April 2004
Dear Friends,
On March 6th Harold Kurtz and I caught the red eye fly leaving
Moscow’s Vnukovo airport at 2:25 a.m. to fly to Novi Urengoi.
Our flight was delayed by 40 minutes, and the morning light came
early as we flew east and north across the Ural mountains that
mark the boundary between Russia and Siberia. As our plane descended
to the airport I could see what looked like tiny frozen rivulets
gracefully winding their way through sparse groves of miniature
pine tree on a seemingly endless blanket of pure white snow. This
idyllic picture was short lived. We stepped out of the airplane
into the harsh chill of a windy Siberian morning. It was 25 degrees
below zerl centigrade. But our host, Taras Tkachenko, coordinator
for the mission among the unreached peoples in Yamal, and his
wife Alyona told us that this was warm weather. Later that evening
Alyona took us out for a walk in it as she pulled her one and
a half year old son Timosh on a little sled. She told us “We
never miss a chance to go for a walk on a warm day like this!”
Harold and I knew we were in for an adventure.
On Sunday night, March 7, we left Novi Urengoi about 9:00 p.m.for
a trip to Stari Urengoi and then on across the tundra to Tazovski
and Gazsale on a winter road, which at some places is no more
than sand strewn over the swampland, but which in the winter is
frozen and packed down, making it passable when the snowdrifts
are removed. Tazovski and Gazsale are the points furthest north
to which our Russian Baptist partners have sent missionaries.
Our trip was calculated to take “at least six hours, if
things go well.” Travel times in this part of the world
are always expressed in such terms, because conditions are unpredictable.
The weather was getting colder and the wind picking up.
We arrived in Stari Urengoi at 11 p.m. and stopped for a cup
of hot tea and a snack at Stepan Damyan’s apartment on the
top floor of a creaky, two-story wooden structure. All seven of
his children were asleep, but his wife and two visiting missionaries
were awake and cheerful as they treated us to tea in the bright
kitchen. Stepan is the pastor of the local Baptist church in Stari
Urengoi. We made our journey in his little Japanese station wagon.
We got back on the road at midnight for the more difficult part
of the journey. Before leaving Stari Urengoi Stepan and Taras
filled the car up with gas. At this time of year, you don’t
turn off the engine of your car when you fill it up. It gets too
cold, too fast. People leave their cars running out on the street
when they go into a store or make a visit to a friend’s
house for an hour or two. Whereas one would never leave a car
unlocked with the keys in it here in Moscow, in the north it’s
considered safe and a matter of honor that people will not steal
a car in the winter. Taras and Stepan filled up a 60-liter tank
with gas and put it in the back of the car, telling us that there
were no gas stations in the places we were headed to, so it’s
best to take gas for the return journey. (This gas tank leaked
on my bag and we have not been able to get the smell completely
out of it!)
Heading north toward the Arctic Circle, we came to an oil drilling
area where Russian federal agents check the passports of all who
enter and exit. Looking at the date of birth in Harold Kurtz’s
passport, March 19, 1924, the official commented “This guy
should be sitting at home by the wood stove!” As our driver
and friend Zoya in Moscow commented the day before, “Not
many Russians make the trip to Siberia in the winter at age 80,
let alone Americans.”
The trip across the tundra at night was difficult. It was very
cold in the car, even with the heat running continuously as the
wind continued to pick up and the temperature fell. About 4:45
in the morning we got stuck in a snow drift. Taras and I got out
of the car to push it free. A little past 5:00 a.m., Stepan stopped
the car, saying he thought we had a flat tire. His suspicion proved
true. He and Taras went to work changing the tire. I was amazed
at how quickly Taras and Stepan working in the dark, at 40 degrees
below zero, removed the spare tire from underneath the back of
the car and changed the flat. They called me out to help lift
up the car in order to get the jack in place. After just a couple
minutes outside in this penetrating cold, in spite of long underwear,
snow jacket, gloves, scarf and hat, my bones were shivering when
I got back into the warm car. When Stepan got in he had a little
white spot on his nose, a hint of frostbite. But the tire was
changed and we moved on our way.
Around 6:00 a.m. we came to a spot where the howling winds had
caused drifts to cover the road. Two large trucks were immobilized
by the snow at the side of the road. Soon we too were stuck. Fortunately,
the big trucks the oil companies send out travel this road day
and night. A great Ural snow tractor appeared within half an hour,
and using a thick steel cable (because the nylon rope we produced
snapped in two) pulled us free. We were on our way again before
seven.
We arrived in Tazovski on Monday, March 8 at 7:24 in the morning.
Harold, Stepan, and Taras aroused me from a state of dozing to
direct my gaze outside the car window, but the window was completely
covered with frost so I saw nothing but white. The little wooden
house I saw when we got outside the car serves both at the Baptist
church and as home to the missionary pastor, Sergei Andreev, who
serves in Tazovski. I cannot express to you how glad we were to
walk into that warm house. Sitting down with the others on a couch,
I recalled the words of Psalm 107 “Some wandered in deserts
wastes, finding no way to a city to dwell in….Then they
cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he delivered them from
their distress; he led them by a straight way, till they found
a city to dwell in. Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast
love, for his wonderful works to the sons of men!” We were
invited to a breakfast of hot borscht, tea, dark bread, and locally
made blueberry preserves. How good that hot, fresh food tasted!
We warmed up for a whole hour then went to bed till the early
afternoon.
Late that afternoon Harold and I gathered Taras, Stepan, and
the two missionaries working in that area, Oleg Chepak and Sergei
Andreev, in one of the back rooms of that house to discuss their
strategy for reaching the Nensi people with the gospel. Harold
shared with these young men many of his experiences as a missionary
working among unreached people groups in Ethiopia. He told them
“The first ten years of my work in Ethiopia were wasted
because I went about things the wrong way.” We talked for
about two hours with Harold telling stories, leading a discussion
about what the kingdom of God might look like among the Nensi
people and the young missionaries asking him questions. They told
what had been done to reach out to the Nensi people. Toward the
end of the discussion one of the missionaries got out a photo
album showing how they had shown the Jesus film in the teepee
village, and how at Christmas they had distributed gifts to children.
But Harold told them “That’s not enough. That’s
only preparation. We’ve been coming up here for four years
and we keeping hearing about preparation. Until you show me pictures
of Nensi people in a teepee leading worship for other Nensi people,
singing songs and praying to Jesus in the Nensi language, I will
not be satisfied. If we do not see this, then we will have failed
in our mission to the Nensi people. If you don’t bring this
about, who will?” Oleg Chepak, the missionary from Gazsale,
who had participated in this discussion with wide-eyed enthusiasm
said “Harold, God gave you ten years to make all those mistakes
in Ethiopia. For me this is all like the Reformation of Martin
Luther—and I am hearing it for the first time tonight,
but I don’t think I can get it all in just one night!”
Harold smiled and acknowledged that he understood and we brought
our meeting to a close.
The next day we drove to Gazsale where Oleg and his wife and
their little son David live. The wooden buildings of that settlement
are weatherbeaten and gray. If they were once painted, the paint
has long since worn off. These buildings with creaky, uneven floors,
which were originally built for temporary use, have become a permanent
fixture in these northern settlements.
In Gazsale we met with a Nensi man named Sasha who has been attending
the church Oleg leads. But Sasha, who believes in Jesus, has a
problem with alcohol, as do many of the Nensi people. Sasha is
about 50 years old. His mother gave birth to him when the tribe
was migrating north for the summer. He grew up on the tundra observing
the traditional Nensi practices of sacrificing reindeer to the
one high God Num Vesiku, “the old man of heaven.”
We had heard from Oleg that Sasha finds it difficult to pray to
God in the Russian language. So we asked him whether when he prayed
he spoke to Num Vesiku in the Nensi language. His brow furled
as a look of deep skepticism came over his face. “Oh, no!
I would never do that! You must first prepare a sacrifice before
you pray to Num Vesiku.” “You are right,” Harold
told him, “but our sacrifice has already been made once
and for all. Jesus is our sacrifice. When you pray to Num Vesiku,
remember that the sacrifice has been given.” Sasha said
he would have to think about that.
During our conversation a young boy came to join us in the kitchen.
It was Sasha’s son. A tuft of hair on his head was missing
where he had recently had a scar stitched up. We later learned
that the scar had resulted from his father hitting him on the
head when he had gotten drunk. We talked with Sasha about his
drinking problem, and he was very interested to hear about the
program Alcoholics Anonymous. I have since sent him literature
about that program. Before leaving us that afternoon Sasha told
us that he feels awful about hitting his son, but that the hardest
thing of all for him to bear in this incident was that afterwards
his son told him, “Dad, even though you got drunk and hit
me, I love you.” Please pray for Sasha that his faith in
Christ will grow stronger and that he will gain a victory over
alcoholism.
That night we drove back to Stari Urengoi. By this time the wind
had died down and the roads were clear, so we made the trip in
just over four and a half hours, arriving at 2:30 a.m. For the
next two days we led a training seminar for about 25 (missionaries
and their wives) in the Christian Center in Stari Urengoi. This
included one Nensi man, one Nensi woman, and one Khanti believer
from Salekhard, who shared with us news of the publication of
the Gospel of Luke in the Nensi language and gave us an audiorecording
of the same. By request of the missionaries Harold spoke about
the challenges of marriage and raising a family in isolated missionary
situations. I conducted several sessions on the need for and the
way to learn the language of the local people. We think that this
seminar was an encouragement to all who participated. The wives
of these missionaries get the opportunity to see one another only
on rare occasions. They were very grateful to see one another
and participate in the teaching, praying, singing and fellowship.
They asked us to pass on their thanks to those of you who have
helped make this seminar possible. They have requested Harold
come back with his wife and for me to come again with Laurie.
On the last day of the seminar our Russian friends gave Harold
a birthday card (week early, in honor of his 80th birthday) with
the verse from Isaiah 40:31 “They that wait upon the Lord
shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings as
eagles. They shall run and not be weary. They shall walk and not
faint.” Harold asked them “How did you know this is
one of my favorite verses?”
Friday morning, March 12 Harold and I flew back to Moscow in
time for me to take my son Jeremiah bowling with his friends on
his birthday. After being up most of three nights during the previous
week, I was very tired, and glad to be back at home. More than
one time on our trip Harold had said he is not sure whether he
will visit Siberia again. Before I drove him to the airport on
Saturday morning Harold expressed a deep sense of gratitude and
a joyful assurance that the work that is going on among the Nensi
will continue, whether or not he returns to see Nensi people worship
God in a teepee village.
This part of Siberia is called “Yamal,” which in
the Nensi language means “the end of the earth.” We
have come to love the people of Yamal and share the desire of
the believers that that others should walk into the kingdom of
heaven. Thank you for sharing in this ministry.
If you would like to see photos of some of the people mentioned
in this letter, send me a note and I will forward them to you.
Grace and Peace,
Donald Marsden
The 2004 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p.
340
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