Beth Ann's Estounding Estonia Ministry

By Stephanie Staley

I recently returned from the 2 week mission trip with Beth Ann and three others from Stapleton Fellowship Church. We traveled to Estonia to serve alongside our missionary partners, Crick and Mindy Porier. The trip was filled with remarkable moments that could easily fill a blog.

Estonia is a singularly beautiful, almost magical place. In our brief time serving there, we were blessed to explore medieval cities, camp in rain-touched fields, swim in tranquil lakes, stroll through forests of birch, and even shiver in underground caves. Each day was vibrant and felt like a tender gift from God.

The most cherished experiences of course were with the people we met there. We connected with youth at Sailing Camp and made many new friends (not just from Estonia, but from around the world). We were treated to the gracious hospitality of our host families from Kolgata church in Tartu. We worshiped alongside these fellow believers at the Nuutsaku family camp. We shared our testimonies and rejoiced in baptisms together.

But there was one moment in particular that I want to write about. It stood out because it has been something on which I have been reflecting ever since. It was a seed, and God is making it grow. I do not yet know what it will become.

On our last full day in Tartu, we arranged to host an American-style barbeque at the Kolgata church building. While preparing for it in the afternoon, we took a break and I wandered into the sanctuary to rest. It was quiet and peaceful. Light from the stained glass windows filtered down onto the wooden pews. The pipes of an organ filled one wall, and a large cross hung at the front and center of the room.

I took a photo of the cross. It is a beautiful example of the Estonian aesthetic: simple, clean and white, yet embellished with an intricate flowery design. Behind it, a glow illuminates words that trace the horizontal bar of the cross. It was easy for me to decipher the first two words: “Jeesus Kristus.” Under them is a phrase I didn’t know: “maailma ainus lootus.” As I gazed at the cross, the pastor came into the sanctuary. I asked him, “Pastor Leho, what do the words on the cross mean?” He looked up, smiled, and said, “Jesus Christ, the only hope of the world.”

He went on to tell me that the cross had been created as a gift for the church by a young lady who had come to Christ through a Kolgata youth camp. I wondered about her, what those words meant to her personally. I wondered about her life before and after accepting Christ as her Savior.

Since then, I have been thinking about what those words mean to me too. I’ve been ruminating, letting them sink in. Experiencing them anew for myself.

Do you ever face the temptation to lose hope? I think all of us, if we’re honest (if we’re human), have been there. There is so much darkness in this world. Estonia certainly has its share. The wounds of Nazi and Soviet occupation still linger there. There is widespread atheism and many people succumb to alcoholism and suicide. Those problems aren’t unique to Estonia, of course. They could describe Denver too.

In fact, darkness is all around us. None of us is immune. However, the darkness that troubles me the most is not the darkness around me. It is the darkness that comes from within me. We all contribute to the pain of this world. As it says in Romans 3:12, “No one does good, not a single one.” We have all been the one to hurt someone else, whether we meant to or not.

So sometimes I am tempted to despair. Perhaps not on a bright Sunday among smiling faces, but alone, during a dark night, when the weight of present troubles seems crushing. There is a broken relationship, something I see no way to fix, some profound disappointment or hurt, a regret that is haunting me.

During those times, darkness can loom. It threatens to overwhelm me, even as I pray. I tell myself to count my blessings, but sometimes I let the funk interrupt that too. I may mutter bitterly, “Sure, there is some good. But you know what? It’s not enough! There’s not enough good in this world to outweigh all the pain and ugliness!” And so I teeter on the brink of a dangerous conclusion: “Nothing matters.”

If I stayed there, life would be unbearable. It would probably become a trail of distraction, entertainment, and pleasure-seeking—anything to numb the pain. But thankfully, God has been faithful in those dark nights to show me a pivot. He has shown me the only thing that can restore hope. In the midst of the blackness, an image forms in my mind. It is a Man. He is hanging on a cross. I recognize Him. I am compelled to answer this question: “Can you look upon My Son and say that nothing matters?” I let the truth break like dawn. “No, Lord,” I whisper back, “I cannot.”

When I am tempted to despair, by the grace of God I can turn my eyes to Jesus. When I recall what He did, how He died to save a wretch like me, I can no longer question that the darkness of this world outweighs the light. The world mattered enough to God that He sent His one and only Son into it to save it. There on Calvary’s cross, and only there, in that one act of love, God gave us enough light to outweigh all the darkness for all time. As it says in John 1:4-5, “His life brought light to everyone. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it.”

Jesus is the only hope of the world. This is not just an idea with which to agree. It is a truth to experience. It changes everything. Because of Jesus, I have hope. He willingly stepped down into darkness to live among us, a real man in real history. He endured the worst this world has to offer. He lived the sinless life I cannot live, and laid His life down so I can be forgiven and reconciled to God. Then He defeated death and rose again! I can endure the troubles of this life knowing He is with me. And by His grace, I will spend eternity with Him. Because of Jesus, we can – we must – soar to this conclusion: Everything matters!

And so I rise. What will I do with this? I have to seek His answer for me and walk it out, letting Him tend to what is broken around me and within me. But one thing is clear: I cannot not be part of taking this message to the ends of the earth. This planet is full of precious people who face despair in a broken world. They don’t have that pivot during their dark nights. They can’t turn and see Jesus on the cross, because no one has told them about Him, no one is showing them. They desperately need His forgiveness, salvation, and hope.

“But how can they call on Him to save them unless they believe in Him? And how can they believe in Him if they have never heard about Him? And how can they hear about Him unless someone tells them?” (Romans 10:14)

So that image of the cross in the sanctuary at Kolgata church (Kolgata means Calvary, so literally, it is “Calvary’s cross”) is a memory from Estonia that I will carry with me. It will remind me why Kolgata church is there, and why our missionaries are there. It will remind me why Beth Ann has sold everything she owns and is moving there to work with the youth. This memory is a seed that God will continue to make grow in me. And God-willing, I will return to that beautiful, magical place next year.

Beth Ann's Estounding Estonia Ministry

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

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