Bright morning rays drift in through the tall, rectangular windows along the perimeter of the sanctuary. High above, in the center of the ceiling, a single opening directs a stream of light onto the face of a suited man in the elders’ choir who calmly closes his eyes in response. Mothers and fathers sit their families along wooden pews carefully positioned into the shape of a V facing the pulpit.
Pastor Pëtr Tkachuk — a former youth mentor in Belarus — begins his most populated sermon of the week, the gentle hum of the Russian language filling the room. Men and women bow their heads in prayer, their children following suit. Neatly fastened around the heads of wives, sheer sashes — a sign to the angels and obedience to one’s husband — sweep the women’s hair away from their faces. Older children tend to the younger, calming their cries and restlessness by gently rocking carriages back and forth along the aisle.
It is 10 a.m. Sunday and not a single empty seat remains in Mount Crawford’s First Russian Baptist Church. It is not uncommon for the church to be crowded, and today is no exception; the hall is filled to capacity with about 700 people.
Ushers scramble to arrange enough chairs for the people standing in the foyer just beyond the doors of the main hall. Others are making sure everyone can understand the service, which is spoken entirely in Russian, by providing listening devices, which transmit a live translation from the in-house sound studio. The church welcomes visitors of all backgrounds to listen to the word of God through sermons, song and poetry.
In its current location since 2001, the church and local Russian Baptists are finding it difficult to house their increasing population. Before moving to Mount Crawford they were welcomed to practice at both the West Side Baptist Church and the former Nazarene Church in Harrisonburg. But before that, a church was virtually nonexistent.
A Step Backward
CHURCH FOUNDER NIKOLAI Bondaruk immigrated to the United States in 1989 from Brest, Belarus. Like many Russian immigrants, Bondaruk was escaping religious persecution in communist Russia. Accompanied by only a few family members, Bondaruk, a devout Christian, found that although he was free to practice religion in America, he had no place to do it.
Tkachuk knew Bondaruk from Belarus and in 1994, he too brought his family to the United States, settling first in Los Angeles. “Even in the 1980s and early ’90s, there was almost no religious freedom in Russia,” Tkachuk says. Conditions had improved from previous decades, but practicing his religion was still difficult, even dangerous.
Christians — or anyone who practiced religion — were more than just looked down upon in communist Russia, Tkachuk explains. They were removed from public schools, persecuted, jailed and killed because of the idea that people who believed in a God were unrealistic. “Lots of Christians — they got awesome marks and were first in their class — they were just kicked out and didn’t receive any honors just because [the government] thought someone who believed in God was crazy.”
It didn’t stop at the public schools either. At the university level, students were required to take a class in practical atheism. “And if you in any way disagreed with that, there was no way you could pass,” Tkachuk says.
Because of these regulations — and ultimately fear — many people left the church. But there also were those who refused. “Even though many people were exiled into the colder regions or jailed or some people were killed, all this just brought the church much closer together,” says Tkachuk.
History
DR. MARY LOUISE Loe, professor of Russian history at James Madison University, says, “When the Soviet Union was formed and the Bolsheviks took power in November 1917, they were opposed to religion. They were Marxists,” she explains. “Their argument was that religion was the opium of the people.”
The Soviet Union was a multinational, multi-religious empire, so virtually every religion in the world was represented there, Loe explains. During this time, there was a lot of resistance to the official atheism of the government and the Communist Party. People had to practice their religion secretly, underground. “People knew that if they would follow religion they would be in trouble,” she says. “If you wanted to succeed in society in the Soviet Union, you had better not be religious.”
In the early 1970s, Loe was studying in Russia and visited churches to see what they were like. “There were always one or two guys in their dark black coats standing there taking down names to be sure that people were intimidated. They were very visible. They wanted you to know they were there,” she says, “as spies.”
When the Soviet Union began breaking up in the late 1980s, immigration to the United States exploded. The United States has always been a refuge for people persecuted for religious as well as other reasons and opened its borders. “The bottom line was that many people wanted to get out because it was such a repressive society,” Loe says. The Soviet Union did not allow people to emigrate. With the disintegration of the Soviet Union, it became legal and much easier for people to leave, which is how people like Bondaruk and Tkachuk came to America. “This is a pretty area and a refugee center,” Loe says, “which explains why so many immigrants settle here.”
Keeping the Faith
THE FIRST RUSSIAN Baptist Church has grown rapidly since its beginnings, with the membership of baptized members growing to 469 as of 2006.
But this number does not include all people who attend church here.
“These are members who live in this area and go to church as often as possible,” Tkachuk explains. “Actually being a member of the church is looked upon pretty strictly, because you actually have to serve God in the church. It keeps your faith. It strengthens your faith this way.”
Baptism occurs after the age of 16, so people are make a conscious decision to participate and be a member of the church. Even before being baptized, one must first be saved.
“Then people would have to see a change in your life,” Tkachuk says. “You would have to turn around — 180 degrees,” and make a commitment to change.
Molodezh
TO TKACHUK, FAITH is more than just religion. “Faith is something deep,” Tkachuk begins. “It’s like the sun when we can’t see it behind the clouds, so instead we feel the warmth. It’s something real and it shows up in our lives. One great thing about believing and about the Bible is that it actually answers all our questions about faith, and it shows the purpose in life. Lots of people are living out there without a purpose, and that actually gives a lot of meaning to what we do here; which is why we live like we do. We actually feel the change, we feel the faith and feel the effect it has in our daily lives. This is why a lot of people live like they do — they have such a deep faith.”
Vladimir Vilchinsky, another pastor at the church, is living proof of such deep faith. Also from Brest, Vilchinsky spent one term — or three and a half years — in jail for his beliefs, says Tkachuk. But he wasn’t alone. His wife also served time in jail, and his daughter, who taught Sunday school and worked at children’s camps, served two jail terms for her faith. During her second jail term, she was asked to become an informant to the church. They told her she would remain in jail until she gave in. “But that never happened,” Tkachuk says.
Reaching Out
SUNDAY SERVICES AT the First Russian Baptist Church seem to be dominated by children. The church estimates there are about 240 children under the age of 14. Why the growing number of children? Tkachuk says the answer can be found in the Bible.
“The Bible says that children are a gift from God. When you have gifts, you want more of them. They are something special.”
The presence of so many children gives hope to the future of the church. Aside from brushing up on their Russian each week, children actively participate in many programs the church has to offer, such as youth prayer and musical ensembles that practice many evenings during the week. The youth also travel to two local retirement homes monthly and are helping to start a church in Richmond.
Church member and youth leader Daniel Kvitko says there is a large Russian community in Richmond, but right now, “They don’t go to church. They are nonbelievers.”
Starting in April, church members began traveling to Richmond to spread the word of God. “We are hoping it will turn into a little group and ultimately a church in that area,” Kvitko says. “If it is God’s will, then it will be so.”
The church also currently supports eight missionaries and last year spent $50,000 toward their missionary work. “That is money that is being spent building churches somewhere. That is money that is going toward helping our people,” Tkachuk says.
One of the more significant programs led by the church is their summer visits to orphanages in Russia. The oldest of five children, Tkachuk’s son Peter, an influential youth member within the church, explains the need to bring God to them.
“Right now, in all the freedom we have, there are three times as many orphans as there were at the end of the Second World War,” Peter Tkachuk says. Since these orphans have had no positive influences growing up, poor habits begin early. “Kids smoke and steal like crazy, but that all turns around when these people come and tell them about God.”
Kvitko has made two trips to visit the orphans in Russia. “The goal of the trips was to get acquainted with them and show them that there is an out of this life,” he says. “Last summer we did a car wash and raised a couple thousand dollars to help those who would want to go. We’re hoping that this summer we have a good amount of people. We’re going to do another fund raiser, hopefully to assist those who are willing and have the desire [to go].”
Benediction
TKACHUK, THOUGH PASTER of the church, must maintain a side job to support his family, and he does so by working for SK Construction in Harrisonburg. The church does not believe in paying a pastor, which is a tradition linked back to communist Russia; if pastors did not have other jobs, they would be punished for not helping the party.
Although the church may not be ready to support a full-time pastor, they have made steps toward accepting changes in technology. The church youth hosts a Web site — Molodezh.com (the Russian word for youth) — on which young people can communicate and share experiences. The youth also help with the sound room in the church, which provides the synchronous service translation.
Kvitko takes care of the majority of the technology for the church, including maintaining the Web site and translating many of the church services. “We intermingle the Web site with the church,” he says. “We offer live broadcasts and we offer archival services of the sermons and of the services. It doesn’t have just one specific goal, it’s more of a place — a community — where people can take part in discussions on the forum, share photo galleries, articles and so forth.”
“It’s all about reaching out,” Tkachuk says. “There are a lot of Russian people out there, and they don’t know God. We try to bring people closer to God by bringing God to them so He can draw them in and change them. No one can change like Him, right?”
As people kneel to pray one last time before going their separate ways, a calm comes over the church. The distant voice of a pastor can be heard, but he is only playing a supporting role; folded hands and bowed heads are front and center.
“Amen.”
The morning service comes to a close, but families are in no hurry to file out of the hall. Friends greet each other with kisses, and children race through the pews to join their playmates. The light that shone in from the ceiling just two hours ago has shifted from the choir steps to the center of the church.
The service has ended, but the faith never stops.
