Congo

First United Methodist’s mission trip to Estonia was a watershed event for that church, because it was a watershed event for the people involved. It’s not too much to say that the people I met on that trip changed my life and continue to do so. In the first instance, so many of the people who went on the trip have become close friends. There was something that bonded us all together.

It’s been 11 years now, so I feel I can tell this story. Statute of limitations is over. Albin Whitworth, First’ s irrepressible organist, has a severe problem with antiques. Addiction might be the right word. So wherever we went we were on the lookout for antique stores. Albin had heard that a particular street in St. Petersburg had a lot of antique stores. But we were going down the street and could not find a one. It took me a second to figure out that that’s what he was looking for. I took a little Russian in college, and so I could see a few stores selling antiques, but Russian letters are so different you couldn’t catch it. I was sitting next to Susan Arnold and said, “there’s one. There’s another,” etc. She jabbed me in the ribs and said, “I’ll pay real money if you keep quiet…”

But it was the Estonian Christians who got to me. Their faithfulness in the face of a brutal Soviet occupation (between the Nazis and the Soviets, Estonia lost ¼ of its prewar population) inspired me. Well, it challenged me. I knew I was called into ministry almost as soon as I converted to Christianity. But I hedged, wanting to finish the Ph.D., teach English etc. It was mostly that I did not want the hassle of being a pastor. I wanted to do my own thing. Here were these people who risked it all to follow Christ. I was ashamed of my complacency about faith and calling.

Ok, so I come back from Estonia in 96. Sometime that fall, late summer, I am in the UK library and see a woman looking lost, no one helping her. I ask if I can be of assistance. I can tell quick she’s Russian, named Svetlana. Turns out she is from Kazakhstan. We converse a little bit, I help her find what she is looking for. Then she invited me home. I met her husband, a computer engineer, her parents who lived with them. Svetlana is a great pianist and her dad is an awesome tenor. They gave me a concert, set out some good food, “Here’s the man who helped me,” etc. I met lots of Russians that day.

I was blown away how many Russians there were in Lexington. I tried to get someone to see that it was time to have a Russian church. No dice. Who was I? And besides, immigration was (is) just not part of the church’s vision. I made a decision that if God ever put me in the place to reach immigrants, I was going to jump on it, and drag anyone I could along with me.

So eight years later, I get to Louisville, and I start meeting Ukrainians—a seamstress, a guy in the post office, a fellow with a Ukrainian flag on his car. I took it simply as a sign. Terena Bell hooked me up with some resources to find the Ukrainian community in Louisville. A doctor hooked me up with Igor and Ira Derevyanni (Igor owns Diamond Night jewelers, over by Sonic on La Grange Rd in Lyndon. He is a great artist and jeweler. Stop in and see him.) So I started learning Ukrainian, but things did not work out to do any ministry there.

This produced a crisis of faith in me. That is, I made the vow in 96, it looks to become reality in 2004, but it came undone, regardless of how hard I tried. What gives? I have kind of pushed past it, but it still hurts. The weird thing is, the call has been in effect from the standpoint that what I expect to do with whatever group God gives me is what I did in Winchester, what I do here at the Rock: learn the language, find the needs, share the gospel.

Then enter the Congolese. I find out about them by accident in a chance meeting with a former friend at Asbury Seminary. It seemed easier than working with Russians or Ukrainians because there was no new language to learn (I guess, tho, I will learn one of the African languages. I hope.)

There was a kind of theological reflection that was going on with the families from Congo. That is, it seemed like Pentecost was still going on—people coming from all over, hearing the gospel in their own language—now we just had to figure out to send the gospel back out into the world, to the places where people are coming from. So for example, the Rock has been active in helping churches in Honduras and Mexico, built on folks who used to worship with us here in Lexington. The same thing can and should happen in Congo. Or Togo. Or Cameroon. Anywhere people have come to us from. Except that many of our people can’t go home because they will be killed. But we can use their contacts so we can go to strengthen the work of the church in Africa.

Today, I started working with a first grader from Congo, over at Arlington School. He is a sweet boy, but traumatized. Sometimes we forget they fled for their lives, from a war. And they are strangers in a strange land. He got to talking about a country he can’t remember. I told him I’d like to go there. He looked at me, maybe to say why? “The people there are suffering greatly,” he said matter-of-factly. The churches are in disarray. The pastors and congregations need support. I am not sure how it will work out. But I have been waiting for 11 years now, for something like this. Now that it’s here, I’d ask for prayer. And any help you want to give.