Foggy landings

After a blog-free month its time to reflect on a few August encounters. I landed in Moscow twice last month - once late and once with cheering and applause. We flew from Samara (on the Volga river) in brilliant sunshine but arriving in Moscow the fog was definitely designed to test the landing skills of any Aeroflot pilot. Across the city transmission masts and blocks of flats stuck their heads above the fog but the airport was somewhat less visible. In faith the pilot headed down into the fog (where we could see absolutely nothing) and then lost his nerve and we shot back up into the sunshine. A short circuit, sight of the same transmission masts and a wave to the early morning risers in their sunny appartments, and then down we plunged again. Seconds later a roar of the engines and we were back in the sunshine again, fluffy clouds below! It took five more circuits (and a bottle of vodka?) before the pilot gained his nerve for a third attempt. I said my prayers - I don't think I was the only one! - and seconds later we made a perfect landing. Cause for cheering, applause and a standing ovation, except that seat belts make that difficult.

I had been visiting Russian friends who train church leaders in Samara, a rather God-forsaken city on the Volga river, and home to the Lada car factory. The city might do a little better if its officials were not so desperate to line their own pockets with roubles, but Russians are philosophical about what might be. It was sunny all week in Samara, but rather like Moscow at the end of the week, below the sunshine I could feel damp, cold mist - a spiritual malaise, an empty materialistic hunger. Churches don't grow fast these days - it costs to follow Jesus, and citizens are careful to avoid additional costs when life is tough.

I left Samara remembering the bright skies and the misty faces - and a couple who have given much to follow Jesus into Samar(i)a.