Friday, October 19, 2007
St. Petersburg is a large, 300 year-old city on the 60-degree latitude. It's chilly here, but not as windy as Moscow was. Today we drove out of the city, into the town of Pushkin, and visited the Catherine Palace (baroque opulence). This was the Summer Palace, really an exclusive tsar village full of palaces and their formal gardens, until the 1917 revolution.

All the visitors and palace staff wear plastic booties over their shoes to protect the inlaid wooden floors. The Catherine Palace is still being restored millimeter by millimeter after having been blown up and/or burnt by the Nazis. During the siege of St. Petersburg, more than a million people starved to death, and had no heat or utilities during the Russian winters.  

That afternoon, we drove through the city with a fantastic tour guide pointing out buildings and monuments, and we shopped at a touristy bazaar for souvenirs like the famous Russian katusha dolls, the wooden doll-within-a-doll series, and little gifts to take home to family and house-sitters. The restaurant lunch in Pushkin was outstanding. They served the meal in courses: salad (tomatoes, cucumbers, yellow and red sweet peppers, herbs, lemon juice, cream cheese cubes), mushroom soup (clear vegetable broth, not cream), bread, crusty potatoes, and a pancake with jam or sour cream filling. 

While the bus returned to the hotel, the sun was about 15 minutes from setting. Mauri started singing some hymns, and repeating Bible verses from memory. The busload joined in the little worship service. Some people walked a few yards down the street and had Chinese food for the evening, and a few of us stayed in to relax (and maybe recover) and wind down for the night.

Saturday, October 20, 2007
The bus arrived at the 10:00 appointed time, to take us to the St. Petersburg Seventh-day Adventist church. This is the church that was paid for and built by the congregation of Loma Linda University Church. It’s light and airy, with padded wooden chairs arranged in a semi-circular fashion. The baptistery is sunk into the floor of the stage. After a 15-minute speech in Russian, the people gathered for classes around the sanctuary. There was an English-language class, too, which grew by about 23 people that day!

During the worship service, our group sang “Amazing Grace” and “Lift Up the Trumpet” in English, and I played “How Great Thou Art” on the piano in the style of Rachmaninov’s Prelude in G minor (the Russian composer is buried in St. Petersburg). Mauri Bascom had the sermon time, and Valery Ivanov translated for him. As I heard the English phrases, I watched the Russian faces as they heard the translation. They were captivated by the story Mauri told from John 4, the Samaritan woman at the well. Mauri said that Jesus used the illustration of water because it’s something we all know and understand, and it’s universally important to life on earth. He said that God’s grace is the same: it’s everywhere, and it’s for everyone.

I asked Valery what the feeling was from the Russian people, and he replied that their usual message is about Christian lifestyle: what to do and what not to do. So hearing a message about God freely offering an eternal, loving, saving relationship with Him is water to the thirsty.

The church provided lunch for us (vegetable soup, bread, herring, tea biscuits, and fruits), then the bus took us to visit the Hermitage and Winter Palace. This is the most-famous place in St. Petersburg. Our guide, the same one we had yesterday, gave us a highlights tour, because if one were to truly appreciate all the art works in the vast palace/museum, it would take weeks and months. We had less than three hours. Many of the paintings we were led to were of a religious nature, including the crucifixion of Peter, the sacrifice of Isaac, the prodigal son, nativity scenes, and some Madonnas.

Two weeks ago, on our evangelism trip through Ukraine, I dipped my toes in the Black Sea. Since we were now on the Gulf of Finland, part of the Baltic Sea, I asked if we could dip our toes in the chilled waters here. The others chimed in that they wanted that, too. Our guide was diplomatic and professional enough not to make a face at our eccentric request. She directed the bus driver to a place where there are steps down to the rocky shingle from the sea wall. The bus poured out its passengers, and we all took turns taking photos of each other. So there we are in our church clothes, with coats and scarves, gloves and hats, and bare feet hastily dipped in the frigid water, as the sun lowers behind us. At least it wasn’t the Polar Bear Plunge, which several countries and communities have taken to doing on New Years Day: running into the North Sea, an icy fjord, or the Great Lakes in just a swimsuit. Because that’s just crazy!

Saturday evening was the time to repack our suitcases, and redistribute the weight preparatory to our early-morning departure.

Sunday, October 21, 2007
The alarm went off at 2:10 a.m., because the bus was taking the whole group to the St. Petersburg airport at 3:00 a.m. Oi vei. I didn’t even get two hours of sleep. Remember that our hotel was still under construction? I don’t think that’s supposed to mean the night shift on the weekend! I was on the fourth floor, and there was a construction crew working, hammering, sawing, talking, on the fifth floor. Hammering at 11:15! I got dressed again (after my shower), took my travel alarm up with me, and demanded in English that they cease the noise. “It’s 11:30 at night, and this is a hotel, where people need to sleep!” I pantomimed sleeping, and pointed at the time on the clock. I went back downstairs, changed back to my nightgown, and listened to them work until at least 12:30—but now they at least tried to muffle the hammering.

Someone else on the bus, who’d been on a lower floor, said she’d heard no construction, probably because someone out in the street was playing their car radio loudly and singing along until all hours. I don’t know: hotels and sleep should go together.

The majority of the group was flying out on 5:30 and 6:00 flights, so they immediately went through security into the departure lounge, and presumably flew off to European layovers and flight changes in Frankfurt, Amsterdam, and Paris. Only Roland Smith and I had late-afternoon flights, he to Paris and I to London. So Valery stayed with us until late morning, in the airport lobby area. We dozed on the chairs, snacked on food we’d brought, read books or newspapers, and people-watched. Valery left before noon, to prepare for his travel that evening, a train back to Moscow.

I kept a personal journal of the week for myself, but didn’t intend to file a report for The Quiet Hour’s website until one of my tour-mates wrote and asked for it. She said that going on these evangelism trips is expensive in both time and money, and she appreciates the extension-tour, even with its extra cost, as a way to have a little personal reward and some memories to cherish.

We discovered needs and were blessed to help answer them. We learned that giving is not a duty, but a joy and privilege. We were reminded that needs and desires are not the same, and remembered priorities. We noted the differences in culture, and were well-behaved enough to submit to that culture’s preferences and customs.

In addition, we were able to make friends and do a little bonding with evangelists who were ministering at sites far away from ours. These are people with ready-made hearts for ministry and evangelism, so they have common goals and interests already. Then throw them together in a tiny sleeper compartment for 14 hours, give them the opportunity to talk of their faraway families or long-ago experiences, or have them mix up some elbow grease for hauling heavy luggage: you get a nice recipe for quality, lasting friendships.