The Old Church.

I swing my tightly packed Crumpler messenger bag to the front as I attempt to squeeze out of the tightly packed bus. With a small shove, the Russian morning air greets me with a gust. I remove my ear buds as I greet Mike with a quick “Privet” and we’re off on a small adventure. Today I will be taking photographs for the BestSemester magazine at a local Russian Orthodox church. 

Nizhnii Novgorod is filled with Russian Orthodox churches; you can always see towers topped with crosses at the sky line. But the Church of the Resurrection is different. During the Soviet Era, this church was converted into a bread factory. Since the fall of communism, the ordinary heros of Nizhnii Novgorod have spent endless hours attempting to restore this holy building back to it’s pre-Soviet state. 

Three of the American students (Mike, David, and Jeremiah) spend their Friday mornings removing rubble, tearing down tiles, and heaving metal scraps on the ever-growing pile. They work amongst the church members, and they are blessed with a large lunch prepared by a local church member. This lunch is always topped by homemade apple jam. 

This Friday morning, I accompanied the American men to the church site. There we were met by Nikoli, leader of the church coalition. He immediately asks me if I speak any Russian, to my demise I respond with, “Only a little bit.” Dear old Nikoli then proceeds to spout off in the beautiful Russian tongue. I attempt to tell him that I am a journalist for a magazine in the United States. The boys were laughing as they were taking off their winter coats. They put on their blue work coats and slipped on their previously white work gloves. Nikoli explains to me that the boys will work, and he will show me around the church site. 

Nikoli grabs his cane, and checks his work coat pocket for his keys. As he locks the door, his mouth starts rattling off in Russian. My brain has no chance in survival. As he shows me around the building, my ears make an effort to stay attentive to all he has to say. Often times I simply nod or affirm him with a simple “Ahhh.” 

First, Nikoli shows me to a brand new building that easily blends in with the Nizhnii skyline. Sunday school is taught in one room, and in the adjacent room is a piano where the church community congregates for choir practice. Nikoli shows me the artwork made in Sunday school. My hands graze over the dried paint and wax; my heart is happy knowing that Russian life is being influenced by the church. Little ones are growing up learning about God’s love for them. 

After a long monologue by Nikoli about children, he leads me back into the daylight. He points to the old windows of the church and explains that the Soviets covered them up. He then pulls my hand to guide me towards the inside of the church. 

Inside the first door of the church, the smell of must and dirt invades my nostrils. The church is still very much under construction even though communism has been demolished for seventeen years. I grab a head scarf as we enter the second door of the  old church. As my eyes adjust to the light, I see a plethora of smaller icons covering the walls as if these religious paintings were wallpaper. These humble icons look as though they once belonged in someone’s home. Nikoli shows me his favorite, and I am captivated by the dedication of the jewel incrusted painting of Jesus. We stand there for a moment in reverence of our God. Two believers simply delighted by the glory of our God. We make eye contact after a few minutes and Nikoli says, “Paidom?” I nod yes as we leave the place of worship. I hastily leave my head scarf at the door as I run after Nikoli who has apparently been moved by the Spirit. 

Once outside, Nikoli explains to me that his grandfather was the last head priest of this beautiful church before the Soviets took over. Nikoli’s grandfather refused to simply hand the church over to the Soviets, and he was killed on the church soil as the Soviets claimed their new grounds. 

We slowly trek around the broken building. He shows me old photos of the church. How could the Soviets do such a thing?The Church of the Resurrection was one of the most beautiful churches in all of Nizhnii Novgorod, and to demand that the steeples be broken off so that bread could be manufactured on this holy ground is a baffling thought to me. But I guess that’s what the Soviets did--they were not just an atheist organization; they spent their days actively fighting against God. 

Nikoli leaves me at the work entrance where I take photos of the fellas, the work their doing, and the endless work that is yet to be done.  I scamper around the church site taking snap shots as fast as my camera could take them. I am overwhelmed by the legacy of such a place. 

Later I am beckoned to a humble lunch that fills my gluten-free belly, and Nikoli pulls out a small white tub that contains the best jam my tongue has ever tasted--pumpkin and orange jam. Holy Smokes. I took a spoon to that small tub and grinned as my taste buds were in heaven. We drank tea and polished off the jam. 

As we’re walking out, Harley (our program director) comes into view. He came to simply spend time with us. Thank goodness a translator showed up because my brain was completely dead. 

Nikoli requests a few moments of our time. How could you say no to such a wonderful man? Prepared to work, we grant his request as we walk towards a pile of rubble. He dodges the rubble and walks towards a door that I never noticed before. Nikoli explains that this used to be the grand bell tower. The keys make a small jingle as he unlocks the door. He pushes open the door and light floods in. All I see is a winding staircase that ends in complete darkness. We carefully walk up the stairs to the top where Nikoli unlocks yet another door. Light floods in. Nikoli tells us to be careful where we stand, and I realize he’s led us to the roof of the church. 

Atop the church, I felt like I could see the ends of the earth. Here Nikoli tells us a little more of the church history; I try and listen but my heart was so swept up in the beauty, that I could barely stand still. The sun glistened off the Oka river, and the Orthodox cross sparkled amongst the blue sky. I felt so close to heaven. 

A bit later we trekked down the dark twirling staircase and found light at the bottom. The fellas shed their work coats and gloves; I put away my camera and packed up my bag. I thanked Nikoli for his kindness, and the Americans walked home in the sunshine with happy hearts. 

God is good, even in the midst destruction.