If the words Boris Yeltsin, Russia, freedom, democracy, Bill Clinton, and Christianity appear to you to be an unlikely combination of words, consider the following email I received today from the Baptist Joint Committee for Religious Liberty (another seemingly unlikely combination of words, not associated with the Southern Baptist Convention), abbreviated to save some space:
April 24, 2007
A reflection on Boris Yeltsin, Bill Clinton and religious liberty
By Carolyn Staley*
I have just read the news about the death today of Boris Yeltsin. It brought to mind a conversation that Bill Clinton related to me about a meeting he had with Yeltsin in 1994 -- a meeting during which he shared his faith with Yeltsin.
I was in Russia in January 1994 when President Clinton's mother, Virgina Clinton Kelley, died. [Staley was a soprano soloist for the Verdi "Requiem Mass." Detailed summary of how she got to Russia omitted. ]
About a week later, the president traveled to Russia, . . . Sarah Caldwell took a chamber orchestra to Moscow to perform for Clinton. . ., and I sang a group of American hymns with them to honor Clinton's visit and his mother's memory.
After the concert, Clinton asked me to please come by the hotel where his staff was staying in Moscow, so that we might visit for a while about his mother's funeral after an official trip to Yeltsin's dacha for dinner earlier that evening. . . Clinton told me that Yeltsin asked him many questions about how a democratic society worked. . . .
When I met with Clinton, he shared with me an account from dinner that evening. . . . He said that during dinner, Yeltsin leaned over to him and asked, "You're a Christian, aren't you?"
"Yes," President Clinton answered. "My faith is the most important thing in my life."
"Well, I have to do something about all these Christians coming to Russia. They are ruining our country [because the Russian Orthodox Church was threatened with demise]. Everyone is becoming a new Christian, a born-again Christian, and they are being rebaptized and putting crosses around their necks. It is ruining our country's culture."
President Clinton told me he looked at Yeltsin and said, "Democracy doesn't work that way. Either you're free or you're not. You can't have it both ways. You need to allow Christians the freedom to come into your country and preach and teach, and you have to allow the Russian people the freedom to choose their faith."
I thought to myself, "what a remarkable exchange. . . Clinton may very well have helped keep the doors to Russia open for Christians and the spread of Christianity beyond Russian Orthodoxy. President and also advocate for religious liberty." . . .
I have often wondered what might have been if Clinton and Yeltsin hadn't formed a warm friendship that allowed Yeltsin to ask such questions of Clinton as he did about his faith. . .
" The Rev. Carolyn Staley is an advocate of religious liberty, a longtime Baptist Joint Committee supporter and the minister of education at Pulaski Heights Baptist Church in Little Rock, Ark.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
making up for lost time
It's been nearly three weeks since I last blogged. Jogging and blogging have this in common: Get out of the habit and it is easy not to do it again. But, blogging is much less painful.
Clearing the desk of a few items that deserved more space in a blog entry of their own:
I am now, without a doubt, a member of the bourgeoisie, the class my generation tried to rebel against in the Sixties. The earmarks were there all along but the final indicator, the litmus test, the ultimate badge, is that I am going to have a sprinkler system in my front yard with a new lawn to go with it. I've never had a sprinkler system before and my lawn really took a beating with the prolonged droughts that Florida has experienced over the years. The city finally came through with reclaimed water in our neighborhood and I ran out of excuses not to install a sprinkler system. It will be operational whenever the city gets around to inspecting it. My back yard will continue to have "native Florida groundcover," meaning an amazing variety of weeds that are impervious to drought. I'm going to chop some of that out and plant some actual plants, but more about that later.
I am sick to death of CNN, again. This time the cause of illness is the steady diet of Don Imus' ugly face and uglier voice apologizing for talking like a fool, his critics who want his ugly head on a pole, and now [news flash] the sperm donor for Anna Nicole Smith's baby has been identified. He is grinning and waving his arms like he's done something commendable, and this will keep CNN running full speed for the rest of the month.
The good news must be that there's nothing going on in Iraq or Afghanistan worth mentioning. Surely CNN would tell us, wouldn't they?
One of my motivations for getting the sprinkler system and new lawn installed is that we are having guests from out of town over Memorial Day weekend and I want to make our house look a little spiffier. The women will be here for a bridal shower for our daughter. The men, including her fiance, are going fishing. The story is that he has never caught a fish. I've spent many hours with the same result, but this trip promises to change our luck and I'm looking forward to it. Six hours of trolling with a little bottom fishing thrown in ought to give us something for dinner besides pizza.
We went to Savannah the end of March for our anniversary. My souvenir of the trip is a book of ghost stories written by a former journalist (I don't believe this is why she is a former journalist). They are like the better UFO stories in the sense that the people telling them don't really want to talk about them or gain any publicity from them. There's an amazing number of ghost stories out of Savannah, and if only ten percent have any truth to them, Savannah is one spooky city.
Not all ghost stories should be dismissed out of hand. My father, never the kind to make up such a story, once had an encounter with the "presence" (for lack of a better word) of a young man who had a reputation for being a roughneck, but he had been killed in an accident a year or two earlier. Dad was a teenager at the time. He was walking home - a hike for some distance along a country road - when he felt or detected this young man's presence. "Don't be afraid," the young man said. So Dad walked on home, not afraid but not willing to hang around either.
This has turned out longer than I expected, and it is past time to get that book and pick up where I left off, a perfect thing to do on a rainy evening.
Clearing the desk of a few items that deserved more space in a blog entry of their own:
I am now, without a doubt, a member of the bourgeoisie, the class my generation tried to rebel against in the Sixties. The earmarks were there all along but the final indicator, the litmus test, the ultimate badge, is that I am going to have a sprinkler system in my front yard with a new lawn to go with it. I've never had a sprinkler system before and my lawn really took a beating with the prolonged droughts that Florida has experienced over the years. The city finally came through with reclaimed water in our neighborhood and I ran out of excuses not to install a sprinkler system. It will be operational whenever the city gets around to inspecting it. My back yard will continue to have "native Florida groundcover," meaning an amazing variety of weeds that are impervious to drought. I'm going to chop some of that out and plant some actual plants, but more about that later.
I am sick to death of CNN, again. This time the cause of illness is the steady diet of Don Imus' ugly face and uglier voice apologizing for talking like a fool, his critics who want his ugly head on a pole, and now [news flash] the sperm donor for Anna Nicole Smith's baby has been identified. He is grinning and waving his arms like he's done something commendable, and this will keep CNN running full speed for the rest of the month.
The good news must be that there's nothing going on in Iraq or Afghanistan worth mentioning. Surely CNN would tell us, wouldn't they?
One of my motivations for getting the sprinkler system and new lawn installed is that we are having guests from out of town over Memorial Day weekend and I want to make our house look a little spiffier. The women will be here for a bridal shower for our daughter. The men, including her fiance, are going fishing. The story is that he has never caught a fish. I've spent many hours with the same result, but this trip promises to change our luck and I'm looking forward to it. Six hours of trolling with a little bottom fishing thrown in ought to give us something for dinner besides pizza.
We went to Savannah the end of March for our anniversary. My souvenir of the trip is a book of ghost stories written by a former journalist (I don't believe this is why she is a former journalist). They are like the better UFO stories in the sense that the people telling them don't really want to talk about them or gain any publicity from them. There's an amazing number of ghost stories out of Savannah, and if only ten percent have any truth to them, Savannah is one spooky city.
Not all ghost stories should be dismissed out of hand. My father, never the kind to make up such a story, once had an encounter with the "presence" (for lack of a better word) of a young man who had a reputation for being a roughneck, but he had been killed in an accident a year or two earlier. Dad was a teenager at the time. He was walking home - a hike for some distance along a country road - when he felt or detected this young man's presence. "Don't be afraid," the young man said. So Dad walked on home, not afraid but not willing to hang around either.
This has turned out longer than I expected, and it is past time to get that book and pick up where I left off, a perfect thing to do on a rainy evening.
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