More Than a Steeple

Sometimes I like to pretend I'm an incredible food blogger. Like right now. I'm sitting on my kitchen counter, waiting for the oven timer to go off so that I can taste the gluten free, dairy free blueberry crumble muffins I'm attempting. Baking without wheat or dairy is a challenge, but what's the point of cooking if you can't lick the spoon afterwards, let alone eat the finished product?

My pretending to be a food blogger wouldn't be complete without a picture!

Though it would seem the baking adventures created by my new dietary regulations would provide for ample blogging material, I am well aware that I am no foody. I am also aware that baking is my hobby, not my passion. For that reason, I will continue to only pretend to be a food blogger, and will instead remain a storyteller and theologian. After all my passions are for people and the restoration of the family, and as much as chocolate chip cookies help smooth out family issues, only God can truly mend the family.
So, with that thought, let me tell you one last story from Ukraine. I realize that I haven't blogged about every detail, but I am about to head back to school and so my mind is switching focus. It's time to wrap up the summer chapter of my life and focus on my senior year of college. With that said, here is my final story from Ukraine.
It ends and begins with a boy named Vitya. When my team arrived in Bushcha we pulled into the home of one woman and her fourteen year old son, Vitya. It was with them that we were to live for the five days we spent in the village. Because I am usually quite good with kids, I was determined to connect with Vitya in some way. However, once again, language stood between us, so I did the one thing I could think of and pulled out my photo album. Per suggestion of my fellow teammates, I had brought with me a scrapbook of pictures of my family and had practiced phrases such as, "This is my sister Sarah." (Це мене сестра Sarah). As I showed him the pictures, we worked together to describe them in his broken English and my pitiful attempts at Ukrainian. The minute I finished going through my scrapbook he quickly went looking for a photo album of his own, and then proceeded to show me pictures of his family. The ice had been broken. As the week progressed Vitya and I had several other bonding experiences. We played Uno with my other team members, something I found highly entertaining as it meant we were playing a game in English, Ukrainian and Spanish. Vitya also became my own personal Ukrainian tutor, teaching me lessons at home and then testing me in front of the other kids at camp. I would help him with his English, and as he knew more English than I knew Ukrainian, his favorite phrase was, "I win!" Whenever he didn't understand what I was trying to say he would look at me and say, "What?" When I didn't understand him, which happened much more often, I would turn to him and say, "Шо?" Interacting with Vitya and observing him often made me think. I thought about the families in the village and the influence of the Orthodox church on the families and the people within the village. I wondered about Vitya's future and what would happen to him in a few years in a culture where 49% of all men die of alcohol related causes. Again I wondered how would the church impact this young boy's life? Would it do anything at all?
See, in every Ukrainian village there stands a Ukrainian Orthodox Church. It's gold steeples tower over the small, wooded houses of the village people. The church is esteemed as one of the highest authorities in the village. Our interactions with the church in Bushcha was interesting to say the least. The priest did not approve of what we were doing. Believing we were a cult, he informed the people of the village that their children were not to come to our program, and those children that did attend would not be permitted to come to confession. As news travels faster in a small Ukrainian village than it does in the smallest towns in America, all the children were aware of this. One day Vitya was asking me if I would ever come back, when I didn't give a definite yes, he said he thought I would come back to Ukraine, but not to Bushcha, for the priest didn't like us.
Is that the role of the church? To ban people from confession? To call another Christ serving, Bible believing denomination a cult? All the while watching the people in its community struggle with poverty and dying of alcoholism? Watching families fall apart and children grow up without fathers or mothers? How often do church's in America do the same thing? In many American towns there is a church on every corner, but can you tell? If the church was not there would it make a difference? The church is not a building. It is a community of believers dedicated to serving Christ, therefore it should be bearing much fruit. Lives should be changing. People should be embracing personal relationships with Jesus Christ. Relationships that change the way they live. Relationships that change the way they interact with their families. As I watched young Vitya, a boy who became like a little brother to me, I could not help but wonder where he would be in a few years. Would he be like the other young men in his community, drinking in front of the culture center every night? Or would the message brought by our team sink into his heart? Would the future work of the mission in that area continue to impact him? Would he be able to embrace a relationship with Jesus that transforms his life and the lives of those around him? Though I do not know the answer to these questions, I pray and hope the answer is yes.

Me and Vitya.