Sometimes, I’m not needed at the hospital (with the babies). If it happens to be a Friday, instead I may go with a group to feed the homeless. It’s usually a small group, that splits into teams of two and three. We go downtown with sandwiches, fruit and tea.

On my last such outing, I was surprised to have Zholt in my group. Zholt is a gypsy who grew up in the Uzhgorod orphanage (western border) where we run our camp each year. He was ‘adopted’ by German missionaries when he was too old to live at the orphanage anymore. Zholt was taking a break in Kyiv and decided to join us.

Talking to Zholt is fun because we don’t share a common language, but several uncommon ones. His mother tongue is Transcarpathian and mine is English. But we both can speak various amounts of German, Russian, and Ukrainian. (I can count all my Ukrainian words on my digits without removing my shoes and socks) So a simple sentence with Zholt may be a blending of two languages, sometimes three. The grammar would best be expressed as “Tarzan-like.” But we can still talk about ministry, music, family, social customs. When the words aren’t clear, we switch to another language, and switch again until we’re pretty sure the other person understood. And if you think that’s a weird dynamic, you should’ve seen us lead worship together.

Our team that days was Zholt, another American named Bill, and myself. Normally we just feed people. But on the way, Zholt stopped at the pharmacy to get some medical stuff. He replenished a supply of rubber gloves, gauze wrap, the mysterious green stuff (it’s a Ukrainian version of iodine? Hydrogen peroxide? Miracle Whip?) Bill carried the food, and tea supplies. I carried the dispenser of hot tea.

It’s important to have a good Russian speaker when feeding the hungry of Kyiv. That was Zholt this time. My normal interactions are “Hochesh chi?” (Do you want tea?) “Chorni? Zeloni? ili Frukti?” (black, green, or fruit?) “Saxar, skolko?” (sugar? How many?) I know food vocabulary, for survival purposes. But I’m a “supporter” in this ministry, not a leader. I do try to understand the conversation I can.

Along with food, Zholt began tending the wounds of the homeless. After he changed the one man’s dressing, a crowd of street people began to develop. They were more interested in treatment than food. Without getting graphic, I’ll just say that some of these guys (they were all men) were heading well into infections. They’re bodies and wounds were filthy. But Zholt was happily cleaning their arms, inside and outside, while sharing in Russian, the message of God’s love.

In the background, I quietly turned to Bill, “Man, I can see how God put different gifts in different people. I’m getting sick just watching what Zholt is doing. I’d take the orphanage on the worst day rathen than that.” It was too much for me, on a gross out level, so I busied myself handing out tea and sammiches. The hospital is troubling sometimes. But at least there’s really no blood and gore in my work.

At the end of the day, Zholt smiled good-naturedly and said, “Oh, this. This almost make me sick. (he pantomimed a little hurl to explain what he meant) It was very difficult to me.” Then I realized that Zholt and I were of the same mind. The only difference between us was that he actually put on the gloves and did the work. It wasn’t a case of “I enjoy this,” or “I’m gifted in this.” It was because these guys needed care, and he did it.

Nobody told Zholt to “fix up” the homeless guys. “Normal” is just bringing food. But Zholt, he’s pretty special. Me, I’ve still got a long way to go.

¶ 10:56 AM

 Deanna said...
Hey Markus...not sure if you remember us, but...we were in Kyiv in August. I only met you briefly. We are friends with Bill, Misha, Tanya, Natasha, etc. Anyway...just wanted to let you know I have been checking out your blog. I always look to see if there is anything new. We love to get updates on what is happening through you! Just a litte encouragement....! Hope all is well! Blessings!
Deanna (Sean, Liza, and Elina)  

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