My Siberian Adventure - Day 6 - July 2, 2011

Visit: Novokuznetsk

The sun fights its way through the thick gloomy gray clouds to press its way through the fifth story window of the Novokuznetskaya Hotel and manages to wake me up quite early. Although the quarters are tight, it is a nice place. The best part is the piping hot shower. There is no hot water right now in Novosibirsk, so Dan and I both comment about how nice the hot water is.

There is an amusing sign in the bathroom, posted in both Russian and (Google Translate-style) English that is apparently typical customer service in the former USSR. It ominously warns guests that using towels for any purpose other than their intended use would result in fines. It is signed by Administration.

We meet the other guys for breakfast at the snack bar on our floor. It seems to be the common formula to have a small restaurant on each floor of hotels. In Russian, it is called a буфет (buffet), but it isn’t actually a buffet at all. In the old Soviet way, the menu has four options: Option One, Option Two, Option Three, and Option Four – no substitutions. We order Option One, the basic breakfast of two eggs, over-easy, yogurt, tea (or instant coffee), and bread. The eggs, like a lot of the food here, is garnished with dill. It is a simple breakfast, but quite tasty.

We drive to the church in Novokuznetsk, which is actually an apartment purchased by the SLMS. The Rev. Dmetri Dotsenko serves there as pastor. The sanctuary is set up for our lectures.

First, Father Dmetri conducts a brief prayer service. Father Daniel gives a series of short lectures on Psalm 23 (which is actually Psalm 22 by the numbering of the Russian Bible – as they use the Septuagint (Greek) translation of the Old Testament. Following Dan’s lecture, I give my presentation on the Augsburg Confession.

We break for lunch: a pasta salad, borscht, and a dish that is like a meatball surrounded by mashed potatoes. The people are very hospitable, and the ladies (most of whom in this parish cover their heads with scarves) keep giving us more food. We drink hot tea with cubes of sugar.

After lunch, Father Andrey and Father Alexey speak. Dan and I retire to a back room since we don’t understand Russian. He and I have excellent pastoral discussion. It is one of the side benefits of coming to Russia to get to know Dan both as a friend and as a brother in arms in the office of the holy ministry.

At the end of the lectures, about 4:00 pm or so, we greet everyone again. We head back to the hotel, and there is a huge festival going on in the neighborhood commemorating the anniversary of Novokuznetsk, bringing people out into the streets. Father Andrei goes to park the car, and comes back chuckling as the parking attendant is apparently very drunk. The streets are packed with people strolling, drinking, and listening to live music. We walk for a long time, talking, taking pictures, and people-watching.

We visit the monument to the USSR, a drab gray concrete monument shaped (ironically) like a crown. There is a display commemorating each of the republics of the now-defunct Union. The monument was apparently erected just a few years before the dissolution of the union. Alexey takes the opportunity to explain some of the ironies of Soviet history and the geographical complications resulting from this era that linger to this day.

For dinner, we decide to go to a mall food court, apparently a new thing for Siberia. We take a long walk to the mall, go upstairs, and wander around the food court. The mall is quite western, with a Subway, a Bowling Alley, and a movie theater showing Cars 2.  There is a difference of opinion about what to eat. So we decide to check out a competing mall’s food court. We walk some more, enter another mall, and make our way to the other food court. Again, opinions are divided. Lacking a consensus, we return to the first food court, traipsing all the way back. Again, someone vetoes the decision. Democracy is messy. I’m not sure how this procedure works, but it isn’t Robert’s Rules of Order. So, we head off to find another restaurant.

We settle on one that is a microbrewery/sports pub with an unpronounceable name (for me, anyway) just a half block from the hotel.

I order chicken wings and a blond beer. The wings are a little more authentic than the last ones I had. The restaurant is filled with TV screens. The ladies’ Wimbledon finals are in progress, and the Russian Maria Sharapova is playing. We Americans typically mispronounce her name – which is actually more like Sha-RA-po-va. She loses. Interestingly, the patrons are not paying that much attention.

Two scantily-clad women walk into the restaurant and come over to our table (of four priests not in clerical garb). They walk up to Dan and me and start talking. Since we don’t speak Russian, we are pleased to direct them to Father Alexey. After a very brief conversation, they leave abruptly. We laugh. We ask Alexey what he said to them. Father Alexey can be a master of understatement at times, and generally has an easygoing manner. He shrugged, smiled slightly, and said, “I told them we’re not interested.” He explained matter of factly that they were trying to get us to follow them to a bar that offers, in Father Alexey’s words, “erotic shows.”

We spent a good while hanging out in the restaurant, enjoying conversation and our food, and we walked back into the crowded street. It was finally starting to get dark. It seemed like everyone was standing around waiting – and Alexey speculated that the crowd was waiting for fireworks. At last, at the stroke of midnight, they began. It was a very good display.

There are a lot of drunk people in the streets, and others who were not tipsy just happy: people of all ages. Crowds squeeze chaotically onto the busses as longsuffering drivers wait patiently for their fares (in various stages of alcohol-consumption) to board.

We stroll across the street back to the hotel. Dan gets right to sleep, while I call Grace on SnapYap, copy pictures and videos to the computer, and upload a short video to facebook.

I wind down with a hot shower. I’m in bed at about 3:00 am as the partying goes on outside our open window.

Here are all of my pictures from Day Six.

Three second Russian Lesson

Leo says:  "Я немного понимаю по-русски!" (I understand Russian, a little).

Good Times in Iceland...

My Siberian Adventure - Day 5 - July 1, 2011

Begin: Novosibirsk
Drive to: Novokuznetsk

This morning, Dan and I are waiting for Alexey Streltsov to show up.  Father Alexey is the rector of the seminary.  He studied at Fort Wayne (our time overlapped though I had never met him) and he has just defended his S.T.M. thesis from Fort Wayne a few weeks ago.  The plan is for him to come around 1:00 pm, and the bishop is supposed to arrive about 11:00 am.

I don't think it would be inaccurate to refer to Father Alexey as a prodigy.  He became the seminary's rector as a 23-year old layman.  He spent four years as a deacon in charge of the seminary, after which he was ordained to the priesthood.  He is not yet 40 years old.  He is fluent in English, and is a gifted theologian (obviously) who sees himself first and foremost as a pastor.  There is not a hint of arrogance or pomposity in Alexey, and I count it a great joy and privilege to have become friends with him.  He is sharp, inquisitive, and has a great sense of humor.  He served a good bit of the trip as our translator.

When the bishop arrives, we learn that he has brought some locally-made ice cream.  I film a 22-second impromptu interview with him on this topic (see above).

He has also thoughtfully purchased a cellphone modem for Dan and I to use with our computers so that we can access the Internet even without wifi.  Father Alexey is running late, so the bishop invites us to accompany him to the local shopping center.  According to Dan, this is a fairly new experience, as until recently, the stores were still run "Soviet-style."  This meant that to buy anything you had to engage a clerk who got your merchandise off the shelves for you one thing at a time, and you had to keep a tally of your purchases - very inefficient and labor-intensive.

The bishop needs to buy a keyboard stand for the church in Novokuznetsk.  Dan is also picking out gifts for some of the local pastors and their wives whom he has known for several years.

We return to the seminary and pack up.  We are going to drive to Novokuznetsk followed by a train trip to Abakhan in the mountainous republic of Khakassia.

Alexey has arrived and is accompanied by Andrei Lipinski.  Father Andrei is a seminary professor at Novosibirsk in addition to being a full time professional chorister.  He practices five days a week, four hours a day.  I don't get to speak with him very much at all as he doesn't speak English.  However, I hear a lot of very good things about him.  He is highly respected and regarded as a scholar and churchman.  Father Andrei will be our driver today.

We drove down the highway through Novosibirsk, and the road greatly resembles a U.S. highway - only with more potholes.  Father Andrei is an aggressive driver, but competent.  His car is a Japanese import with the wheel on the right - another Toyota - which are very popular here.  Andrei quickly veers away from potholes and weaves around traffic as necessary.  As the driver's wheel is on the right, it is hard for Andrei to see the oncoming traffic - which makes it a little hair-raising when he is preparing to pass.  Father Alexey is apparently supposed to be looking out from the passenger side (which is the driver's side to us), but has become embroiled in his Nikon manual.  Sometimes, it's best just not to look.

But it all works out just fine.

After a couple hours, we stop at a popular roadside area with a lot of shashlik (шашлык) stands.  Shashlik is basically shish kabob.  The stands serve pretty much the same things, though with individual twists and variations - meat on a stick or rolled in flat-bread with sauce and spices.  The smell is out of this world!  The restaurants are like small mobile homes lined up on opposite sides of the dusty gravel road.  A stray dog wanders around on the street as Russian music is blaring from someone's speakers.  People try to entice customers to come to their stands.

I snap some pictures and video as discreetly as possible.  Dan warned me that Russians are not fond of being photographed, though younger people - free of bad memories of Communism and armed with cellphones - don't think anything of it.

We enter and order tea - which is not served in paper cups but actual ceramic mugs of various sorts.  Andrei and Alexey go next door to order food for us.  They come back with huge meat sandwiches wrapped in flat-bread, smothered with barbecue sauce and onions.  We savor the food!  This is the Russian equivalent of the food stop at the interstate exit.  I suspect most Americans would be appalled at the dusty conditions with food out in the open and would be reaching for hand sanitizer.  But the truth of the matter is that this is a fresher and much higher quality food than you will get at an American fast-food joint.  This is not industrial in the least.  Just thinking about the smell and taste is making my stomach rumble yet again!

Afterwards, we look for a restroom.  We drive a ways only to find the toilets inoperable due to an accident-caused water problem.  We went further down the road to a gas station.  The restroom door had a sign indicating that the facilities are out of order.  The picture of Dan in front of the sign is nothing less than iconic.  Okay, it's not iconic, but it is a funny picture.  One learns to be patient.

Back on the road, I fall asleep.  But before too long, we arrive in Novokuznetsk, greeted by an archetypal Sovet-era colossal concrete sign spelling out the letters "Новокузнецк."  Father Andrei stops the car as Father Alexey grabs his intimidating-looking Nikon D30 for pictures in front of the sign.  Alexey explains to us with a delightful sense of sarcasm and appreciation for the ridiculous that the City of Novokuznetsk was awarded medals - as individuals usually are.  This was apparently done in Soviet times.  The city was originally called Kuznetsk (which means "smith" as in metal worker), then became Stalinsk, and then later, after the end of the Stalin era, was re-dubbed Novokuznetsk (New Kuznetsk).

We arrive at the Hotel Novokuznetskaya, an old (but nice) Soviet-style building with a slightly gaudy light sculpture out front.  We present our passports.  The two elderly women working the counter shoot glances at Dan and me.  They seem agitated.  Alexey explains to me that they are not quite sure what to do about the Roman numeral "II" at the end of my name.  But they enjoy the fact that my name is "Beane" like "Mr. Bean" - and so we all have a good laugh.  Finally, our papers are in order and we head upstairs.  Father Alexey explains that it is a good thing that we registered our visas at the other hotel, as we might not have gotten into this hotel otherwise.

We head up to the fifth floor, where Dan and I share a room, and Andrei and Alexey share another one.  Our room is nice, but tiny.  It is about 12 x 12 with two twin beds and an old-style cathode ray TV.  Below the TV set are two elegant teacups and saucers.  The view of downtown is spectacular.  There is also a very small bathroom.  Father Alexey brings us a mosquito repellent to plug into the wall, and we opt to leave our windows open.  It is a hot, stuffy night.  There is no air conditioner.

We decide to eat at a chain restaurant that serves Russian food: the Fork and Spoon (Вилкa-ложкa) - served a la carte: soup, salad, meat dish, and dessert.  I forgo the salad and have only soup and a meat dish and a glass of juice.

We head back to the hotel to get on the Internet and wind down for the night.

Here are all of my pictures from Day Five.

Sermon: Trinity 8 – 2011

14 August 2011 at Salem Lutheran Church, Gretna, LA


Text: Matt 7:15-23 (Jer 23:16-29, Acts 20:27-38)

In the name of + Jesus. Amen.

In the days of the prophets, there was a great temptation to tell people what they wanted to hear – especially when that audience included someone who was powerful – like a king or wealthy person. A prophet who played his cards right could live the good life, be surrounded with riches, and ride the coat-tails of the rich and famous.

And the opposite was also true.

A prophet who stubbornly clung to God’s Word, in season and out of season, who called people to repentance, who used words like “wrong” and “sin” – could find himself imprisoned or even executed. And this was the case with every prophet of God all the way to St. John the Baptist, who himself was imprisoned and beheaded for not telling the king what he wanted to hear.

And even when the days of prophetic revelation came to an end, the same perils were in store for preachers of righteousness, like St. Stephen, the first martyr of the Church, who was stoned to death because he would not tell his rich and powerful listeners what they wanted to hear.

Moreover, prophets, pastors, or preachers who modify their message in order to make friends and influence people –
filling us “with vain hopes” and speaking “visions of their own minds” – do more than simply save their necks or their income, and perhaps even enjoy mansions or luxury cars or fancy wristwatches. For they are false prophets and they lead their hearers into hell. And a false prophet is the tool of Satan, the father of lies, the one seeking whom he may devour.

Such false prophets “say continually to those who despise the word of the LORD, ‘It shall be well with you’; and to everyone who stubbornly follows his own heart, they say, ‘No disaster shall come upon you.’”

They preach a “gospel” of health and wealth and prosperity, of no accountability, of a faith that says: “do whatever you want without regard to right or wrong since Jesus has done it all for you and you are baptized.”

But what is a man of God called to do? He is called to tell the truth, to use words like “wrong” and “sin,” to warn those to whom he is called to preach that all is not well with you, that disaster is indeed coming on you, that our world is crumbling, that sin destroys and corrupts, and that any attempt to sweep this reality under the rug is a lie – along with the notion that your own so-called goodness counts for anything more than a filthy rag . He is not a soothsayer nor a minister of self-esteem. His job is not to tell the baptized what they want to hear, but rather what they need to hear – to be reminded that baptism is a washing and a calling out of this world of sin and death, not an invitation to remain in sin.

The prophet bears this unpopular message, dear friends: “Behold, the storm of the LORD! Wrath has gone forth, a whirling tempest; it will burst upon the head of the wicked. The anger of the LORD will not turn back until he has executed and accomplished the intents of his heart.
In the latter days you will understand it clearly.”

This is what St. Paul had in mind when he spoke of “the whole counsel of God” “in the latter days” and admonished the pastors of his day to “Pay careful attention to yourselves and to all the flock, in which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers, to care for the church of God, which he obtained with his own blood.”

The whole counsel of God is both Law and Gospel, both sin and grace, both Good Friday and Easter Sunday. For a “gospel” of redemption without repentance is no gospel at all, dear friends. And while such a “gospel” may make a pastor popular – if not rich and famous – it will not bring the true Gospel of Jesus Christ to those who hear it.

This is a burden both upon pastor and congregation, upon preacher and hearer. This is why our Lord warns us: “Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves. You will recognize them by their fruits.” He shares with us the frightening consequences of listening to such false prophets who spurn the “whole counsel of God” when he declares: “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven.”

Pastors much preach courageously without regard or prejudice as to who is rich or poor, who is powerful or unpopular. God’s Word does not change based on the audience. Congregations likewise must be willing to hear, to allow the Lord’s unbridled Word to have its way, to hear the call to repentance and not to push the Holy Spirit away, rejecting Christ by rejecting Christ’s Word and Christ’s messenger.

Both pastor and congregation must be submissive – not to the whims of man, not to their own creature comforts, not to their own self-interests – but rather to the Word of God. Preachers and hearers are to be submissive to Christ. For in God’s Word alone do we find the truth about both repentance and redemption, about sin and grace, about the blood-stained cross and the empty tomb.

For the “whole counsel of God” ends on a glorious note of resurrection, of forgiveness, of redemption, of communion with God, of eternal life. The “whole counsel of God” is a message of new life, hope, glory, and victory.

And the Lord has chosen to use His Word – declared by prophets, proclaimed by pastors, confessed by sinners, embraced by saints, and made flesh in the body and blood of Jesus – to kill and to make alive, to wound and to heal.

It is in this “whole counsel of God” that our sins are are purged, our guilt is expunged, our corrupted natures are restored, and our lives are redeemed. For Christ is no false prophet, and we know Him by His fruits – the fruit of His very body hanging on the tree as the Tree of Life itself, the fruit of His very blood, shed in his passion and death and presented to us in the cup of the New Testament. “A healthy tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a diseased tree bear good fruit…. Thus you will recognize them by their fruits.”

May we embrace the Word, dear friends! May we partake of the Word made flesh, dear brothers and sisters! May we preachers courageously proclaim this Word! May we hearers humbly hear this Word! For we are confessors of this Word, confessors of our sin, and confessors of the divine grace that saves us!

The goal of every true prophet and preacher who desires to be obedient in preaching this “whole counsel of God” is to join St. Paul in declaring to his listeners, the baptized, the forgiven, the reborn in God’s mercy: “And now I commend you to God and to the word of his grace, which is able to build you up and to give you the inheritance among all those who are sanctified.” Amen.

In the name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

And I get on my knees and pray...

"Sister Enya, MD and the Trans-Siberian Riverdance"

or "Sometimes the Nun Gets You."

On a visit to the bookstore of the Daughters of St. Paul today, I picked up a Chant CD.  It is called "In Paradisium" by the Daughters of St. Paul.  The cover depicts a beautiful vaulted cloister courtyard along with the title "In Paradisum" in Latin as well as the subtitle "Chant" and "Ever Ancient Ever New."

The clincher was that the CD was 40% off.  I thought it would be nice to hear some Gregorian Chant sung in the female voice register by nuns.  The back cover depicts the choir of nine habited sisters.

And so, I took the bait.

Upon listening in the car, it wasn't quite what I expected.  The music did feature (nearly all) Latin chant by the female choir - but there was more.  The vocals were overlayed with New Age licks reminiscent of Enya.  Don't get me wrong, I like Enya.  I know I'm probably not supposed to, but I don't really care.  I also like pineapple-amaretto daiquiris and little umbrellas in my drinks.  You want my man card? Μολὼν λαβέ, tough guy!  But Enya is not sacred music.  I didn't dig the whole Gregorian Chant thing with massage music going in the background.

Other tracks sounded like the theme from House, MD.  Hugh Laurie is a talented guy, but I don't think he can pull off the whole singing nun thing.

Still other tunes sounded like blatant ripoffs of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra.  Again, I like the TSO.  I don't care what the trendsetters have to say about it.  But TSO is as compatible with singing nuns as is BTO.  Still other riffs called to mind Riverdance or some of the soundtrack of Braveheart. Again, nothing against Celtic tuneage.  I'm of Celtic heritage myself.  But Celtic dance tunes are just not compatible with the ancient dignity of Gregorian Chant.  Finally, there is the last tune, which goes disturbingly overboard regarding the mother of God - but what's even stranger, it is set to the Lutheran hymn tune "Erhalt Uns Herr" - otherwise known as the "Muderous Pope and Turk" song.

What a trainwreck!

It didn't have to be this way.  There were clues.  I should have paid better attention.  Had I had the Lutheran traditionalist defender of Lutheran traditionalism(tm),  Br. Latif, on speed dial, he could have "talked me down" and saved me ten bucks.

Our conversation would have gone something like this:

Me: "Hey, Brother Latif.  Larry here.  I'm looking at a chant CD."
Latif: "Hi Father Larry.  Okay.  Latin or English?"
Me: "Mostly Latin."
Latif: "Nice.  Who's it by?"
Me: "The Daughters of St. Paul."
Latif: "Ooh.  Uh, habited?"
Me: "Yes."
Latif: "Hmm.  Traditional?"
Me: "Well, I'm not sure..."
Latif: "Are their necks or ears exposed?"
Me: "Um, I see a little bit of lobe on one of them.  Yes, necks are exposed."
Latif: "No whimples?"
Me: "No whimples."
Latif: "I see.  These sound like Vatican 2 habits with modified veils.  Could be trouble.  Color?"
Me: "Navy and white."
Latif: "Okay.  That's enough.  I don't need to hear any more.  Father Larry, put the CD down, take three steps backward, turn, and run to the nearest bar or juke-joint where you can find some Springsteen or Evanescence..."  (Of course, Brother Latif would be referring to the good Evanescence with the deep lyrical themes from the time before the Christian guy left the band, not the inferior-quality post-Christian Evanescence where Amy Lee just whines virtually monosyllabically about her inebriated boyfriend...).

Brother Latif would also have picked up on the fine print on the back of the "In Paradisum" CD: "new arrangements."  I mean, what more needs to be said?

Yes, my bad, mea culpa.  I was foolish.  I hoped for traditionalism, and instead got a Vatican II Baby Boomer blend of Latin Chant and New Age, TV Soundtrack, Big Dramatic Drums, and Synthesized Bagpipes.  It happens.  But it doesn't have to.

Next time, I'm calling Brother Latif.

My Siberian Adventure - Day 4 - June 30, 2011

Visit: Novosibirsk

I woke up early.  I'm tired, but at the same time refreshed.  I think my system is trying to reset.  The days are somewhere around 17 1/2 hours here, so sunrise is before 5:00 am and sunset after 10:00 pm.

I managed to find my way outside to see if my camera fell out of my pocket in the driveway.  No luck.  I'll find out from Dan a good time to call the bishop.  I really don't want the hassle of buying another camera - not to mention the cost.  I'm fairly confident that it will turn up.

It's 7:30 am right now, and I'm already dressed and ready to go.  Dan planned on waking me at 10:00 am, but the sunlight in my room woke me.  Also, the window is open, and the weather is cool.  According to the weather app on the Nook, it is now 64 degrees F in Novosibirsk.  The high today is projected to be 91, with the low of 63, partly cloudy.

I send a couple SnapYap messages, take a walk around the building (the Lutheran Center), and wait for Dan to get up.  When he arises, we chat and get breakfast.  There is a fridge in the adjoining office to the bishop's office.  It is stocked with meats, cheese, yogurt, milk, chocolate, boxes of different kinds of fruit juices, a couple small cans of Coke that look as alien inside the fridge as I do looking in, and other items.  There is also a pantry that includes breads, crackers, cereals, tea bags, sugar, and instant coffee.  The bishop's office has an electric kettle - which I soon learn are ubiquitous here.

The bishop's office is not a museum - but a real working pastor's study.  I'm gratified to see that he also has a "busy" desk - and, like me, somehow knows where to find things.  He has a large number of books open on the desk - in multiple languages, several hymnals, Bibles, prayer books, and dictionaries.  Like most clergy offices, his desk is surrounded by bookcases prodigally strewn with reading material of every kind.  Behind his desk is a beautiful crucifix, a portrait of Martin Luther, and several pictures taken at his episcopal consecration.  There are also teacups and music CDs.  The bishop has eclectic musical tastes.

Dan has taken up residence on the futon.  He has his computer plugged in and that end of the room has his bags and clothes arranged in a way that would make any bachelor feel at home.  I only met Dan last night, but we have spent a lot of time on the phone before our trip, as well as exchanging e-mails.  I am comfortable being around him from the start.  We hit it off very well, and I would come to really appreciate not only his friendship, but his pastoral wisdom and fraternal advice and counsel over the course of our three weeks together.  I'm honored to call him a brother in Christ and a brother in the office of the holy ministry.

Pastor Johnson - or Father Daniel as he is known here - is 51 years old, married, has two grown children, and has been the pastor of the same parish for 18 years.  He is a mechanic, and enjoys fixing old cars.  He has been coming to Russia nearly every year since 2000.  He serves as the president of the Siberian Lutheran Mission Society and edits the newsletter.  The mutual respect and affection between Father Daniel and our Russian brothers and sisters is palpable.


The bishop shows up with my camera - just in time for our big sightseeing day in Novosibirsk!

Bishop Vsevolod Lytkin is the young spiritual leader of the Siberian Evangelical Lutheran Church.  As dangerous as it might be, I will guess he is in his young forties - and lacks the gray hair that sprouted on my own head after the Big Four Oh - at least so far, anyway.  Bishop Vsevolod (pronounced roughly like VSYEH-vuh-lud - which to the English-speaking ear (if ears could speak...) is not too far removed from Save-a-lot) speaks very good English, is hard-working, compassionate, extremely pious, theologically-minded, politically astute, patient, and has a vibrant sense of humor.  I take a liking to him right away, and he is very hospitable and constantly looks after our comfort.  People are relaxed in his presence, and yet everyone understands that he is the bishop.  He is respected and loved by both the clergy and the laity.

You can read about the bishop's journey to Lutheran Christianity here.

Our tour guides today will be Olga and Natasha - two old friends of Dan.  Or should I say two young friends of Dan that go back a long ways.  They are both in their thirties.  Natasha is the organist at St. Andrews (the congregation in the Lutheran Center that serves as the bishop's cathedral) and is a graduate of the music conservatory in Novosibirsk.  She is an accomplished composer and is working on the SELC's hymnal project.  Olga is the half-sister of Father Daniel Burlakov, one of the pastors who serves SELC congregations in Tomsk and Yurga.  Both had accompanied Dan and the bishop a few years back on an auto trip through the United States that culminated in visiting the Grand Canyon and Las Vegas.

Natasha speaks little English, but seems to understand a fair amount.  Olga is fluent and serves as a translator.  In fact, Olga translated for Natasha in Fort Wayne as part of the Russian Project.  Both are high-spirited and energetic.  The lack of a language barrier makes Olga more openly gregarious with English speakers.  They were very good sports who spent the day taking us all around Novosibirsk and taking a lot of pictures for us.  Natasha was our driver (her journey to Christianity can be found here in the article "A Musician's Journey To the Church").  As Dan has made this trip many times, this tour is really for my benefit.

But before touring the city, we had business to attend to.  First, we had to go through the motions of renting a room at the local hotel in order to register our tourist visas.  The bishop drove Dan, Olga, and me to the hotel.    The registration of tourist visas is a leftover from Soviet times.  We actually had to rent a room and left our passports behind (good thing we made copies).  We never actually went to our room, and we told them just to keep the key.  Seeing us leave with two young ladies, one of the middle aged women at the counter gave Father Daniel a coy wink.

I guess they aren't accustomed to their paying guests (the bishop took care of our tab) never set foot in the room.

We met up with Natasha, got into her car, and went to lunch at a restaurant called Peoples Bar and Grill.  They serve traditional Russian fare Russian style.  Each course is ordered separately: soup, salad, meat dish, and dessert.

I had a traditional soup called solyanka.  It was a little spicy, with meat and some olives.  For a drink, I ordered a tea with mint.  Getting cold tea involves ordering a hot drink - at this place, served in a French press - along with a cup of ice.  For my main dish, I had a pork sausage - served with a side of vegetables (thinly sliced) and mashed potatoes.  It was all very good, high quality food.

You see very few fat Siberians - at least here in Novosibirsk.  They tend to walk much more than Americans and have smaller portion sizes.  The food is more wholesome and has far less preservatives and chemicals - though I understand that his is changing.  They drink a lot of bottled water as the tap water may not be potable.  The bottled water comes in both plain ("still water") and bubbly.  They also drink a lot of fruit juices, which are often sold in boxes to be refrigerated.

We opted out of dessert, as the meal was quite filling.  Our English was translated into Russian by Olga for Natasha's sake.  We took pictures and had very nice conversation.

We left the restaurant and headed out on foot.  Natasha led the way at a quick pace.  We made our way to the main square - Lenin Square - in front of the theater - which of course boasts a colossal Lenin monument.  There was also an arts and crafts show going on.  We visited the USSR Museum, a small historic house that doubles as a museum dedicated to birch art.  The lady at the museum didn't approve of my crucifix.  She was Russian Orthodox.  Apparently she thought I was a Roman Catholic.  When I explained to her that I was a Lutheran, she was apparently even less impressed.  Many Russian Orthodox think we are not real Christians. Apparently she was saying things along these lines.  Olga was not impressed, but not surprised.

We had a lot of fun in the museum, goofed around, took pictures, and looked at all sorts of memorabilia from Soviet times.  Much of the USSR memorabilia is housed in the basement - which was used to house political prisoners.  The museum guide was rather matter-of-fact about it.  There are a good many such places - especially considering how widespread the Gulag system was under Stalin.

We cut across the busy street by ducking into subway tunnels lined with shops.

There is an interesting phenomenon that I noticed in Novosibirsk and in other cities.  The women - especially the younger women - are very fashion-conscious.  And they love their high heels!  Stilettos are everywhere - and they take no prisoners (except perhaps their podiatrists) when it comes to the height of the heels.  There is a ubiquitous "tick tick tick" of heels clacking on the sidewalk.  I'm told that even in winter, Novosibirsk girls clack along the ice in their heels.  It is almost a cliche.  It may be one of the few things that stumps the Rev. Dr. Rick Stuckwisch - who blogged about his experiences in wintertime Siberia.  It is funny to watch the young couples: the guys are typically clad in jeans, tee-shirts, and tennis shoes - but their girlfriends/wives often look like they are headed to a wedding - dressed "to the nines" as we say in English.  Some of them - again most typically the younger women - are rather provocatively dressed.  It's so common as to go basically unnoticed.  Most are dressed tastefully but in a way that is clearly not the norm among Americans.

The Russian ladies' fashion sense is so different from the much-watched (and less than flattering) Wendy's commercial from the mid 1980s.  As perplexed as Dr. Stuckwisch was, I have to admit, I like the "pluck" of the stubborn girls in the stilettos.  Mrs. H. can click-clack with the best of them - though recovery from pregnancy sometimes renders favorite shoes no longer wearable.

As we continued our walk in the nice, hot sun, we were given free bottles of water, and also free bottles of a new Fanta drink - a grape soda - being marketed by a young guy on a skateboard.

We also visited the little Orthodox chapel of St. Nicolas - which marks the geographical center of the Russian Empire - especially poignant as this modern chapel openly sports an icon of Christ.  We visited a huge monument in the form of a humongous mural set in the midst of a park.

For dinner, we went to a nightclub that had live entertainment - a band singing jazz in English.  I don't know the name of the bar, as it is a pun based on abbreviations involving the Akademgorodok neighborhood's standing as a place of science and engineering.  I ordered what was meant to be Buffalo wings - but were not hot.  They were tasty though!  We stayed until about 11:15 pm.  Dan and Olga drank beer.  Natasha, our driver, did not drink.  I didn't feel like a beer, so I ended up with a tonic water (I had intended to get a ginger ale, but my order got lost in translation.  It was okay though.  We had a nice time.  Dan and I critiqued the singers - who tended to get better as the night wore on.  There was a father with young children with him dancing to the music - a sight that would typically be illegal in the States.  Smoking is also legal here.

As we left, it was still twilight out.  Olga and Natasha dropped us off at the seminary.  I was exhausted and crashed.

Here are all of my pictures from Day Four.

Sermon: Wednesday of Trinity 7 – 2011

7 August 2011 at Salem Lutheran Church, Gretna, LA

Text: Mark 8:1-9 (Gen 2:7-17, Rom 6:19-23)

In the name of + Jesus. Amen.

“How can one feed these people with bread here in this desolate place?”

This is a profound question the disciples ask.

And it is still important today. For even though it looks like we live in a land of plenty, of gardens, of grocery stores, and of restaurants, nevertheless, we live in a “desolate place.” The word literally means a desert, a wilderness. And this word is the very opposite of the first place we human beings lived, where we were created to live, where we should still be living: in a garden, where “out of the ground the Lord God made to spring up every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food.”

Until we rebelled against God and were expelled from the garden, no human being knew anything about want, about hunger, and ultimately, about death. For in the garden, there was no want, no hunger, and no death. Because there was no sin: “For the wages of sin is death.”

Our Lord Jesus understands the connection between hunger and death: “If I send them,” the crowds, “away hungry to their homes,” notes our Lord, “they will faint on the way.” In other words, the lack of food will cause hunger, which in turn will cause their bodies to fail.

To the vast majority of us Americans, hunger means being a little late for a meal. We sometimes will say: “I’m starving” when service at the restaurant is slow. But real starvation is something different, something horrific.

There is a famous picture that serves for us a sobering icon of death and the corrupted and savage nature of this fallen world. It is a tiny African girl, somewhere between baby and toddler. Her belly is distended from starvation. Her gravely weak head hangs on the ground in misery. Her mother is nowhere to be found. The ground around her is desolate and dusty, devoid of life. But what lurks behind her makes the point: a vulture, nearly as large as the child, watches and waits, knowing that death is inevitable.

There is a link between desolation, starvation, and death. And the link that binds them all is sin: “For the wages of sin…”

People starve and suffer for many reasons. African children die because of famine and natural disasters of weather. They die because of corrupt politicians and greedy overlords. They die because of indifference of people like us who think starvation is missing a dessert. They die because of their promiscuous fathers who contract AIDS and because of the ignorance of superstitions and false religions that hold women and children in contempt.

They die because of sin.

“How can one feed these people with bread here in this desolate place.”

And yet, dear friends, we too are a starving people. We are surrounded by big houses, big cars, big meals, big entertainment, and big wastes of the resources the Lord has entrusted us with – and we routinely starve ourselves of God’s Word and of His Sacraments.

But notice something, dear brothers and sisters, our Lord does not leave us to starve in this desolate place – though we certainly deserve to. For what makes us any less worthy than that little child of the fate of starvation, of death, of being watched by scavenging vultures? Why do we deserve to live here and not there? For in sin, we live in the same desolate place: our common fallen condition of sin, death, the devil, our flesh, the world, and of the want of communion with the God who long ago placed us in a “garden in Eden in the east.”

For the Lord Jesus Christ came to our desert, to be born among sinners, to be worshipped by sinners, to be baptized like a sinner, to be tempted by the devil in the stead of sinners, to be crucified for us poor miserable sinners, to rise from the grave as a victory on behalf of sinners – all to save sinners.

And as Jesus preaches to sinners in the desolate place, He does something else for sinners. Moved by “compassion for the crowd” He offers them a different kind of bread. “Having given thanks, He broke [the pieces of bread] and gave them to the disciples to set before the people, and they set them before the crowd.”

The desolation of sin is replaced by the restored garden of righteousness. The possibility that “they will faint on the way” is replaced by the certitude that “they ate and were satisfied.” The wages of our sin is replaced by the imputation of Jesus’ righteousness. Dear friends, death does not get the final say, for though as the holy apostle teaches us anew, “the wages of sin is death,” in light of this Living Bread from heaven, this eating that leads to satisfaction of body and soul, this life-giving Sacrament and life-bearing Word – he also proclaims to us here and now: “the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

“The free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Life is wrenched from death – even in desolate places like Africa and Gretna. Our fainting flesh is infused with satisfaction in body and soul by means of the forgiveness of the cross, the satisfaction of the Lord’s blood, the sharing in the Lord’s body, the miraculous work of the Spirit in the Word – bringing us to a garden of life that has no end!

To the question: “How can one feed these people with bread here in this desolate place?” we have the answer, dear friends: the Bread of Life come down from heaven! In Christ’s work, in Christ’s Word, in Christ’s Sacraments, in Christ’s recreation of the world anew as a garden of life, and in Christ’s communion that we share in this miraculous bread that is for us, a feast that never ends!

Thanks be to God, now and forever! Amen.

In the name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Trinity 7 and Confirmation Sunday – 2011

7 August 2011 at Salem Lutheran Church, Gretna, LA


Text: Mark 8:1-9 (Gen 2:7-17, Rom 6:19-23)

In the name of + Jesus. Amen.

Today is a monumental day in the life of our congregation and in the lives of these four young people who are being confirmed. And it isn’t so much because of Confirmation itself – which is not a sacrament or a rite commanded in the Bible (and in fact, was abolished by Martin Luther), but rather because these four children of God – Addison, Gavin, Kristen, and Raegan – will partake of the Lord’s body and blood for the first time today.

On this holy day in this holy place, these four sinners made holy by God’s Holy Word in Holy Baptism, will join us – the one Holy Church throughout the world in partaking of Holy Communion.

Of course, we Lutherans ultimately rejected Luther’s rejection of Confirmation, and it is a tradition that we uphold. For it is a good and fitting thing that God’s children of every age understand and confess the truths of God’s Word.

That truth is expressed in full in the readings of the Holy Word today.

We know that we are descended from Adam, who was made from the earth. We know that we lived in paradise and that “the tree of life was in the midst of the garden” – as well as a forbidden “tree of the knowledge of good and evil.” We know that the Lord had great plans for us, an eternal destiny of everlasting life, perfect harmony with nature, and unbroken communion with Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

And we also know, again from that same Holy Word of God, that “the Lord God commanded the man… ‘of the tree of knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die.”

And you shall surely die, dear brothers and sisters – from the oldest to the youngest, from the frailest to the most vigorous – even you Addison, Gavin, Kristen, and Raegan. You shall surely die.

And though we were not to know about good and evil, we have crossed that line. And so we must deal with good and evil, study the catechism, learn the Ten Commandments, and confess that we are poor miserable sinners, deserving of God’s wrath and punishment, because we, like Adam, have not kept the holy commandments.

And regarding that fruit for which we lusted, to which we were not entitled, by which we are all corrupted and mortal, St. Paul asks us: “But what fruit were you getting at that time from the things of which you were now ashamed? For the end of those things is death.” Indeed, God’s Word is true. This theme that we are sinners, that we are mortal, that we are at war against each other and at enmity against God Himself runs throughout Holy Scripture. We know it. We confess it. We live in that reality. And we can’t fix it.

“For the wages of sin is death,” says the holy apostle, and this is also God’s Word.

Dear confirmands and dear Christian children of every age: we know this. We cannot wiggle out of it. We can’t make excuses. We can’t lie our way out of it. It is the sad reality of our fallen human condition. And we know this for many reasons – the most obvious one being that we must attend funerals.

But, dear friends, St. Paul speaks of a way to become “slaves to righteousness” instead of to “impurity and to lawlessness.” He speaks of a way “leading to sanctification.” He has good news for us that although “the wages of sin is death” as we all know, there is a way out: “but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Again, “the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

For “In Christ” we overcome the death we deserve – even as He overcame the death He did not deserve, on the cross, by rising from the grave. And we receive this life that conquers death as a “free gift.” It is not for sale, it can’t be earned, and it cannot be promised in return for anything. It falls into our laps from above, just as fruits grow on a tree and are available for the eating.

Our Lord designed us to eat. He put us in a lush garden, a place where food literally appears from sunlight and water and the nutrient-bearing soil of the ground. Of course, in our fallen state, our food is not necessarily very good. It may bear blemishes. It rots. And we have to work to earn it. But nevertheless, the Lord still provides for us through the fruits of the earth and sea, and giving us the opportunity to work and earn a living – now that we no longer live in a garden of grace.

But, dear friends, we have a destiny to return to that garden of grace, to redeem our existence of death and replace it with everlasting life. Our tree of life is Christ’s cross, and the fruit of that tree is given to us week in and week out in the cup. The Lord’s body is our food and the Lord’s blood is our drink. He invites us to join in His undoing of sin and death and decay and to be rejuvenated with His righteousness and life and glory.

And that, dear confirmands, is why today is so important in your life.

Today is not a graduation, but the first day of your life of communing in the Lord’s body and blood – for the forgiveness of sins and the strengthening of your faith. This is not the last time you are to come here, but it is the first time for you to partake in the eternal feast. The Lord’s invitation is not for you to wear a robe once and have a few pictures only never to return, but rather for you to wear your baptismal robe of righteousness every day of your lives and feast continually on the Word and the Sacrament.

The Lord takes away our hunger for things that we need – both in this world and in eternity – by feeding us. And notice why the Lord feeds His people: “I have compassion on the crowd.” Our Lord knows what hunger is like, to be in poverty and want. He knows that we need not only bread for the stomach but also nourishment for the soul.

And notice what He does: “having given thanks, he broke them and gave them to the disciples to set before the people… And they ate and were satisfied.”

“Our Lord Jesus Christ, on the night when He was betrayed, took bread, and when He had given thanks, He broke it and gave it to the disciples and said: “Take eat; this is My body, which is given for you.”

And they ate and were satisfied. Satisfied and filled with righteousness and life, filled with peace with men and unity with God. And they shared this satisfaction with a world starving for divine grace and mercy.

And the very same blood that was required of Adam – that was spilled by the New Adam, our Lord Jesus, at the cross – that blood was put into a “cup after supper,” and “when He had given thanks, He gave it to them saying: “Drink of it, all of you; this cup is the new testament in My blood, which is shed for you for the forgiveness of sins.”

This is a pure gift from the Father who created us, a pure sacrifice of the Son who redeemed us, a pure communion from the Holy Spirit who sanctifies us. This blood comes from the same side of the same crucified Jesus whose pierced heart also issued water – unitedwith the baptismal invocation of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

And it is this baptism you confess today, dear confirmands!

And hear the Word of the Lord, as we will again, and as we do every time we gather around this altar in Holy Communion: “This do, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of Me.”

Your invitation to this altar is not for one time only. Nor is it limited to your lifetime according to the flesh. This invitation never ends. It transcends death. It is the bringer of life. It is your continual food and drink as children of God and reborn people to be refashioned in God’s perfect image through the Word.

Eat and drink! Hear the Word of the Lord! Receive this gift of righteousness! And live forever! That new life of communion and feeding on the Lord’s body for all eternity begins today, continues tomorrow, and the “free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord” – a life that never ends.

Amen.

In the name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Bonhoeffer on the Sign of the Cross

"Signabis te signo santae crucis. ("Sign yourself with the sign of the holy cross.")

     ~ Martin Luther, Small Catechism



Joel J. Miller discovers the sign of the cross through the writings of Lutheran theologian Rev. Dr. Dietrich Bonhoeffer as described in this blogpost.

The Truth About Our Economic Mess in Under 5 Minutes

My Siberian Adventure - Day 3 - June 29, 2011

Begin: Flying toward Moscow
Land in: Moscow, Russia (Domodedovo Airport)
Fly to: Novosibirsk, Russia (Tolmachevo Airport)
Drive to: Novosibirsk, Russia (The Lutheran Center)

At this point in space and time, the time zones blur along with the thin line that separates night and day.  I managed to steal a few brief naps contorted in a seat barely big enough to contain my frame.  It is morning as we approach Moscow - but my system has no clue what time it is.  The light is shining through the windows, however, and we are served a breakfast consisting of non-fat blueberry yogurt and a small cherry croissant.  I enjoy my little cup of coffee.

Elena has offered to look after me in Moscow.  I dug out Dan's instructions and went over them with her.  She confirmed that this is indeed the basic protocol, and assured me that she will make sure I get where I need to be.  We landed and began to deplane at Domodedovo.  I'm amazed to be in Moscow.  There is enough English signage not to be totally lost, but it is disorienting to be surrounded by the Russian language, written and spoken, almost exclusively.  Domodedovo is a formidable, busy, bustling, cosmopolitan place.  We were funneled into Passport Control, and we were separated there.  Elena motioned to me that she would wait for me and meet me after my interview.

I was called into the booth.  Unlike my many trips through Canadian and American Customs, I was not asked any questions.  I handed over my passport (with the visa attached).  I was handed a paper.  A green light on the gate lit up, the gate opened, and I went through.  The gate opened into the baggage area.  As promised, Elena was waiting for me.  She was happy and very encouraging.  She was excited to be back in Russia and looking forward to visiting her family.

It was strange that I did not know anyone here - except for Elena whom I had met only a few hours ago.  My traveling companion, Dan, was 1,750 miles away - and I have never actually met him.  Other than Dan (and Elena) I have never spoken with anyone in Russia - not counting the S7 agents I talked to.  I'm not worried, but it is a great feeling of loneliness to be so far from friends, culturally isolated, and unable to communicate.  Life as I knew it was thousands of miles and an ocean away.  I was really grateful to have Elena there!

We waited at the carousel, and she was very happy to see her bag.  She patiently waited with me as I waited for mine.  I waited so long I began to really believe it was lost.  But at last, there it was!  Elena led the way through a doorway.  I went to pass my bags through the x-ray machine, but Elena waved me through.  Nobody said anything.

Now my challenge was to find out if I had a ticket to Novosibirsk.  I headed to an S7 cashier, who in turn sent me to check-in.  The clerks have a habit of looking busy and ignoring you.  You have to basically walk up to them and engage them, or else they will ignore you and other people will walk past you to speak to the clerks.

I went to check-in, and the clerk was on the phone several times.  She spoke little English.  She sent me to the ticket counter.  Elena - still watching over me - assured me that they speak English at the ticket counter, and she headed off to currency exchange.

It turns out that the clerk did not speak English, nor did her colleague.  I managed to convey what I needed with gestures and paperwork.  I paid to change the itinerary - about $27,500 rubles - about $100.  I paid using my new Visa card, which did not seem to work.  After trying to scan the card two or three times, she left.  That is a sick feeling.  But after a while, she returned with a ticket.

I went back to the S7 check-in area, and Elena has returned, still watching over me.  She has already checked in.  This time, having a ticket in hand, I check my bag and am all set to go to Novosibirsk!

Elena wanted to eat, and insisted on paying.  I would have insisted on paying  (the very least I could do!), but only cash is accepted and I have no rubles.  The only restaurant in the area is Sbarro (spelled Сбарро).  Elena is ordering pizza, but is highly annoyed that the clerk is trying to do a "bait and switch."  She spoke angrily to the clerk, and then explained to me that this is common in Russia.  It seems to be a pet peeve of hers.  Food is already extraordinarily expensive in Moscow - as I was to learn three weeks later.  Meanwhile, we found a kiosk that sold chips and soft drinks.  Again, I offered to exchange some currency and pay - but Elena discouraged me from exchanging currency at the airport - especially on the first floor, as the exchange rate was not good.  She insisted on paying.  I had something that we should have in New Orleans, but don't: Lay's crab potato chips (spelled: краб) and a diet Pepsi.  We sat and ate.  I got more of my crash-course in Russian culture.

We went for a stroll.  You can tell that there is a transition going on with things becoming more westernized.  Technology is changing, but the attitudes of the people are slower to change.  Being a Russian who lives in the States, Elena's perspective is very interesting - especially considering that she was too young at the time of the Soviet implosion to remember Communism.  She is part of the post-Communist generation of Russians.

It was time to head toward our gates and go through security - which was very efficient.  Little blue plastic baggies are provided to place over your feet so that you don't have to walk around in your socks.  There is a "naked scanner," and there is no "opt out."  Elena went through the line a few people before me, and waited patiently for me as I gathered all of my stuff.  I was trying to hurry, but she told me to take my time.  She is set to leave about an hour before I am, so we head to her gate.  She let me use her cell phone to call the bishop.  I let him know that I was in Moscow, and, God willing, will soon be en route to Novosibirsk.  He assures me that he will be at the airport to pick me up just after midnight.

Elena is returning to Dulles Airport by the same flight on July 19.  I am returning on July 20.  We sat and chatted for a while longer, exchanged e-mail addresses, and took a couple pictures.  She was a real Godsend!  I thanked her for her kindness and asked if I could give her a blessing (she is a practicing Russian Orthodox Christian).  She is happy for me to pray for her.  Against the advice I received to blend in, I stood in a crowded Moscow airport, said a prayer, and traced the sign of the cross on her forehead.  Were this 30 years ago, I might have been arrested.  We said goodbye and she boarded.

I was now entirely on my own, but thanks to Elena, my level of comfort and confidence has increased.  I head to my own gate, and had time to send e-mail and a couple SnapYap messages to Grace and my dad.  My gate changed, and so I had to move.  It was no problem.  The information boards alternate between Latin and Cyrillic letters.  And in this airport, everything is subject to change at the last minute.  You just have to roll with it.  No problem!

At the gate, we were shuttled to the plane, a Globus Boeing 737-800 decked out in the trademarked garish green and red of S7 Airlines.

We took off only a few minutes behind schedule.

So far, this S7 flight was the most pleasant of all.  We are served juice (I seem to have had some kind of apple-grape blend, judging by the picture on the box) followed by a meal in a box.  It included a hot meat dish in a separate tin with a foil top.  I had chicken and pasta.  It was really very good!  The box had an empty little cup, two pieces of bread, some meats, cheeses, real butter, sugar, mustard, and a small dessert tart.  I kind of looked around to figure out how all this worked.  The quality of the food was way better than U.S. airline food.

I found out what the little cup was for.  We were offered a choice of tea (with an optional slice of lemon and/or milk) or coffee.  I had coffee.  It is a very rich blend, strong, and almost chocolaty.  It is "Jacobs."  I later learn that it is instant coffee - but it had so much milk in it, I couldn't really tell.

The staff spoke and understood English - though not with conversational fluency - I don't think so anyway.  They were friendly and professional - which I have been told is not always the case in post-Communist Russia.

Our arrival at Novosibirk's Tolmachevo Airport was delightfully uneventful, about 1:00 am local time (which, by the way, is 1:00 pm New Orleans time).  I got my baggage and waved to the bishop through the glass.  He was dressed in black clericals.  My bag arrived okay - though I noticed that it seemed a little wet on the outside.

I was greeted warmly by the bishop, and a stern-looking tall guy said nothing but took my bags.  We walked to the car.  I asked the other guy his name, and he said, in a strong Russian accent: "Ivan."  I asked the bishop if Dan were at the seminary.  Ivan and the bishop looked at each other.  "Maybe you should tell him about Father Daniel," said the bishop ominously.  Ivan started grinning.  "So you're Dan," I said to "Ivan" and shook his hand.  Dan had done a very convincing Russian accent.  He and the bishop had been conspiring to bribe the bag-check guard into arresting me as a joke, but they changed their minds.  Rascals.

The bishop drives a small Japanese import Toyota with the wheel on the right side - even though Russians drive on the right side of the road as we do.

He and Dan gave me the whirlwind tour between the airport, downtown Novosibirsk, and the seminary (i.e. the Lutheran Center).  It was a rather long drive.  We also talked about plans for sightseeing.  Novosibirsk was a jewel in the Communist crown - lots of monuments, etc.  A theater in the main square used to be a building set up for "political demonstrations" - which meant only pro-government rallies by the Party.  Non-Communists had to stay out in the cold.

I was put up in a cozy office (Father Pavel's study) on a cot.  They bought a new mattress for me (and a writing easel) from IKEA.  Dan is set up in the bishop's study on a futon.  I was given a brief tour of the building and keys to my room and to the shower.

This is the time of year when there is no hot water (which is public).  So the seminary has a little auxiliary water heater that does the job.  I discover, to my dismay, that my camera is missing - but I know that I had it in the bishop's car.  It is likely still there.  Hope so!

I went to bed.  My system is still trying to make sense of the time change.

Here are all my pictures from Day Three.

Leonidas and the Hero Factory

Was it wise to spend $25 to buy Leo (who is six) a Lego toy designed for assembly by nine- to sixteen-year-olds?

Well, it took him 48 minutes to complete the 104 pieces with no help other than the instructions.  So, that's what, half-a-buck a minute?  I might as well file for bankruptcy now...

Way to go, Leo!  Epic win!

Today, we are tourists!

One doesn't have to go halfway round the world to be a турист.

My friend Br. Latif Gaba introduced me to the word flâneur - which comes from the French verb flâner ("to stroll, saunter, lounge about") - a delightfully countercultural idea rooted in the fact that life should not consist merely of running from one exhausting errand to another, that one should slow down, enjoy oneself, and take in the sights - even in one's own home town.

Friday is my TDO (Theoretical Day Off) - and so Mrs. H. and I made good on a pledge to take Lionboy to one of his favorite hangouts (upon my return from Russia): The Audubon Insectarium.  We made it an outing, and didn't even use the car.  To embrace one's inner tourist (as well as deal with the heat and humidity of the Crescent City), a Hawaiian shirt is just the thing.  One should also sport headgear, be photographically equipped, and carry a backpack.

A backpack?

Indeed.  When you are a tourist, you need your stuff.  What kind of stuff?  Today, I carried a couple portable umbrellas, sunscreen, a hooded sweatshirt (for the brutally cold air conditioning), my Nook (for those times when one is simply compelled to read), and French and Russian dictionaries and phrasebooks (you just never know...).  Cargo pants are also a must - to carry one's still and video cameras, cell phone, keys, reading glasses, sunglasses, wallet, and PDA.  In visiting the Insectarium - which is a federally-owned building - one must leave behind one's Swiss Army Knife so as not to make people think you are planning on overthrowing the United States government with a toothpick or nail-file (who knew it was so easy?).  Besides, we wouldn't want to profile our guests and deny museum admission to Swiss soldiers with their suspiciously clean fingernails and unAmerican cheese with holes.  Those Swiss knives also include corkscrews.  And connect the dots with me, dear reader: wine bottles need corkscrews to open them, wine is drunk by French people, and French fries are now freedom flies - just so that we all know who to be afraid of, mais oui?

We strolled the four blocks to the ferry station and enjoyed the 15-minute ride across the Mississippi River to Canal Street in New Orleans.  From there, we ambled a few blocks up Canal to the Insectarium - which is actually inside the old U.S. Treasury building - which housed POWs during the War Between the States.  Beast Butler had an office there, and so it is fitting that the building now has displays of roaches, larvae, and bottom-feeders of all kinds.  But I digress...

Anyway, we had a lovely time at the Insectarium - which includes a small theater, an indoor Japanese butterfly garden, and very interesting and exotic displays of living and dead insects and arachnids.  There is a "cave" that children especially enjoy that simulates what it would be like to be an insect living underground - complete with a trapdoor spider that lunges out at you.  There is a huge ant colony, centipedes, millipedes, praying mantises, and a hatchery for newly-minted butterflies.  There are displays of local creatures - such as our doughty cockroaches and ubiquitous lovebugs.

We watched a huge yellow and black garden spider (argiope) devour a fly, and Miss Grace even got help identifying a species of larva that until today has proven a mystery.  A staff member held a tarantula for everyone to enjoy.  The room with mounted butterflies and beetles is a dazzling tour of the whole spectrum of color - and several displays even concede that there is "divine design" to the way insects are put together.  I suppose they only mean it figuratively, but whether intended or not, the truth is hard to deny when confronted with the intricacies of insects' (and other critters') existence and design.

We chose not to eat in the Insectarium's diner (which includes dishes made with insects), and headed off to the Arby's on Canal and Decatur.  Of course, it's not exactly New Orleans fare, but it is fast and close, and we had a rendezvous with the ferry.  We went upstairs where the view of Canal Street is magnificent.

Just as we left the museum as we were headed to Arby's, by pure chance, we met our very dear friend, Dr. Z.  Had we been five seconds earlier or later, we would have missed him striding by.  We always feel better after speaking with him.  He is one of the most delightful people we have ever met, and is literally a Godsend to us.  As soon as we left this providential meeting, we were strolling behind a couple with some scripture on their tee-shirts.  Deo gratias.

Taking us for (non-local) tourists, some visitors at the ferry station asked us what they could find on the other end of the ferry ride to Gretna.  We had the opportunity to direct them to some nice local restaurants. We returned home the same way we came, seeing the rain clouds moving in.  The ferry ride was windy and exhilarating.

So, our tour is over - but we have lots of pictures to serve as souvenirs of our excursion.  And you can scroll down to the end of this post for full embedded video goodness.

My Siberian Adventure - Day 2 - June 28, 2011

Begin: Leesburg, Virginia (Landsdowne Resort)
Drive to: Washington, DC (Dulles)
Fly toward: Moscow, Russia


I woke up in the hotel, hastily got ready, and went downstairs to meet up with Herbert and Klaus.


Klaus was not there, so Herbert and I met at the hotel restaurant for a buffet breakfast.  He and I had a pleasant chat about family, hometowns, work, language, and travel plans.  The food was very good and the service was professional.  Afterwards we went outside and found Klaus ready for our planned walk.

Now, when they invited me for a "walk," I figured we were looking at a half-hour stroll around the hotel followed by a beer - or something of that nature.  I think my European friends meant something different.  We started walking toward the river - which was the Potomac River.  As we walked down the paved trail, golf carts zoomed past.  A stern man on one of the carts - some kind of official - scolded us and told us we were not allowed to be there.  It was only for golfers.  My German friend dubbed him "The Marshall."  We asked him where the walking trail was, and he pointed us in the right direction.  He must have felt a little sorry for us, so he invited us to hop in the golf cart for a ride to the trail.  The Marshall ordered Klaus to put on his shoes (which were actually flip-flops which he had doffed) before climbing on the back of the cart.  As we sped past the hotel's impeccably manicured garden, my new friends chatted amiably in German.


The Marshall dropped us off about a half mile from the hotel on a gravel path at the edge of the woods.  Klaus then ditched the flip-flops and walked barefooted along the gravel.


The view emerged from behind the trees - the winding majestic river with jutting rocks connecting it to the craggy shore.  We ambled up the boulders and made our way to the river.  The sun was beating down on us.  Klaus rolled up his jeans and waded into the river.  Both pulled off their shirts, though were very modest about putting them back on when other people were walking around.

We soaked up the rays and chatted.


After lazing around for a while, we headed toward the trail which was marked by paint marks on the trees.  It was a typical nature trail, shady and leafy, birds chattering happily away.  


We continued our chat, though sometimes we just silently marched along. It was an interesting trail, with some small bridges, and little streams to cross, and some fallen trees with pathways cut into them to allow travelers to pass.  We kept up a swift pace - often led by the barefoot Klaus - who continued to scorn shoes regardless of the terrain: gravel, grass, leaves, rocks, water, concrete, or blacktop.

The winding river was on our right, and the golf course was on our left.  At one point, deep in the woods, I began to wonder if this were such a wise idea.  These guys could have been friends who lured me into the woods to rob me.  I suppressed this irrational thought, and continued the hike.

We eventually emerged in the middle of a wealthy subdivision: three casually-dressed middle-aged guys, one toting a backpack, another without shoes - strolling awkwardly along the McMansions.  We were kind of lost, and asked a young guy for directions to the hotel.  He did not seem to understand what hotel we meant, and his advice did not seem right.  His counsel was at odds with the instincts of our shoeless German officer.  Herbert and I trusted Klaus's opinion, and were rewarded by finding ourselves once again on the edge of the golf course, and soon made visual contact with the hotel.  We even saw the Marshall, still manning the golfcart and surveying his domain.  We ducked behind some trees hoping not to get in trouble for once more walking along the golf trail.


Our two hour hike concluded with a hefty incline.  We rewarded our efforts with soft drinks by the pool.


The guys went back to their rooms to shower.  I had a SnapYap session with Grace and Leo.  I headed downstairs to hang out with the guys and had some coffee.  Klaus reclined comfortably, barefoot in the overstuffed chair in the lobby.  Herbert later joined us, as did a fellow refugee, a college student from New Orleans named Sarah - whose father is a Loyola law professor who is teaching in Vienna.  


We all rode the shuttle together back to the United terminal.  We said goodbye and exchanged contact info.  I went to the line, to be moved to another line, directed to still another, and then one more.  Time began to get short.  I asked for an agent.  He initially told me point blank that I would miss my flight.  I protested that I had arrived two hours early - and he pulled me out of line to get attention from another agent.  My passport would not work in the self-serve kiosk.  I had to find another agent in this seething mass of international travelers, a chaotic mob speaking every imaginable language: men in turbans, women in Islamic garb, Africans, Asians, with a few Americans here and there.  With my plane set to leave in an hour, I still had no ticket and had yet to go through security.  My checked bag had already been checked the day before, and was presumably going to go with me to Moscow.


To complicate matters, the agent informed me that I was not booked on this flight (even though my paperwork said that I was) - but rather had been booked on a different flight to Frankfort with a Lufthansa connection to Moscow.  I begin to get the sinking feeling that I was headed back to the Landsdowne for another night while my bag would be on a whirlwind tour of Europe.  However, the agent somehow ironed things out.  I now had a boarding pass and my plane was actually boarding right at that moment.  I ran through the airport, got to the TSA line, and hurriedly dumped my things into the gray plastic tray.  The TSA agent told me that I had not done things correctly.  I managed to get over this obstacle, hurried through the metal detector, and ran to my gate - which was actually a shuttle to get to the gate itself.


I finally made it to the gate, which was swamped by young people in identical t-shirts boarding the plane.  I could not believe that I was actually boarding.  I was one of the very last to board.  A lady put some kind of a probe in my carry-on, took a reading, and motioned me aboard.  I am in Economy class on the B767.  My carry-on does not fit under the seat in front of me - my shoes and jacket barely do.


The flight is scheduled for 10 hours.  I have my Palm in my pocket (with several Bible versions) as well as my Moleskine to journal into.  I have the list of readings that I need to prepare my sermon.  I also have a pen.  I can barely fit in the seat - the middle of the middle - squished between two other people.  My carry-on is in the overhead bin.  The plane is packed to the gills.  Nevertheless, I try not to complain.  It could be worse.  Also, think of the miracle of human flight.  Like the comedian said: "You're sitting in a chair in the sky!"  


I listen to the bilingual announcements, and the Russian seems to be spoken very fast.  The spoken Russian sounds like the way New Yorkers speak English.  


I have instructions from Dan which he had previously phoned in to me from Novosibirsk - as he arrived on time.  Since Dan will not be there to guide me through the process, he explained all the procedures that I will need to do upon arrival, beginning with Passport Control.  It's quite a lot to keep in mind - which explains why the original plan was that we travel together.  This is going to be an adventure - especially since I don't speak Russian, and also considering that I still don;t know for sure if I have a plane ticket from Moscow to Novosibirsk.


The take-off is inexplicably delayed, but we finally begin our taxi down the runway, only to be recalled back because of a "hydraulics problem."  Another mechanical delay!  Neptune is grinning somewhere.  While grounded, I was able to call Grace and Leo and ask them to send my dad a message (as I was unable to get a phone call to complete back at the terminal).  


We were informed that the problem was only an indicator.  They expected a technician to cut a wire, and we would be up in ten minutes.  When the announcement was repeated in Russian, a lot of the Russians on the plane were laughing.  Way more than ten minutes elapsed.  Then we were told that we could not leave until the paperwork was completed.  One of my neighbors, a young Russian woman named Elena, exclaimed: "Bureaucrats!  Why can't they do that later?"  


It turns out that Elena was on her third flight of the day.  She is also flying on S7 out of Moscow and has offered to help me out at Domodedova Airport.  Finally, we have been cleared to go, and now we are once again grounded due to lightning.  Perhaps Zeus is now conspiring with Neptune.  And so we wait some more.  People unbuckle themselves and walk around the plane, chat on cellphones, and lounge about.  


After a two hour delay, we finally get into the air.  My seatmate Elena has an interesting story.  She is 23-years old, will be celebrating her birthday in Russia with her parents, has been married to an American farmer for six months, and thus lives in the U.S.  She speaks very good English, and is a city girl adapting to rural life in a foreign country.  She and her husband met online, and met for the first time in person in Germany.  She has traveled internationally quite a bit, and speaks German.  She is headed to her childhood home of Astrakhan - her first visit since the wedding.  I told her I was headed to Novosibirsk, and she explained that she was born and grew up there, as her parents studied there.


We are both skeptical that our baggage will make it to Domodedova.  For all I know, my bag may already be in Frankfurt.  The long wait has made us hungry.  Once again, the bags of trail mix came to the rescue.  I'm able to share with my neighbors.


Elena was in a chatty mood, and happily spoke about Russia, Siberia, and cultural differences.  She spoke about the Russian language, and gave me tips for dealing with the airport.  She was very helpful and graciously fielded questions from me.


The plane has a small interactive map in the headrests in front of each passenger showing where we are, along with our airspeed, altitude, temperature outside, and estimated remaining time in the trip.  The flight is routed just off the coast of Greenland, over Iceland, near Britain, over Scandinavia, and from there to Russia.  It is a 10-hour flight that became a 12-hour flight due to the delays.

Sleeping was next to impossible.  I tossed and turned in my cramped quarters.  Also, the students onboard were noisy.  Eventually, we did get a decent meal: ravioli and cheese.  By the time the plane was over Iceland, it was becoming daylight again.  It was disorienting.  Sleep was a series of shallow and brief naps.  The map could be changed into a little TV screen with movies and TV shows - but my headphones did not work.  I just did my best to doze.  


Here are all of my pictures from Day Two.