Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Aimless Soul
Uzbekistan was a place ripe for missionary activity. With official Soviet atheism gone, no common morale like the Communist Party, a Muslim tradition that the government kept in check, fearing threatening tendencies towards fundamentalism like in Taliban-controlled neighboring Afghanistan, there was a vacuum for the searching spirit – looking for a home in which to worship.
Churches opened for the hungry soul. A few cults appeared. The Lubavich revived and supported the synagogues. Sometimes a Jehovah’s Witness stopped me on the street to offer a Russian language Watchtower magazine.
My office was near the Vatican Embassy, that had a small monastery, with monks who ministered to the Church and the small Catholic population of Tashkent, that consisted of Poles, Ukranians, some converts and several expatriates. My office was also near the Ashkenazi synagogue. There were two Bukharian synagogues not far either. One of them had a fire (and rumour had it that it was set by members of the other one).
Sometimes, attendants from the synagogue would come to my office looking for a jew to be the tenth man at their minyan, hearing a rumor that the American working in the office may be a Jew. I would instruct my secretary to tell them that I was out of the office.
The Catholics would send over young monks, I couldn't tell where they were from, but somewhere in Eastern Europe, inviting me to the opening of the newly restored Sacred Heart Church – a church which had begun to be built at the beginning of the 20th Century, but which had been built at the beginning of the 20th century, never finished, finally completed and restored. The monks would also invite me to organ concerts. I would pass on the invitations to one of the guys in my office who was Polish Catholic.
In Uzbekistan, it seemed that everyone had a place in the society. They had their families, which were large, they had their religious communities. But for me, I couldn’t really fit into any of these things. Not even with the expatriates. Most of them were older, mostly with families. They didn’t drink, didn’t go out. Didn’t know the language, and didn’t even try to learn it.
But, being on the fringe, as I was, was liberating. And as I got to know the language, I was going out more, making friends with young people who liked to dance and stay up late at night in clubs, and go to the theater.
But as a free and unattached person, I was like a flystrip for these religious groups – looking for aimless souls like my own. ¶ 7:51 AM
Uzbekistan was a place ripe for missionary activity. With official Soviet atheism gone, no common morale like the Communist Party, a Muslim tradition that the government kept in check, fearing threatening tendencies towards fundamentalism like in Taliban-controlled neighboring Afghanistan, there was a vacuum for the searching spirit – looking for a home in which to worship.
Churches opened for the hungry soul. A few cults appeared. The Lubavich revived and supported the synagogues. Sometimes a Jehovah’s Witness stopped me on the street to offer a Russian language Watchtower magazine.
My office was near the Vatican Embassy, that had a small monastery, with monks who ministered to the Church and the small Catholic population of Tashkent, that consisted of Poles, Ukranians, some converts and several expatriates. My office was also near the Ashkenazi synagogue. There were two Bukharian synagogues not far either. One of them had a fire (and rumour had it that it was set by members of the other one).
Sometimes, attendants from the synagogue would come to my office looking for a jew to be the tenth man at their minyan, hearing a rumor that the American working in the office may be a Jew. I would instruct my secretary to tell them that I was out of the office.
The Catholics would send over young monks, I couldn't tell where they were from, but somewhere in Eastern Europe, inviting me to the opening of the newly restored Sacred Heart Church – a church which had begun to be built at the beginning of the 20th Century, but which had been built at the beginning of the 20th century, never finished, finally completed and restored. The monks would also invite me to organ concerts. I would pass on the invitations to one of the guys in my office who was Polish Catholic.
In Uzbekistan, it seemed that everyone had a place in the society. They had their families, which were large, they had their religious communities. But for me, I couldn’t really fit into any of these things. Not even with the expatriates. Most of them were older, mostly with families. They didn’t drink, didn’t go out. Didn’t know the language, and didn’t even try to learn it.
But, being on the fringe, as I was, was liberating. And as I got to know the language, I was going out more, making friends with young people who liked to dance and stay up late at night in clubs, and go to the theater.
But as a free and unattached person, I was like a flystrip for these religious groups – looking for aimless souls like my own. ¶ 7:51 AM
