Tasi

I sat a little back from the group, watching. My chair had one front leg a bit shorter than all of the others, so I had to lean back on two legs to keep motion sickness at bay. This set me back just enough to observe without interfering too much. It gave me the proper vantage point and just enough cover to pull out my Nikon with the 55-200 lens attached and take some sly shots of folks when they weren’t aware.

For those unfamiliar, proper photography is not a matter of ISOs, F stops and white balance. It is so much more than proper composition, lighting and lenses. True photography is greater than getting a moment in time down on film, or digitized as the case may be. Photography is a thing of the soul. A true photographer doesn’t take pictures; they capture emotions, and moods, the things of the spirit.

A posed photograph is good for posterity and remembrance, but a photo taken at the moment the mask comes down is art. Now the mask can be worn by fellow human beings or Mother Nature for that matter, but the mask, the walls we so carefully build, often hide the true beauty of the soul within.

In this particular case, my soul searching was made easier by the surroundings and the company kept.

I was leaning back in that old red leatherette chair while sitting in the upper room of the tiny Tasi United Methodist Church. Tasi UMC sits about six or seven kilometers down a dusty, dirty, shake you till your fillings fall out dirt road, way out in the countryside of Latvia.  

Latvia, by the way, is an absolutely beautiful country. From the regal cities filled with architecture to dazzle the eyes, to the beautiful countryside filled with ancient farm houses, picturesque outbuildings and charming people to warm the heart; Latvia is an oasis of peace in a world filled with chaos.   

Nesting in the middle that countryside is Tasi UMC. As is true of most Soviet era structures, the building which houses the church is somewhat nondescript. Intentionally built to promote sameness and discourage individuality, the old brick building projects a cool, lifelessness at first impression. That impression, however, belies the warmth and the life to be found in the upper right quadrant of the place; for it is there where a small but Spirit filled group of believers meets for worship and fellowship.

We, an UMVIM team, had come to help in any way requested. You never know on these trips what exciting treasures await you, or what type of work you will be taking on. The work is seldom what is expected and the treasures often arrive unanticipated which makes them cherished all the more.

The Tasi church has been blessed to obtain the downstairs flat underneath the current worship space. They are working toward making it a safe gathering place for the entire community. Our task was to form and pour the concrete floor to begin the process of renovation.

It was the second Sunday we were there. After a truly delightful worship service we had a lovely time of fellowship with the small congregation. The room for the fellowship was a little tight though, so it took a bit of effort for everyone to fit in. But to the sound of scraping chairs, laughter and the occasional “pardon me, are you ok?”, we all managed to get in there. A table had been set with cake, cookies, coffees and other delights. We all sat down intermingled, personal space a thing of the past. We joked and laughed together, broke cake and cookies together, drank coffee together, and together we did a creditable impression of the Tower of Babel. It was wonderful beyond words.         

Due to a couple of late arrivals, and my Granny’s admonition that you always give a lady your seat; I found myself slightly out of the circle nesting in that old red leatherette chair with the bum leg. I had the prefect vantage point to witness joy and love as they emerged and formed.

The expressions and the feelings ran the gambit. The old hands, those folks who have gone with me forever it seems, were wide open with fully exposed hearts drinking in the joy, giving the Holy Spirit free reign. Others, newer to the trade, sat and pondered the emotion and Spirit filled atmosphere of that little place and wondered where they fit in. They struggled with the mask as it slipped from its moorings exposing perhaps more than was comfortable. Our Latvian friends held the same expressions as did we. Some excited, some expectant, some cautious and some pensive, but all joyous.    

I was sitting just out of the current, observing, when an older woman of the congregation caught my eye.  I can’t recall her name to my sorrow, but she was the artist, the musician, the hippy of the church. Her hair was long, gray and slightly disheveled; her gaze a bit unfocused; her dress brighter than all the others and she was wise. She made space on the bench beside her and motioned for me to come and sit with the crowd. She then gently took my camera and laid it aside.  What a blessing it is to be loved.    

Free from observing, free from leading, free from the mask, I allowed myself to blend into that joyous group, and what a tonic it was. It was a soul freeing moment and a gift from God for which I will forever be thankful.

I wish the same for all of you.

Love,
Pastor Tony
  

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