3 minute read
Above the Mountains
By Rev. Pavel Zayakin with Oksana Lapkovskaya, translator
At the same time, and just 6,094 miles and one polar ice cap away from the Higher Things’ “Amen” conference in St. Louis two summers ago, ninety-three scouts met for “Higher Than the Mountains” on Big Borus [Mountain] near Cheryomushki, a village in the Republic of Khakassia, part of the Russian Federation. Billed in part as a“mountain ecological camp,” the week was divided into two parts: a camp site on Borus with stations for rock-climbing, rafting, and hang-gliding, followed by four days of mountaineering.
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Directing the camp was Pastor Pavel Zayakin, pastor in Abakan, Khakassia, and a member of the Siberian Evangelical Lutheran Church. He describes the genesis of “Higher Than the Mountains” this way: “This name came into my mind when I was standing on the top of Big Borus in 2003. I thought at that moment, ‘Oh! I’m here higher than these— the highest mountains!’ And then I looked up and saw the sky looking at me with something like a smile—looking indulgently, as if to say, ‘There are many of you who are so self-confident.’ And I decided at that moment that if we had a camp in such beautiful mountains, I would call it ‘Higher Than the Mountains.’ This name should remind people who climb to the mountain peaks that even if they are higher than the mountains, there is always God above them.”
Indeed, mountains have a way of giving perspective and humbling the overconfident who journey in them.
Landscapes stretch out and dwarf the viewers, lakes are pristine, and waterfalls are astonishing in power. There’s a more threatening aspect too: weather and temperatures can change rapidly and not always in the kindest of ways. Those at Sky Station—the hang-gliding post—learned this more than others; heat and calm air left them languishing earthbound until rains came and kept them grounded still. Those who were climbing and rafting had better luck. Along with the real threats that weather brings, mountains have a way of disorienting. Hikers can’t see horizons. Valleys twist, and shadows change. Clouds wrap around peaks in a thick fog that hides landmarks. Away from established paths, it’s easy to get lost. One day, while the scouts were picking up garbage along a popular valley, they were met by government search and rescue crews looking for a single tourist from Irkutsk, lost in the fog of the mountains. Far later in the day, the SAR teams would return to the group once again after a fruitless day of searching only to have the lost tourist arrive at the same time. All were speechless at the meeting. Mountains don’t always give up the lost, but this weary young man was found.
Two days later, the clouds lifted, and the fog disappeared. Instructors and older scouts climbed to the peak of Big Borus, 2,318 meters (7,340 feet) high.“It seemed that time had stopped,” said instructor Valeri Gilyazutdinov.“We watched the clouds floating by, birds flying below us, the city of Sayanogorsk far away. Even the wind stopped. We just wanted to stay and live there.”
Beauty. Majesty. Danger. Solitude. All are inherent to mountains, and all can make individuals feel very small. One might ask in the words of Psalm 8:4,“What is man that You are mindful of him?” It was against this backdrop that pastors, seminarians, and Sunday School teachers taught classes throughout the week.“We indeed tried to see Someone who is higher than the mountains, who is above us, who has made all of this beauty. I hope we succeeded in it,” said Dimitry Dozenko, a deacon from Abakan.
They did succeed, because they pointed their students to the Word, and because the Creator of all things does not remain just higher than the mountains. He has become flesh and died for the sins of the world. He is risen again, and He is as near to His people as His Word. Mountains might belittle people, but the Lord seeks them out. Wherever His Word is preached and His Sacraments are administered according to His Word, be it in Siberia or St. Louis, the One who made the mountains is present humbly to serve, to give forgiveness and life.
No matter how much they wished, the scouts couldn’t stay on top of Big Borus. At the end of the week, farewells made and tears shed, it was time to go home: separate ways, united in Christ, and perhaps a little bit more identified with the truth of the Psalm:
(Note: We tip our hat in gratitude to the Siberian Lutheran Mission Society for passing along Pastor Zayakin’s article and giving us a window into the Church halfway around the world. Some may be surprised at the presence of Lutherans in Siberia and assume it to be something new. But through voluntary immigration and forced transportation, Lutherans—from Germany, Sweden, Poland, and Russia—have been in Siberia for quite a long time as the Lord spreads His Gospel to the ends of the earth. –Ed.)
