The Language of Mercy LITHUANIA | Nikki White It was the right thing to do, of course. There was never any real doubt in his mind. But to have strangers in his home, after living alone for so long—this was not easy to consider. He would have only one room with a bed and a table where he could be alone. He would lose his freedom, his privacy. The refugees, however, had lost everything. When pastor Valdas Vaitkevičius first talked with his church in Šiaulių, Lithuania, about providing refuge for those fleeing the war in Ukraine, the response was restrained. There were only three besides him who felt a simultaneous stirring in their hearts. Others felt anxiety, triggered by painful memories of Lithuania’s own history of oppression and occupation by the former Soviet Union. With Russia on their western border and Belarus to the south, any action taken in support of Ukraine would be a very real risk. Valdas persuaded his church to take that risk. “Suffering,” he told them, “should not be endured alone.” Valdas understands suffering. It was not long ago that his wife died suddenly after an illness of only two months. “When you lose those closest to you,” he shared, “it seems that you lose yourself, too. I could not go back into ministry for almost one year, but the community was there, affirming my calling, waiting for me.”
The MBs became a source of strength to the church in Šiaulių during a time when they were growing weary. For decades the church had been involved in caring for children from broken and marginalized families. The work was draining. “Sometimes it felt hopeless,” Valdas confessed. “No one else in the community seemed very interested in what we were trying to do.” They received consistent encouragement, however, from their MB friends in Germany and Canada. “They listened to us, and never showed disappointment if there were no conversion stories. They just prayed for us and helped us.” By 2014, seven Lithuanian churches had asked to come under the MB covering. “We wanted to join this family,” Valdas said, “and we are glad we did.” After so many years of isolation, it took some time for the church to realize the depth of their new connectedness. “We experienced a tangible sense of global community when we joined the International Community of Mennonite Brethren (ICOMB). Here were brothers and sisters in Christ who did not
There have also been extensive times of loneliness for his entire church. For twenty-five years, the congregation experienced feelings of rejection in their city. Originally part of a small church movement started by German emigrants from the Soviet Union, they had struggled to find acceptance within the larger religious community. “We were not Catholic, or Baptist, or Pentecostal,” Valdas said. “So, what were we?” Over the years, however, they had frequent interactions with missionaries who called themselves Mennonite Brethren. “As the oldest of all pastors, in the biggest of buildings,” Valdas said, “I found myself taking care of their teams. We saw that they were different; they had humility, an ability to cooperate. We began to wonder, how were we different? How were we alike? We felt ourselves aligning well with these Mennonite Brethren.” 4 | witness
Pastor Valdas at the ICOMB Summit in Brazil: “We are all from different countries, and we may not understand each other’s words, but mercy is a global language.”
