good they sounded. Their strengths were highlighted and their weaknesses hidden by someone on the sound board who was probably 16 years old. The sound was terrific, pumping out of two Peaveys from the front of the stage. As soon as the music started I knew my sin. My self-righteousness and pride had come between me and my family. But now, in the midst of praise, hearing the name of Jesus come from the mouths of the Ukrainian church, I loved them immensely.

Stepan took the stage after the music and opened his bible. He talked a little about how we must believe the bible is the word of God if we are to really understand it. He held the authority of the word high and I loved him too. He preached about trials and the testing of our faith. Linda tried to keep pace, but had a difficult time. We mostly just sat and listened to the bible preached in Russian, but it was a good sermon.

After the sermon, Stepan began talking about the special guests from America. Linda quickly began shoving us to the stage. The congregation applauded us and I introduced my family and thanked them for their kindness. I told them I loved them.

Marie and I sang “Not Guilty”, a song about God’s justification of us through the cross. I had explained it to the congregation, but felt bad that we were singing away in English and that was being lost on them. They were kind about it. Many told us that they were blessed and thanked us for offering a gift like that to them.

The band led a few more songs, which I really thought appropriate and very helpful. The offering was taken and the closing announcements made and we were dismissed.

We took some photos with the band on Connor’s iPod because I had forgotten our camera. We spent time greeting the saints and getting to know each other. The pastor and I spent time talking together about the work of God’s Family Church. We took more pictures. We didn’t want to go home because we didn’t want to leave each other.

As the crowd finally began to disperse, Marie, Connor, and I walked out refreshed and full of joy. We had been with our brothers and sisters and it was good. I could not feel more foreign in Ukraine. But in that place, with those people, I was home.

Pastor Stepan and his wife. She led the band.