Journey Of Faith Faith Brings Joy, Conflict

The disagreement began in Mariupol, a Ukrainian city of 517,000 on the northern coast of the Black Sea.

It resurfaced 40 years later, dividing a church of Russian-speaking refugees a world away in Spokane.

Here, as in the former Soviet Union, churches are the center of life for evangelical Russians - sources of joy and frustration, conflict and redemption.

Churches also are where refugees make their first and broadest contact with Americans, and where Russian stoicism and unbending Christian beliefs are on full display.

Those traits split the First Slavic Baptist Church, N1025 Cannon, the only church building in Spokane owned by Russian refugees.

In the old Soviet Union, churches were forced to register with the atheist government. For decades, resentment built between registered churches and those worshipping underground.

To the registered, underground churches were illegitimate and extreme. Underground believers considered the registered churches soft in their faith and sell-outs to the government.

Pastor Peter Datsko and many members of First Slavic Baptist Church belonged to registered churches in Mariupol.

But other people at First Slavic, including another pastor named Alexandr Kaprian, were from a Mariupol church that hadn’t registered.

Kaprian preached and worked alongside Datsko until one day in 1993, when church members took him aside and said they didn’t want underground members in their Spokane church.

“It was hard to hear,” Kaprian said. Both sides say they have gotten over their differences.

Kaprian and the other underground Baptists formed their own church, renting space from Central Baptist Church, W19 Shannon.

At Central Baptist, the American congregation was quickly doubled by about 200 Russian-speaking churchgoers. It was unsettling at first, but then pastor Wim Mauldin and his flock began to draw inspiration from the Russians.

“One of the joyful kinds of problems we have is after they get out of worship and we go in, lots of them are standing in front of the church and you could hardly get through them,” Mauldin said.

Americans and Russians say good morning (dobroye utro) and God bless you (da blagoslovit vas bogh) in two languages as they pass in the halls of Central Baptist.

They work out differences in a liaison council with members of both congregations.

“They’re so glad to be here, it’s inspiring,” Mauldin said. “They are such a grateful people. Their sense of warmth and appreciation comes through even though they can’t tell you.”

But not all relationships have worked out so well.

Another group of Russian Baptists began attending Mountain View Church of the Nazarene, at 57th and Freya, in 1991.

With services in both English and Russian, that congregation split because some older refugees wanted Russian services, not English services translated into Russian.

The Baptists who stayed at Mountain View had another conflict - this time with the Americans.

The American Nazarenes forbid alcohol, even wine for communion. But Russian evangelicals revel in the symbolism of “the blood of Jesus Christ,” draining the cup of wine and wiping the chalice with their fingers.

When pastor David Smith pressed the issue, the Russians packed up and moved to another church rather than drink grape juice.

Smith acknowledged that some of his congregation felt overwhelmed by the Russians, who outnumbered them 120 to 30 most Sundays.

“Some felt they were taking over this church,” he said. “The Russian people love to be in church. They have church services for things I’ve never even heard of.”

The Russians moved to Centenary Methodist Church, S1012 Freya.

Smith said his congregation wasn’t ready for the challenge of Russian members. “We didn’t take care of them like we could have.”