Last Night in Russia…

Tonight is my last night in Russia—for a while anyway. So to celebrate this week’s ministry, Peter invited us to his place for the banya. “Banya” is the Russian word for “Hell”, or “sauna”. Or both. The point of it all is to get the inside of a small room so intolerably, steamily hot that your body sweats out all manner of impurities harboring themselves in your skin—you know: dirt, old lotion gone bad, soap scum, and the breath of life. Out it comes, all of it, provoked by the heat and by the beating of your body with branches from a eucalyptus tree.

Peter took the three of us (me, Scott, and Henry) into the banya all at once. Scott and Henry had never done the banya thing in Russia, so this was a certain right of passage. They had little idea what to expect. Scott has been to Finland before, so he was vaguely aware.

So Peter gets this thing as hot as blazes and then starts beating Henry with the branches, hitting himself on occasion to show that his behavior was truly normal. Henry was bright red, probably more from the embarrassment than from the heat. Scott was cowering back in the corner where Peter couldn’t reach, so every now and then he’d throw the branches back to Scott and expect him to lash himself.

My lungs were burning, my nose hairs were scorched, and my sweat was dripping down my face—but I managed to avoid most of the violence taking place against Henry. Then Peter motions to the two of us—me and Scott. “Get out!” Fine! We leave, and close the door on Henry’s whimpering. Inside we hear the smacksmacksmack of the branches. Aha! Peter kicked us out ‘cause he couldn’t get enough clubhead speed. We were taking up too much room. Now he was working on Henry full bore, driving every last ounce of Calvinism from his body. We stood outside hooting and hollering—“Man, Henry, what did you preach in Peter’s church yesterday? You must have really made him mad!”

It was all fun and games until the door opened, Henry came staggering out, and Peter pointed to Scott. “Your turn,” his finger said as it motioned for Scott to get in. Again, whackwhackwhack, so loud you could hear it outside the inner sanctum of the banya.

I was thinking Peter was just being polite to the newcomers, but no, as soon as Scott was done, he was motioning for me to receive my part of the torture. I climb in and Peter throws more water on the heater and the steam makes it hotter than I have ever experienced yet, and that’s saying a lot, and he begins the beating. Outside, Scott and Henry are yucking it up. I won’t give you the details of their accusations, but let’s just say they thought my time in hell was fitting punishment for dragging them into a music store earlier in downtown Ufa and making them wait while I tried out a seven string guitar. They thought I was playing Rock music in the store and that’s why Peter was whipping out the evil impurities. Amateurs. I was playing Rhythm and Blues.

I feel great now, ready to sleep in peace and hop on the plane to come home. For many reasons, this has been my best trip to Russia. I love these brothers, and pray we can continue to minister to their needs.