BEARDED MAN IN A SEVERE GRAY SUIT INTERRUPTED THE SABBATH SCHOOL teacher to deliver a stinging rebuke of a lifestyle he found repugnant. The teacher shifted in his chair uncomfortably. My mouth dropped open.
It was a great relief for me when the man missed class at the Moscow International Seventh-day Adventist Church the next Sabbath, and the next. Soon I forgot about him.
I was new to that church, but I felt certain that one way to fit in would be to invite people home for Sabbath lunch. I particularly wanted to get acquainted with several students from Africa, where I had grown up in a missionary family.
Cooking took longer than expected: making gluten steaks from scratch, kneading dough for pizzas, and peeling, boiling, and mashing potatoes. But by Friday night I had enough food to feed 10 starving students. I decided to invite them after church.
But as I left my apartment on Sabbath morning, I suddenly wondered whether my meticulous plans had God’s blessing. I bowed my head and asked for a reassuring sign. A sign came quickly, but it wasn’t reassuring.
It was Communion Sabbath, and I arrived at the Sabbath school class before anyone else. The next person to take a seat was the “judgmental” bearded man. I braced for ¨fireworks. He didn’t say anything offensive during the lesson.
After class, I rushed to the sanctuary to find a seat. All the spots seemed to be reserved with Bibles, lesson quarterlies, and purses. Finally I sank into a vacant seat by a window. The Bible on the seat next to me, it turned out, belonged to the bearded man.
“My name is Mikhail,” the man said solemnly, extending a hand.
“Andy,” I replied.
Making small talk, Mikhail asked why I went by “Andy” instead of “Andrew.”
“Habit,” I said, and tried to get him to smile by jokingly calling him by his nickname, “Misha.”
“No,” he said gruffly. “I only allow my wife and family to call me Misha.”
I winced. What a grouch, I thought.
Then he surprised me. “Would you allow me the honor of washing your feet?” he asked. I agreed.
Pastor Andrei Dyman spoke about food in his sermon, based on John 21. Three times Jesus quizzed Peter, “Do you love me?” Three times Jesus told Peter to prove it by feeding His sheep. Three times I looked at Mikhail suspiciously. Was God trying to tell me something?
During a break after the foot-washing service, I spotted a Zambian student and moved toward him. Someone abruptly loomed before me. It was Mikhail, and he wanted to talk. I was almost ready to change my lunch plans. But for this judgmental person? I prayed silently for a final conclusive sign.
Mikhail and I returned to the sanctuary and listened as the pastor read the touching account of the Last Supper. Suddenly a low rumble broke out in the chair next to me. I looked at Mikhail. The rumble sounded again, this time louder and with more urgency. Mikhail self-consciously placed his hands over his hungry stomach. Mikhail readily accepted my invitation to lunch, and I asked him to invite his friends to join us. He selected several African students.
Three years later, Mikhail is one of my dearest friends. I never again heard him say an offensive word, leaving me puzzled for some time about why he had irritated me so much when we first met.
I found the answer in Romans 2:1. Paul wrote: “You, therefore, have no excuse, you who pass judgment on someone else, for at whatever point you judge the other, you are condemning yourself.”
It was not Mikhail who had been the judgmental grouch. It was I.
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Andrew McChesney is a journalist in Russia.