The thin, bespectacled customs officer halted me as I pushed a cart with my luggage through the green zone at Moscow’s Sheremetyevo Airport. After directing me to place my suitcases on a metallic-gray scale, the officer declared that my baggage weighed 100 kilograms (220 pounds)—50 kilograms more than the limit set by Russian law. He told me to go to the red zone and pay a customs fee of four euros per extra kilogram, a total of 200 euros ($260).
I wasn’t surprised. For five years I had flown to Russia with hundreds of kilograms of Bibles, Christian books, and DVDs to give away, and never faced trouble at customs. But this time I knew better. Shortly before this trip I had learned about the 50-kilogram limit and, a firm believer in obeying the law, made a mental note to limit my weight. But my resolve crumbled once I saw holiday sales at the Adventist Book Center. Then my parents, and members of the Adventist church in Hico, Texas, donated stacks of Bibles, music CDs, and old Adventist Reviews to take back to Moscow to share. Hoping I would clear customs again, I crammed all the religious materials into my luggage.
In the Moscow airport’s deserted red zone a young customs officer looked up with surprise when I approached her desk. I explained that my bags were overweight and that I had been sent over to pay the customs duty. The woman disappeared into the green zone for clarification.
After she returned, it quickly became clear that she didn’t collect fees often. It took her nearly 45 minutes to fill out the paperwork as she sought advice from a how-to manual and her boss in another room.
I felt foolish. I was quite willing to pay the 200-euro fee, but I still prayed for God to intervene. I hoped my request wasn’t presumptuous, a prayer of faith made by a disobedient heart.
Finally the customs forms were filled out, and the officer told me to prepare to pay once her boss had signed the paperwork. Then she left—for another 30 minutes.
While waiting in repentant silence, I acknowledged to God that I had brought the predicament upon myself and told Him that it would be nice if He surprised me in some way.
My cell phone rang. It was Volodya, who was waiting outside in his car to pick me up. He was wondering what had happened to me.
Then I peered out of the red zone and into the baggage-claim area. No other passengers from my flight remained.
The customs officer finally returned and asked me for the receipts for the possessions in my baggage. I didn’t have any; after all, many of the items were gifts from others to give away. She disappeared again.
After a few minutes she returned with her boss, the same man who’d sent me to the red zone in the first place. He also asked for the receipts. I explained that I didn’t have any and why.
He gave me a searching look. Then he said: “We cannot collect customs duties without receipts. That’s a peculiarity of Russian law. So we cannot collect the payment from you. We’re going to let you go. But next time, pack no more than 50 kilograms, or bring your receipts.”
I was stunned. This was God’s grace—His unmerited favor—unfolding before my eyes. An exhilarating, humbling joy bubbled up in my heart. Never would I have guessed that I would walk away with a warning—well deserved, I admit—simply because of an oddity in Russian law.
So what about the next time I fly home to Moscow? “What then? Shall we sin because we are not under the law but under grace? By no means!” (Rom. 6:15).
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Andrew Mc Chesney is a journalist in Russia. This article was published April 26, 2012.
