Coming to America

Coming to America, I was not ecstatic about serving a Methodist church. I did not want to serve self-centered and self-loving American Methodists. I related well to Jonah, who did not want to preach repentance to the Northern Kingdom.

American Methodism, unlike Methodism in Eurasia, was far too distant from repentance and was in decline. I missed my sacrificial church members from Yekaterinburg, Russia.

But when it comes to small local churches I served in Kansas City, Edwardsville, and Raytown, God helped me to see my ministry in a different light after the lesson that I got in an old Kansas City house that was turned into a nuclear shelter in fear of a Soviet-era nuclear threat. The owner of the house died leaving behind tons of rotten food and bottled water stored in a tunnel under the house. It was tragic to spent a life for such obsession. But it was even more tragic to know that my country was to blame.

My new in-law Pat Oden told me once how, as a little boy, he spent many hours under the school desk during air-aid drills. We both joyfully agreed that ordinary people can find ways to communicate sooner, if not for their governments' manipulation

It might sound ambitious, but standing in front of that old house, I clearly sensed that I was brought to America by God to pay my country’s debt, even if I served in a tiny community. It was not about saving the church from decline, but about the fear and hatred that needed to be healed. Trust needed to be restored. Americans were surprised to hear that people in my country did not think about them as their enemies. I shared stories of the Russian World War II veterans, who always spoke about American soldiers and their meeting on the Elbe with excitement. 

I had to tell the story of God’s work in the world to bring peace and reconciliation to those who were never given a chance to express their anger over a childhood spent under school desks.