Vagrant Story XII: from the UK to the Ukraine

RUSSIAN NAVEL BASE IN BLACK SEA: Who loves the Russian Memorial Guard? Reed loves the Russian Memorial Guard. Even if they are high school age.

Karlson That Lives On The Roof

There was a reason I couldn't introduce myself to a Ukrainian without them laughing at me. I just hadn't discovered it yet. At first I was concerned I had something hanging from my nose, but after three days and numerous mirror checks, I realized it had something to do with my name. Certainly, "Reed" was obscure but nothing to joke about. I held my composure with the "Vlado's" and "Euri's" that I met, why was my name so outlandish? It wasn't until my last full day in Crimea Nik let me in on the joke.

Nikolai Sytchev is the "Bishop" of one of the charismatic church organizations in the Kiev area and NLI's main contact in Ukraine. In addition to attending the NLI Training Conference at the Bible College outside of Kiev, Nik also took Steve and I down to Crimea to do networking for future projects.

"This is Karlson," Nik proclaimed to me, gesturing towards a television broadcasting an aging cartoon. A small-yet-plump red haired man with a helicopter-like propeller fixed to his back was conversing with a small boy in Russian.

"Karlson lives on the roof and has adventures with the boy." Nik said smiling.

As Nik translated, my cartoon double flew to the refrigerator (though he could've easily walked) and proceeded to refuel. Apparently the little boy's parents were out and Karlson was going to play tricks on the babysitter. I was transfixed. So this was the namesake that had caused even customarily sober-faced passport control officials to smirk. The 70's era Russian translation of the Swedish cartoon was apparently the equivalent of Charles Shultzes' "Peanuts" for popularity in Ukraine.

"Cute." I whispered after a few minutes..

Neither East Nor West

Ukraine is non-EU. And they wont be any time soon. From my perspective, Communism in Poland, Czech, and Slovakia is the past, it's history, the "old-way" that people have risen above. In Ukraine, Communism is an establishment. It has a taste and a flavor, it's simultaneously an adjective, a verb, and a noun that still exists in the present tense. For many, 1989 was not so long ago.

"Slavic culture is neither eastern nor western." The young philosopher explained chewing a perogie. I had known Alexei only a couple of hours but the twenty something had already proven an intriguing conversationalist. Steve had met him a few years earlier when Alexei was a translator for a conference. He played bass in a band, and was studying to teach Russian literature. He also maintained the strong opinion that though he was a Slav physically, "In my mind, I am a westerner."

"So throughout history we cannot decide if we want to be traditional or thinking-forward." He extrapolated to Mark, Patricia, Steve, and me at a Ukrainian Cafe. "There is always a conflict between the old-way and the new-way. Some friends in my band, they say that America is a stupid and uneducated place because they don't know anything about other cultures. But I tell them that American education is just a focus on what is important and not a wide, um, approach, like ours. I study Russian Literatures, so why should I read John Updike or Ernest Hemingway?

I sensed that this was not the best time for expressing my love of Hemingway.

"Why should I learn about American system of Government if I never will live there? At school, I study Russian Literature only 2 hours per day. But all day I study physics, and maths, and Ukraine History, and many other things. I can't choose my courses like in American University. Everyone has the same."

I nodded saying nothing as if I could identify with him. I couldn't.

Icons and Catacombs

Orthodoxy is beautiful. It's mystical and strange and all-together foreign but it is a gorgeous tradition. A Roman Catholic Cathedral's majesty lies in it's vastness. Everything is larger then necessary because God's limits are beyond our mortal conceptions. But the majesty of Orthodoxy's experience is mystery. Both traditions are rich in ritual, but somehow Orthodoxy seems more approachable to me. This is perhaps due to its emphasis on the unknown.

The onion-domed Orthodox churches gave me the familiar impression associated with all ancient places of worship. Inside the sky-blue, gold-trimmed, ornate-detailed structure, tradition had weathered the political turmoil outside its doors. As the priests sang and the attendees crossed themselves and kissed the icons, I wandered around the corridors like a scuba diver inspecting a coral reef. I was out of my element, and anyone who observed me knew it, but I was too entranced to care.

In the catacombs beneath the church, I was Indiana Jones traipsing by torch light into archeological adventure. At least I was until I came into an open chamber where a mother under a flowery scarf and a boy in Adidas track suit kneeled before a glass coffin. I pretended to read the Cyrillic memorial while spying them pray. The brightly-woven, body-shaped shroud in the box covered a dead saint of the Orthodox Church. Combined with the flickering candles and whisperings of pilgrims down the hall, the corpse scared the religion right out of me. But mother and son's comfortable proximity and familiar-styled reverence towards the casket was unafraid.

Hold Your Treasure

Nudity is an non-negotiable for a proper Russian Sauna.

Steve and I were in Crimea networking for future NLI projects. One night, our hosts offered us the use of their sauna. Being polite we agreed. I had been warned that this might happen, but it was always in a comedic sense. Steve and Sheldon has told me stories about the Russian sauna while still in the UK but, at that time, it had seemed so far away. Plus, I never knew if they were joking or not.

They were not joking.

PHOTO: My reaction tomorrow when I realize I actually posted this story

Nik approaches a sauna the way I might approach coffee. There is a right way and a wrong way to have both. Of course, there is room for preference but certain aspects must remain constant. Most importantly, there is a system that insures quality. 5 minutes, 10 minutes, then 15 minutes.

So there Steve and I were, men of God, serving His mission in the Russian Sauna with a bunch of naked Ukrainians. Nik kept on adding more water, explaining that the inferior, Finnish-style sauna depended on excruciating, dry heat to function. The Russian sauna was a more moderate, humid heat. We wore thick-cloth bell shaped hats on our skulls to lock in air and keep our heads cool. We looked like big, white lamp posts. After five minutes it was time to drink tea.

So there we were, men of God, serving His mission outside of the Russian Sauna drinking tea with a bunch of naked Ukrainians. As the sweat beads dried, Nik produced some bundled branches and waved them around, presumably checking the strength of their knot. He noticed my curious expression and smiled at me.

"Air-massage."

So there I was, a young man of God, serving His mission in the Russian Sauna about to be ... well, I didn't really know. I had no idea what to expect. I lay on my stomach with my arms over my face as instructed. Nik approached me with the dripping branches. We were alone in the sauna. I was scared.

The heat was almost, but not-quite, unbearable. The idea of air massage is to make you think you're on fire, just not burning. Nik spastically waved the branches from my head to foot over and over again. It was suffocating but I forced myself to breathe. Half-way through I started laughing. The whole experience was just too surreal. When he finished I kept chuckling, this time with more gusto.

"OK, now for front." Nik said.

"What?" I questioned, wiping sweat from my forehead.

"Flip over and cover your treasure." He replied deadpan from under his hat.

I stopped laughing.

Conferences for Kiev and Crimea

NLI exists to come alongside national movements and strengthen existing churches in European nations. It's a throwback to everyone's favorite "teaching to fish" proverb, but it's true. My trip was divided into two parts. First was the last conference of a three year partnership in the Kiev area. The second was networking for future partnerships in Crimea (another part of Ukraine.) While the conference teaching was exceptional, I was particularly struck by two unexpected aspects of my week in Eastern Europe.

First, were the relationships I was able to form in just a few days. Ever since my first mission's trip to Czech Republic when I was 14, I've always been surprised by the comraderie among Christians that seems to cross cultural and language barriers. Yet for me, Ukraine was different. It seemed my conversations were more meaningful, more purposeful, or else perhaps just less forced. For five years I've been traveling into Central and Eastern Europe for a week at time, but this trip I had some of the most exceptional conversations of my inter-cultural interactioning career. I can't explain why quite yet. It may simply be because I'm older or because I'm just more experienced. This trip I came as a representative of NLI intead of Oak Hills Church, so maybe that had something to do with it. Hey folks, I just report stuff, I can't always explain why it happens.

The second experience was networking in Crimea. For the past few months, Steve has made me aware of a valuable skill I never knew existed. Basically, he goes on these networking trips to sit down with ministers and leaders and get to know them. Discover where their ministry is and how NLI might help them, this is the goal. These conversations are often abrupt, passed through an interpreter, and thrown together at the last minute. Steve is incredibly adept at extracting just the necessary information from these short meetings. He can also positively relate the NLI menu and help people understand what they should order. If you look through NLI history, it's meetings like these that begin years and years worth of partnerships.

PHOTO ABOVE: A sign for "T. G. I Fridays"

PHOTO ABOVE: A sign for "O'Brien's Pub"

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO:

"Very Best of Sting And The Police"
Sting and the Police (of course)