© 2004 Meridian Magazine. All Rights Reserved.
M E R I D I A N M A G A Z I N E
Household of Faith
Remodeling Difficult Traditions
The Church in
By Julia Groberg Blair
Note
from Margaret Blair Young: In the last installment of the “Household of Faith”
series, I wrote about my parents’ call to preside over the Baltic States Mission.
This installment is my mother’s beautifully written remembrance of those remarkable
three years in
Before we arrived, July
1, 1993, for our three-year mission in the Baltics, remodeling had begun inside
a run-down, stench-ridden building in Riga,
Our first Baltic spring was the spring of scaffolding. After fifty years of Soviet domination and deterioration, March of 1994 saw at least half of the buildings in downtown Riga scaffolded. “Remont” signs were everywhere.
As the Church was not registered and therefore not a legal entity, we were not allowed to purchase property but we could lease under the signature of my husband, the mission president, and remodel, if approved by the area office. When we began our mission we were oblivious to the pain and excitement of remodeling–and to the personal remodeling we would experience.
The building which housed the mission office was on Brivibas Iela, the main boulevard of Riga, a perfect location. Smack in the center of Riga, Brivibas had in recent history been named “Adolf Hitler Boulevard” and later “Lenin Boulevard.” Latvians remember the Soviet occupation. It ended in 1991. Few remembered the Nazi conquest.
“Brivibas” means “Freedom” in Latvian. Freedom Square where Riga’s Freedom Monument (a beautiful lady lifting a star-accented triangle toward heaven and guarded by statues of noble Latvian Warriors from the past) stands, fully restored, two blocks from the mission office. Our missionaries sang hymns at Freedom Square in Latvian, Russian, and English. Some listeners took offense at the Russian words, but others wept with gratitude. Hearts changed. Buildings changed. We changed.
Our building, which had been returned to its rightful owner (actually to the niece, the dead landlord’s closest living relative), had served its residents well during the last “occupation” and still was weighed down with many apartments crowded with families, mostly Russian.
Our landlady, Larisa, a quiet, pretty woman in her early forties, spoke very little English (and preferred to speak Latvian and not Russian). She was happy to let her pony-tailed husband be spokesman and negotiator. She confided in us that she was a writer, not a business woman.
When we left Riga in July of ’96, Larisa’s building was a classy business edifice with no residential apartments. It had been renovated with detail and excellence. The splendidly refinished doors facing Brivibas were opened during business hours, and well dressed people entered. Our members entered from the back when they gathered. We felt more comfortable this way, and keeping a low profile had advantages in this place where “foreign” religions were suspect.
The office was furnished and functional by November of 1993. The street entrance door to our building was always locked. We tried to leave it unlocked so the missionaries could get in without our having to race down the dusty, slippery stairs to open it.
Getting down to the Brivibas entrance was one problem; knowing when someone was waiting to get in was another. There were few working telephones then and the missionaries’ shrill whistling wasn’t loud enough to pierce the ever-present noise. Sirens howl and scream on Brivibas, and car alarms constantly screech and honk.
In spite of our desire to make things convenient, we soon began the locking habit as street-people would slip in and use the entrance for a latrine. This explained the permeating stench. The smell, though, wasn’t as hazardous as the spittle which was on all the stairs nor as the handrail which was unsteady and so dirty that one refrained from touching it except for emergency balance. Eventually we organized ourselves and took turns making regular forays to the Brivibas entrance and letting those waiting for us come inside.
Upon entering the building for our second visit to the future office, we were followed up the grimy stairs by a young woman and her small daughter. She explained that they had been one of several families formerly living in the office apartment. She wanted to see what was happening. I hadn’t seen the apartment before its occupants were moved out, but could imagine from the bathroom, which hadn’t yet been dismantled, how miserable the conditions had been.
The young woman was awe-struck as she went from room to room shaking her head and saying: “Kak krasivo! (how beautiful) I can’t believe it’s the same place.” I tried in my English-Russian to tell her about the gospel and its new light. She thanked me and then went across the hall and knocked carefully on the door.
The apartment across the hall was foreboding and dark with harsh sounds and sickening smells. I held my breath as another young lady answered the gentle knock and stepped into the hall, closing the door quickly behind her. Her lovely face had lost its youth and taken on despair. The two pretty young women knew and understood each other. I could only wonder about their lives. Eight families, we were told, lived together in the apartment across the hall. It was a frightening place.
We had another glimpse of this apartment a few nights later after a progress check of the office. We nearly tripped over a drunk man who had collapsed in his vomit and was blocking the Brivibas entrance doorway.
We tried to get him outside, but he resisted and kept pointing upstairs. We dragged him up the stairs to the apartment across from the office and knocked loudly. Finally the door moved and we saw a dark male figure motion the drunk man in. I forced a quick peek into the apartment. What a dismal place! Children crying, adults fighting, dogs barking, food cooking, drunks snoring. Heavy darkness encompassed the sickening smells and filth. Those poor little children! I wonder where they are today. They are no longer in the apartment on Brivibas. They were forced out with their discouraged mothers and alcoholic fathers.
Alcoholism is ugly, yet to some the only escape from misery and failure. One Baltic woman said to me: “The Mormon Elders might be the only good men left on earth.” I smiled, knowing there are many good people everywhere, though Mormon missionaries do have an aura which defines health, happiness, and goodness. Their joyful countenances offer striking contrasts to darkness and despair which are present in many faces.
The missionaries’ glow was threatening to some. An early article written by a key government figure warned parents that though the Mormon missionaries appeared beautiful and peace loving, they were dangerous and would challenge generations of Latvian family and religious tradition. Remodeling traditions is an enormous task.
A traditional Latvian family is a far cry from a typical one. A typical family consists of a single mother with her child and her mother (the granny) who is also a single mother, plus a large dog. Mothers are committed to their families and to a morality that keeps the family intact.
Finding a family with a father was a challenge for missionaries. When these were found, it was often the father who was not interested in the gospel. But missionaries found (and still find) fathers who were willing to be taught. Righteous men, prepared to accept the gospel and become leaders in the Church, were there–often after missionaries had given everything but would not give up. Blessings as well as challenges came to these fathers and to their families as they all accepted church membership and responsibility.
One confided in me, when I thoughtlessly joked about my experiences with drunks: “He could have been me!” Some of the present church leaders were drawn to the gospel because of their determination to quit drinking.
My heart changed as I observed the tragedy of alcoholism, begun innocently as a social or family thing, then used to hide the absence of hope, which void was perpetuated by empty atheistic socialism. What joy when these new male members understand who they are and Whose they are . . . not just property of the state, necessary only to build a socialist world, but children of God with assignments from Him, and even the commission to act in His name. The Priesthood of God is restored, and with its reception so is the dignity of these men.
Blessings of our “male-only” priesthood was a personal revelation to me, and I restructured some former concerns. What would happen to the men in the Baltics if the women had the priesthood! The honor and responsibility given to the men restores to them (if they will) their God- given dignity and they become splendid leaders. There are no finer.
My appreciation for the wealth of the Church was also remodeled when three of our four cars were stolen and the bank failed. Though devastated and forced into ultraconservative security measures, we were appreciative that the Church’s ability to take some financial risk made it possible for the gospel to be established in Riga.
Riga is referred to as the “Paris of the East” because of its elegant women and Parisian architecture. Latvian women look fashionable without great expenditure. We were once called over to look at some clothes donated through church welfare. Maruta, the woman in charge, showed me the frayed sleeves on several of the used children’s coats. “A Latvian mother would not allow her child to wear this,” she said. This was a moment of awakening and reforming my notions and pride about welfare. We found organizations that were delighted to receive our donations and we included repair supplies. I watched my wardrobe and learned from these amazing Baltic women.
The missionaries personally delivered clothing to the few large families they found. Generally these consisted of an overwhelmed, sensitive mother; an unresponsive, alcoholic father; hungry, beautiful children; immense economic needs.
The mother and children loved the attention of the missionaries and the light of the gospel. The father, if interested, sometimes expected economic benefits. Mormon missionaries trust and see good in others. A few elders were “taken” by fathers, who had to come up with money immediately or suffer “terrible consequences.” The father would sometimes disappear after he had the funds, leaving his children and wife destitute.
We wanted these children to blossom through the Church. We planted for the future. We learned painfully about problems dysfunctional families bring into the Church in a country where the Church is yet an infant. We all felt the burdens of these troubled families. I was haunted by the presence and then memory of the children who lived across from the office.
The future for the apartment across the hall was that of a spiffy law office. Our mission office
became, in the words of one of the Area Presidency, “the area’s most impressive.”
The façades of most Brivibas buildings are presently refinished, the unique and colorful Latvian style restored. The grimy gray of equality has been replaced with lovely pastels–blue, yellow, rose, mauve, and other soft shades.
Classic European architecture has been enhanced with carefully detailed trim, intricately molded, sanded, and painted. We enjoyed watching the restoration of a hotel across from the office. Its sky-view restaurant had a spectacular view of Riga.
On our first visit there I asked to use the restroom. What a shock! There were only “squat” toilets (holes in the floor) and one had to pay the housekeeper. We returned to that restaurant when our mission was nearly over. Then, I was taken to a modern restroom. Pink, blue, yellow, and orchid blended in the exquisite marble sinks and counters; artistic floral arrangements graced the tables next to beautifully appointed sofas. In private “state of the art” compartments were modern European toilets. And no housekeeper waited.
Many things changed like that. In ’93, we bought gas from entrepreneurs with fuel trucks who tried to under-cut each other and vied for strategic locations. They were put out of business by Texaco, Shell, Neste, Statoil, and other stations with convenience stores–modern and clean as in the USA. Brivibas changed just as dramatically.
One would not believe it to be the same avenue we saw in ’93. Unlike buildings in other parts of the city, its buildings now have regal entrances with working and clean elevators. Brivibas is a refreshing departure in a city still heavy with Soviet cement “doms,” laden with many floors of apartment dwellings. All has not changed. But change began and has escalated rapidly, especially after “McDonalds” found the Baltics!
Still most Riga “doms” remain shabby and unkempt on the outsides. Insides, however, are usually cozy and clean. The public walls and stairwells are repulsive with graffiti scribbled in several languages. Elevators frequently don’t work. Big pot-holes in the roads challenge drivers. Winter ice is treacherous.
But once inside the doubly locked portals of a private apartment, one is charmed with cleanliness and organization. Latvians (and the other “Balts”) value privacy. Strangers knocking on doors are frightening. This is understandable when one considers the terror the “Balts” endured as Soviets controlled and intimidated. It took courage for Latvians to open their doors to us.
My first time offering a tract (we had tracts only in Russian) at an open door was instructive. The man was direct as he said: “This is not for me. I am Latvian.” I asked if he could read Russian and he replied: “Of course, but we are no longer required to use Russian and we speak and read Latvian, the language of my family and of my heart.” One presently finds no commercial signs printed in Russian in the Baltics and store attendants speak Latvian, Estonian, or Lithuanian. It is the law. In some places Russians must pay for translation. The “Balts” love their native languages and have restored them to officialdom.
The Baltic people have miraculously kept their languages over centuries of being dominated time and again by others. Estonian, Latvian, and Lithuanian languages are healthy and strong today and their speakers are determined to keep them so. Church translation is readying materials in these languages, though for now, the Balts must be content to use Russian translations. Population of the large Baltic cities is around fifty percent Russian and so is the church membership. How we love and respect them all.
One of our Russian member families lived in an apartment which was as bad on the inside as on the outside. Besides not having a bathroom, it had dirt gaps in the cement floor. Walls were pocked and scarred with openings and cracks and leaks. The kitchen sink was rotten and there was no water. The husband, who joined the Church with his wife and daughter, had returned to the bottle. He appeared only occasionally.
The wife and daughter seemed paralyzed by financial and emotional bindings. Relief came when a senior missionary couple donated money to buy materials and the missionaries began to renovate this apartment as a service project.
Finding plaster and paint and other supplies might be intimidating for most foreigners, but not for Mormon missionaries. Using their service hours for three months, they transformed the disheveled and perforated dwelling into an adequate, even nice apartment. The wife and daughter were helpful and appreciative. Some of their natural dignity was restored and they willingly accepted church assignments. The daughter was recently married to a fine member, and they were sealed in the temple.
The success of this renovation project gave us confidence to take on others. When we were told that the apartment adjoining our office would be available to lease, we jumped at the chance. We would have to remove walls, but we had the makings of a lovely chapel in the office complex, together with a second bathroom and a back entrance. What luxury!
We were elated about the possibilities, but approval of this facility required an official visit from Frankfurt. The Frankfurt assignee arrived and went to look at the apartment and begin negotiations. He called us to say (very firmly) that we could not have the apartment. The woman tenant had said in anger: “Is this what it means to be a Christian–to force people out of their apartments!” We agreed that we couldn’t risk offending.
Disappointed, we reported the decision to our pony-tailed landlord who laughed and said: “She must move anyway. She knows that. Either you or some other business will have her apartment.” She softened on our return and admitted she had known, but was nonetheless offended. Our excitement about remodeling and progress was shaken as we saw her pain. The missionaries helped her move, and she was genuinely grateful.
When we entered her apartment we were amazed by its darkness and heaviness. A dark brown tapestry of horses and trees hung proudly in the living room. How those horses must have craved sunlight! The missionaries worked long hours scraping three layers of dark Victorian wall paper off, and revealing cracked and scarred cement walls. After getting the walls somewhat even, light wall paper was hung and then painted over with off-white. Our taking the darkness out of the apartment was unbelievable to passing residents.
The contract for the more sophisticated remont–tearing walls down, putting in lighting, etc.–was given to a Latvian member who had worked in construction, but had not received pay for his last few jobs as the contractors “ran out of money.” He was grateful for the work and hired a few fellow members. Work was offered to two male members who constantly asked for financial assistance. One said he wasn’t strong enough for heavy labor and the other said that he didn’t do common labor. These two continued their poaching. Nevertheless, the renovation began.
Anticipation enthralled us as the walls came tumbling down. And did they ever! After three months of continuous remont, we had a chapel with light gray carpet, off-white walls, sunlight gleaming through the sparkling windows, a clean and modern bathroom, and a back entrance. Elder Sedov, a native Russian missionary, expressed his love for the light of the chapel. It reminded him of the illumination of the gospel. When asked why Russians had such dark dwellings, he said: “When we bought a sofa, mother said it must be dark, as it would be the only one we would buy and it must not show the dirt.” The light of our new chapel was exhilarating.
Having their own chapel was thrilling for members and missionaries. It was often packed. It was used daily for a mini visitors center, missionary discussions, English classes, branch presidency meetings, Gospel study classes, youth meetings, zone conferences, district meetings, interviews, Homemaking meetings, Primary and Young Women’s activities, and more. It was a relief to not be worried about being forced out of a meeting place, which happened because ill-informed opponents threatened those who rented to us, and used our “unregistered” status against us. But persecution united and strengthened the members. (We are now legally registered.)
Feelings of unity and pride were new to the Riga members. Having never been members of a group they trusted as they did their brothers and sisters in the gospel, and seeing that they had facilities which were constantly available, some members decided to form a credit union. The freedom of pooling and borrowing money when needed was nearly as liberating as the light of the gospel. We caught our breath!
The President told the members they were free to have a credit union if it had no relation to the Church and did not meet in the chapel. They agreed with the first requirement, but not the second. Finally it had to be ordered. The chapel was used only for church things. It was used a lot. Eventually everyone understood.
Across the hall a massive remont was in progress. No one lived there now, and men and machinery worked there every day. The workers were happy and boisterous, young and ruddy Russians who sang, laughed, drank, and worked. Theirs was the music of progress. It blended with our hymns.
Our Brivibas building was in remont mode during the entire three years of our mission. One man worked for months cleaning and sanding the hand rail. He used no electrical appliances. Watching him balance his cigarette in his mouth while using both hands in scraping and sanding made me smile. But he would not respond. His radio blasted American Rock music. Other workers scraped, sanded, painted, scrubbed, cleaned, and repaired. And the residents, mostly Russian, one after another moved out.
One morning we awoke to find the office across the hall bustling with business. Adorned with plush royal blue carpet, modern Scandinavian furniture, and a staff who dressed in the latest fashion, the new law office employed young and bold Latvians who spoke accented English with dignity. We enjoyed their company and appreciated their help.
On one occasion I asked about Alcoholics Anonymous, as a few of our members struggled. The lawyers, all social drinkers, had never heard of this group and said that those with serious problems go to the hospital. We discovered a successful “AA” in Riga. Missionaries found good people there who were receptive to the personal remont required by the gospel. When we reported our findings to our legal neighbors, they smiled and assured us that “AA” like “Mormons” came from America. “Interesting new things in the Baltics!” We were the most interesting.
Our impressive new neighbors found the stream of new missionaries amazing. There’s no procession so captivating as that of a fresh group of missionaries coming up the Brivibas stairs. Arrival days were magnificent. Greeting and interviewing new missionaries must be God’s most joyful assignment. Each arrival is the great remodeler– the promise of new life, hope, ideas, challenges, and changes. Everything took second place to these new beginnings.
The beginning of a mission is the start of “remont.” Missionaries are remodeled as they help others change. We marveled that the young, frightened, tired, eager missionaries we received were the same mature, secure, humble, disciplined, successful missionaries we released. We knew there was inspiration in assigning these foundation building missionaries to the Baltics where the Church was green and fragile. We knew they were the best missionaries that had ever been, EVER!
The first year, they came from the MTC trained in Russian or Estonian. Many of them were assigned after they arrived to learn Latvian, or Lithuanian. One wept and said: “It isn’t possible!” Another said: “My father told me this would happen!” When these two left they were bilingual and had not only directed but established branches.
When I commented on their deftness in switching from one language to another, one replied: “I don’t know when I’m speaking Latvian or Russian, but I do know that some things sound better in one than the other!”
Another who was given the bilingual assignment replied to my inquiry about how things were going (after a couple of weeks in Lithuanian training), “If you really want to know, I’ve lost all confidence and competence I ever thought I had!”
This Elder became an astounding bilingual missionary as he put his trust in the Lord and the Lord qualified him. Another, trained in MTC Estonian wrote: “I am struggling. I am shy. I have always been shy and I don’t know how to not be shy. I know I must talk more but whenever I do, people can’t understand me and I say things wrong!” This Elder through determination, disciplined study, and constant contacting became known as the “language master” and was bold, confident, and respected.
Things as They Really Are
Another, whom I caught making fun of the “idealism” at the MTC, was quiet when I asked: “Do you think they should tell you things as they really are?” He answered: “Definitely not! No one would serve!” When this missionary left, he said: “I would go through everything again.” “Everything?” I pressed. “Yes. The hardest things had the best lessons and remodeled me in areas I needed.” Successfully contacting, serving, teaching, praying, listening, loving, baptizing, studying, counseling, establishing and running branches–these were a few of the missionaries’ minor miracles. Their becoming Christ-like was the great and glorious one.
“How is it done?” we would ask as we beheld this mighty change in missionaries. We received the same answer Enos did: “Through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.” The changes are dramatic as we reflect now from a distance; yet they occurred quietly by small and simple things. Simple, obedient people, stumbling, falling, but doing their best and trusting the Lord. Had they been students, studying how to speak or teach or govern, they would have gained or given little, but missionaries are set apart to preach the gospel and they are magnified. We marvel as we reflect on the magnificent team the Lord built as He established the foundation for Zion in the Baltics. We were required to trust, obey, work, love, and change, and we were remodeled. So were the new members.
The President trusted when he assigned native Russian missionaries to learn Baltic languages. Though plagued with visa problems, these young Russians had faith in their mission calls. They were loved and they loved– the languages and people.
When ethnic members were tempted to speak disparagingly about Russians, they remembered “their” native Russian missionaries who spoke “their” language. The Soviets didn’t learn Baltic languages, though they controlled for fifty years and required the Balts to learn Russian. Five of our ethnic Baltic youth received calls to serve in Russia. Most left with trepidation and little support from their non-member families, but all came to love those whom they served and were even grateful that they had been forced to learn Russian as children.
To keep the Russians out, the Baltic countries, immediately after declaring their independence, established secure borders with guards. When we arrived, guard houses were make-shift and all legal documentation was hand-written. Long lines of cars waited to be processed and tempers flared.
When we left, border facilities were becoming modern and efficient with computers, electronic gates, and modern guard houses. Each country tried to “out do” the other! In the beginning laws continually changed, and few border guards knew what was current. The trauma of some of our missionaries being forced off trains and put under arrest because of “visa problems” still chills me, but by 1996, American passports were honored in the Baltic countries and all guards knew it.
Along the way we were blessed with amazing and unbelievable solutions to our difficult visa problems. One precious experience came at a time when we felt all doors had been slammed in our faces regarding visas. The President and I were tired and discouraged. A zone leader called and said: “You looked so tired, would you like us to give you a blessing?” We replied, “that would be wonderful.”
We were administered to under the hands of the elders and blessed with their faith. It was like a transfusion. We were given new life and courage. Things worked out in unexpected ways. We were constantly and miraculously blessed. We are not the same people who arrived in 1993.
Our walls of prejudice and ignorance have been torn down, traditional furnishings moved out, layers of depressing, selfish decor scraped off, holes patched, and many things scrubbed and cleaned. Through God’s miraculous (and often painful) guidance and remodeling we missionaries were made different and we made a difference.
In the last months of our mission a big change was announced. The mission office would be moved from Riga, Latvia to Vilnius, Lithuania. The Brivibas office would no longer serve as the center of the mission. We understood the reasons, but the official announcement silenced us and we paused to reflect on our love for the Baltics,
Riga, the office, the missionaries, the members, everything. When we entered the Brivibas office for our final time, we stopped and took our shoes off. This was our custom when we entered the office, but this time we took them off because we were to stand for the last time in a holy place.
We paused to listen and savor echoes from the past three years. Hammers slamming, walls falling, music blasting, Saints singing, members meeting, missionaries arriving. The voices of so many precious souls. So many tears, words, songs. So much laughter, love, faith, and change. We wanted to hold on to everything and everyone. We wanted to hold each moment and never let it go. But it was time to move on. We held the clean, sturdy rail as we descended the stairs to Brivibas Iela–Freedom Boulevard.
© 2004 Meridian Magazine. All Rights Reserved.