Among the few Baptist churches in Syktyvkar, capital of the Komi Republic at the doorstep of Russia’s frigid North, the Church of Christ the Savior is testing new ways to blend cultural tradition and Christian outreach. But not all Russians are warming up to the idea.
Standing majestically on a hilltop surrounded by the woods of Michurinski Park, the new sanctuary of Church of Christ the Savior is most certainly Syktyvkar’s most beautiful structure, a striking contrast to the surrounding unadorned architecture of the Soviet era.
Further into Michurinski Park and nestled among the trees sits a four-story theological training school. The first floor is dedicated to what promises to be the most modern rehabilitation facility in the region for persons with physical handicaps. The next two floors provide space for classrooms, libraries, and study areas to equip future pastors, missionaries, and church workers to reach Komi and Siberia. And on the top floor is a dormitory that will be home for 100 seminary students.
But it’s the mud, silenced construction equipment, and piles of building materials immediately surrounding these buildings that tell a story of how the church’s innovative plans have run afoul of Russians’ growing ambivalence toward non-Orthodox Christians.
UNFINISHED LANDMARK In 1990, when Pavel Kobzar, the church’s pastor, approached city officials with plans to build a modest Baptist church building, they instead offered him prime real estate in the city’s central park with one condition: That the Baptists build a landmark structure that testifies to the hoped-for progress of Syktyvkar.
Church leadership boldly threw out their modest plans and launched into a building project, the dimensions of which they hadn’t dared to dream before.
At the time, the mood in Russia seemed like a fantasy to believers who had lived with intense discrimination and persecution. But with perestroika in full bloom, believers experienced unimagined freedom and opportunities.
Komi factories and organizations donated massive quantities of bricks, wood, metal, oil, and other materials toward the project. Many local leaders contributing to the project were the same ones who persecuted the church during the communist era from which Russia was emerging.
Kobzar believes that the desire to offer generous support arose out of remorse over past abuses of believers. During the Soviet era, the desolate Komi Republic was one of the leading regions in Russia for prison and labor camps, exploiting believers imprisoned because of their faith. In fact, Protestantism itself came to Komi through Ukrainian Baptists sent to work in the camps here.
Throughout the complex building project, Kobzar, who describes himself as “a simple man,” succeeded in gaining greater support and friendship. Through these friendships, he preached the gospel and presented Bibles. “Tens of thousands in the Komi region feel positive toward us because they participated,” he said.
A RUSSIAN TO THE RUSSIANS? As Kobzar meditated on the Pauline teaching of becoming like a Jew to the Jews and a Greek to the Greeks, this son of a Ukrainian Baptist pastor knew he wanted a genuinely Russian church building.
Two local architects donated their time and talents to designing a church in “architectural harmony with the soul of Russian people.” Elements of traditional Russian Orthodox church style were reflected in both the exterior and interior designs.
Elements of Russian Orthodox worship were incorporated into the church services, such as the style of singing. And a respectful spirit was expressed toward God during worship and preaching services. “If you speak for God, then stand before God,” Kobzar said. During the euphoric early 1990s, local leaders were excited and proud of this prominent landmark rising up so quickly in their capital. Yet politics, the economy, and the public’s mood began to sour.
SUPPORT DWINDLES Since 1995 the economy has been in a slump, and Komi business and industry cut back their contributions.
In addition, some Russian Orthodox fundamentalists pressured local political authorities to withdraw support for such a prominent Protestant church on Russian soil.
Problems between the church and local authorities intensified in 1997 when the religion restrictions law first passed in the Russian Parliament. The church’s right to build on the property was challenged as was their ministry to the Invalid Society. The church won in both cases. But recently, tax authorities froze all of the church’s financial accounts while they conducted an examination.
With few remaining options, Kobzar last October sent construction workers home until the problems are ironed out.
With the project 80 percent complete, construction came to a standstill after having moved quickly for six years.
Yet, local authorities now want to know, “When will you finish?” Both buildings stand solemnly, awaiting interior finish, furniture, and equipment.
In the meantime, Kobzar has refocused his congregation on the basics, strengthening the church spiritually and ministering to the needy. Also, Kobzar is redoubling his efforts to develop local volunteers and support from missionaries in Europe and America.
FAITHFUL WORSHIPERS Dwarfed in their new sanctuary built to accommodate 1,200 worshipers, the Church of Christ the Savior’s congregation of 250 steadfastly gathers for worship.
They cluster inside the two-story-high, unfinished sanctuary walls. Overhead lighting hangs from a network of ropes and wires. They worship, pray, and sing dressed in coats and winter gear. The choir stands bundled up on the platform.
But the arctic winter has not frozen their enthusiasm for carrying on their work. Kobzar’s vision for their ministry extends far beyond the boundaries of Syktyvkar.
In addition to reaching this capital city’s population of 230,000, they hope to train pastors, missionaries, and other church leaders to reach the 1.3 million residents of the Texas-sized Komi Republic, becoming a gateway for church planting in the vast and unreached population of Siberia.
The Syktyvkar ministry is part of the All-Russian Union of Baptists and enjoys the union’s approval and encouragement. The church itself was registered about 50 years ago during Stalin’s reign. Kobzar serves as the Baptist Union’s senior pastor in Komi.
Persons with physical handicaps became an important part of the church’s ministry a few years ago when 15 members of the City Society of Invalids attended the church. Several of them came to Christ, were baptized, and became members.
Pastor Kobzar envisions the training center as becoming a base to train indigenous pastors, missionaries, evangelists, teachers, and musicians to strengthen and plant churches in Komi.
The center accommodates up to 300 students. Students and teachers from the theological center will teach new converts and perform other services in the church and community.
But all the church’s ministry hangs in the balance as they attempt to resolve their political difficulties and finish the buildings themselves. “God made it possible for these two buildings to exist without leaning on our own strength and money. We believe in him. It goes beyond the rational and into the spiritual,” Kobzar said.
Copyright © 1998 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.
