Homechurching
For the last few months, Sundays have been a little unusual at our house. Like any active LDS family might do, we eat breakfast, put on nicer clothes, and gather church supplies. But there is no schedule. We don’t have to be out the door at any certain time. In fact, we don’t even bother putting our shoes on. Instead, we make sure the living room is straightened and get bread and boiled water ready for the sacrament, because we have church at home—in our living room.
Since the summer of 2005, we have lived in Kyrgyzstan, a small mountainous country tucked between China, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan. While my husband is teaching constitution and property law at two local universities, I spend my time homeschooling our two boys, ages seven and five, and finding ways to “homechurch” us all.
Despite the efforts of many, the Church hasn’t yet been officially recognized in Kyrgyzstan. There are a few other members here, both American and Kyrgyz, but government restrictions prevent us from worshipping together—which places upon us the task of assuring that we worship as a family, on our own. We have no enrichment meetings, no visiting teaching, no callings, and no official leadership. We haven’t even figured out how to pay our tithing. And although we often feel like missionaries, we can’t proclaim the gospel in traditional ways. While on the surface our religious lives may seem incredibly limited, homechurching has grown to encompass so much more than passing the sacrament around our living room. We have adopted a lifestyle of learning from and serving those around us, and we are learning to embrace the spirit of Christ-like love that is at the center of the restored gospel.
Formerly part of the Soviet Union, Kyrgystan is a country with a difficult history. The people have suffered much oppression and deprivation. From them, my family is learning valuable lessons about overcoming difficulty and enduring well. We see proof of their resilience every time we step outside. We live in Bishkek, the capital and the most Russified city in the country. Soviet influence is still strong here. We are surrounded by gray concrete buildings, and even the people almost seem gray at times. It’s difficult to get a smile out of anyone in the street. People don’t want to draw attention to themselves, to break out of the mold. But the native Kyrgz culture—with all its vividness and hospitality—is also strong. We are surrounded by color whenever we go into one of the bazaars where pyramids of fruits and vegetables greet our eyes. There are a variety of smells (I can’t quite call them scents) around the city. Exhaust, sewage, or the ever-present smells of street food—kebabs, samsa, popcorn, or my favorite, flatbread hot from a tandoor oven. Their homes also display the hues of their resilient courage—with colorful velveteen wall hangings, rugs, and blankets—and plenty of smiles within those walls.
In fact, the most noticeable thing to me about the Kyrgyz is their kindness. Even though they are not overtly friendly, people are always willing to help. Children and the elderly are respected, you can be sure that someone will help you if you drop something, and abandoned babies are cared for. Even teenage boys are kind and helpful to any child, especially their younger siblings, something I wish I saw more of in the United States. Despite, or maybe because of, the difficult life here, people look out for each other—a gospel doctrine lesson in itself.
Seeing these powerful examples of loving one's neighbor make us wish that we could openly share the blessings of the restored gospel with the Kyrgyz. While we are not as limited in what we can talk about as we have been in some countries, there are still many restrictions and uncertainties. Can we teach the discussions to people who ask? Who do we go to if we have a question or a concern? How much can we do to support the local Kyrgyz members? It is difficult to interact with those local members without being able to take the sacrament together, or even to sing and pray with them. Their isolation is extreme. They didn’t even know about President Hinckley’s request to read the Book of Mormon last year until late October because there was no one to tell them. Watching these members carry on in the face of isolation and adversity has been a touching lesson in faith and commitment.
Their difficult circumstances also provide us with opportunities to put the lessons we’ve learned into action. Since we have experienced this isolation to some degree, we’ve become more sensitive to the needs of the local members. There are small things we can do to help. My mother arranged to have the Liahona mailed to the members. We download general conference sessions and burn them to CDs so they can listen to the talks. We study Russian so we can communicate better. We pray for the members, and we pray for the Church to be recognized soon so they will have more opportunities to experience the benefits of the gospel.
Service is a central part of our homechurching experience, and there are plenty of ways to serve here. Simply walking down the streets of Bishkek and seeing pensionless babushkas and beggars, street children, and people passed out on the sidewalk makes that clear every day. If you look a bit closer, you find the understaffed nursing homes, schools for disabled children that don’t have beds or heating, deaf children without hearing aids, and abandoned babies.
I volunteer at the local orphanage, or baby house, several times a week. Conditions there are harsh. The stale smell of sour milk, seeing a six month old tied to a toilet for toilet training, and hearing a newborn cry for food while the nurses are busy with the other eleven children are heart-wrenching. But that harsh backdrop helps me to appreciate more fully the bright spots of goodness and love when I see them. The building is nicely maintained and landscaped, the food adequate for the children, and the nurses kind. The children have plenty of clothes, if a bit worn, and the building is always warm in the winter. Spending time there has strengthened my commitment to service.
As we gather in our living room each Sunday morning, I feel deep gratitude for theÊhomechurching experiences that are teaching us to live the gospel all week long. The words “love” and “service” have a different meaning for my sons now that they see what life is like for the local members, the people on the streets, and the children in the baby house. My children now want to carry money with them to give away. We’ve learned that it is critical to teach by example, because we are the first Mormons that almost everyone we meet knows. We must rely on each other more in every way, and we’ve seen the importance of relying on the Lord. There’s often no one else we can ask. Even though we cannot partake of the sacrament with the local members, we have learned that “pure religion” is serving the Lord. And we serve the Lord by serving each other, whether it is our children, our ward family, or people in a seemingly insignificant country halfway around the world.
Erica has a degree in international relations from BYU and met her husband while they were studying Arabic in Jerusalem. They both enjoy studying the Muslim world and living in interesting places. She likes to read, do traditional handicrafts like spinning and hand quilting, and watch geysers erupt.
