What Might God Be Doing?

(This post was originally written for Presbyterian Action's General Assembly blog.)

There are a lot of people all over the USA who believe a lot of untrue things about the IRD. Without speculating about who started these rumors or why, I'll just say that the gist of it is that the IRD is supposedly just masquerading as a Christian renewal group, but in reality is a conservative political group whose aim is to silence or sabotage the liberal social witness of the mainline denominations, or, failing that, break up those denominations. Supposedly the IRD has deep pockets and takes orders, according to some of these rumors, from the Bush White House itself.

Of course this is all nonsense, but it's surprising how many people believe these things.

I found this out in person Saturday here at GA when another volunteer and I were manning the Presbyterian Action (IRD) booth in the exhibition hall. A woman started to walk by, and then stopped and said that we had no right to be there. I said that we were Presbyterians, and she said, no, we were not. I replied that I had been a Presbyterian for 34 years, and she still insisted that we were not really Presbyterians. She started to talk about all the evil that she "knew" about that the IRD had done to the PCUSA, and I started to tell her that those things were all myths, but as her voice became more and more raised, I realized that conversation would not be fruitful. So I told her that we would pray for her. She angrily replied that she would pray for us, and then she left.

My fellow volunteer, who had been unware of the anti-IRD rumors, was stunned, as were the people in the neighboring booths, and even I was left a little shaky.

Later that day, walking along the sidewalk outside, I passed the same woman, and we eyed each other uneasily and exchanged wary smiles.

The next day, Sunday, which was yesterday, committee meetings began, and, to my surprise, I discovered that the same woman is a commissioner member of the committee that I am observing. I started wondering if God was placing her deliberately in my path, and began wanting to reach out to her.

That evening, I prayed about the situation, asking God that if he was putting this woman and me together, that he would make it clear, and that he would help me know what to say.

This morning, Monday, I sat in on her committee meeting again. During a break, I was washing my hands in the restroom, when I looked to the right, and there she was, at the very next sink. It could hardly have been more clear that God was putting her and me together! So I said hi, and she said hi too. We ended up telling each other our names and having a conversation right there.

We did not convince each other of anything in that conversation. She still believes that the IRD has no right to be at GA, and that the IRD is harming the PCUSA. But she knows my name, and she knows that I love Jesus. She knows I'm a linguist, not some IRD automaton. I know her name, and that she has been a presbytery moderator. We told each other a little bit about our views. We named each other sisters in Christ. We even hugged. I hope that in her mind, I am not the enemy; she is certainly not the enemy to me.

I saw her again across the balcony this evening at the worship service held across the street in the civic auditorium. I'm interested to see what God is going to do with this. Or maybe I'll never know, but whatever it is, it should be good.

Manning the Gate of the Soviet Embassy

I have been asked to explain item #3 in the list of 6 quirky items about myself that I posted on my blog last night, so here it is.

In 1970-71 I spent my college junior year in France, and for spring vacation, I took a tour, designed for American students living in Europe, of Prague, Moscow, Leningrad (now back to its original name of St. Petersburg), and Warsaw. It was thrilling because very few Americans at that time had ever been to these cities, and I was stunned with the beauty and charm of Prague, which few living Americans had as yet discovered (now it is overrun with Americans.)

Anyway, after our 3 days there, at the airport for our flight to Moscow, I discovered that all my money and papers were missing; I had apparently been pickpocketed. The tour guide gave me some money, and then everyone flew off and left me there. They did at least leave me in the hands of a couple of Czech college guys who had been our official escorts (in those days in those countries, Western tourists didn't go anywhere on their own.)

I was allowed to stay in the same hotel with a group of Swedish students who were on a tour, and then the Czech boys helped me go around to the Czech police, the American embassy, and the Soviet embassy, in order to get a new Czech exit visa, a new passport, and a new Soviet entry visa. The American passport was the hardest, that is, they were the least willing to give me new papers, because I had no proof of who I was, but I think I must have looked pretty harmless, because they finally relented. (It was cool having a passport issued in Prague; I was sorry when I had to surrender it when it expired and I needed a new one.)

It took 3 days to get everything, and in the interim I went places with the Swedes, or the Czech guys, and was mildly romanced by the Swedish tour leader's very handsome son, so all in all it was kind of fun, and I fell head over heels in love with Prague. One day one of the Czech boys and I stood talking on the Charles bridge for an hour or two, and no one ever passed by. Now the Charles Bridge is filled with tourists and hawkers selling trinkets.

Finally all I needed was the Soviet visa, and at the Soviet embassy they said that they were waiting for a telegram to arrive saying that it was OK. It was getting late in the day, and they were going to lock their gate. So they suggested that I walk down to the end of the driveway where the locked gate was (the embassy was like a mansion in estate-like grounds), so that I could let the car in that was bringing the telegram.

So there I stood, a 20-year-old American girl, with the power to give access to the Soviet Embassy to anyone I wanted to! It was a funny feeling. Of course I didn't let anyone in who didn't belong there, and I got my visa, and then that evening I flew off to Moscow on a plane full of Russians, and another part of the adventure began (it started with an official in the Moscow airport saying to me, "What are you doing coming into Russia ALONE?")

The postscript to this episode is that as soon as I realized my predicament, I sent off a postcard to my parents telling them that I was in Czechoslovakia (as it was called then) with no money or papers. Then three days later I sent them another postcard saying I was fine and was rejoining my tour group. But that postcard was delayed for two weeks, and so they spent two weeks worried about their daughter, lost behind the Iron Curtain. Now that I'm a mother, I know how awful that must have been!