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MISSIONARY EXPERIENCES IN GALICIA
by Rev. N. Lukianchuk
INTRODUCTION
The writer of the missionary experiences contained in this book, Rev.
Nicodemus Lukianchuk, is a native born Ukrainian and now a naturalized
American citizen.
During the past few years Mr. Lukianchuk has labored as a missionary among
his own people in Ukraine (Galicia), Poland, under the auspices of the
Association for European Evangelization. During this time he has had varied
experiences and under the blessing of the Lord has had the joy of seeing many
souls brought to the Lord Jesus Christ.
The stories or experiences related in this book are true happenings, and
reveal the hatred against the true Gospel of Christ by the Roman Catholic
church, in this part of the world where she holds sway. Rome is an
unscriptural, corrupt and cruel system, holding the masses in spiritual
blindness by cruel force. The true missionary is needed among these deluded
people.
As you read these experiences your own heart should be touched and moved by
the darkness and need of these people, and you should be willing and glad to
send financial aid that the Gospel may be brought to them and proclaimed
among them. Mr. Lukianchuk expects to return to this field of labor as soon
as possible. Funds are needed for his return, and then also, for his support
when in the field. Money will likewise be needed for other purposes in order
that the work may be advanced. Will you help?
Friends wishing to contribute toward this work will please make out checks
and money orders payable to J. Hoffman Garber, Treasurer, and together with
all correspondence send to Rev. W. S. Hottel, 16564 Roselawn Avenue, Detroit,
Michigan.
W. S. HOTTEL, General Director, Association for European Evangelization.
P.S. -- A Copy of our bi-monthly magazine, “MISSIONS EVANGEL,” will gladly be
mailed to anyone upon request. -- W. S. H.
CHAPTER 1
Early Days -- in Europe
Nicodemus Lukianchuk was born in the year 1894, in a small village called
“Kipchynci” to a Ukrainian peasant family. They were of “Russian Orthodox
Faith” in which the worship of Icons is a prescribed part of religion, and
they were in a true sense very religious.
Young Nicodemus was urged by his mother to worship God as the family was
accustomed, but somehow -- this form of worship did not appeal to this lad;
in fact he questioned -- “How can a dead Icon respond to my prayer?” He
said, -- “My heart years for something better, because this cannot satisfy
me.”
Leaving for the United States
He says: “When I became of age, I purposed to go to America. Just before I
left for the Railroad station, my mother kissed me goodbye, pressed an Icon
into my hand and said, -- “Son, I shall never see you again, but do not
neglect your religion while in America.” My mother was a very good woman and
very religious. She wanted to bring me up in the faith of my ancestors, who
relied more on the teaching of the Russian Orthodox Church than on the
teaching of the Word of God.
First Days in the United States
Upon my arrival at the Ellis Island in 1914, I was 20 years of age. There I
was met by two missionaries who handed me a gospel according to St. John, in
my native tongue. They were the representatives of the New York Bible
Society.
In the autumn of 1918 I found myself in Kenosha, Wisconsin. I dropped into a
Baptist Church, where the Rev. William Peretiatko was preaching the gospel in
the Ukrainian language. Everything he said was directed at me, I thought.
The Holy Spirit touched my sinful heart with a convincing force, and there
that day I accepted Jesus Christ as my Saviour and Lord. My comrades laughed
at me, saying -- “You surely will be a Holy man, a saint.” God gave me the
strength to endure all “digs” of that sort, and He has kept me in His grace
ever since.
I received my Jordan experience on January 12, 1919. As a Christian, I
realized that there was much that I did not know about the Bible. I have
devoted considerable time to study. It was my privilege to study for two
years at the Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, Seminary Hill, Texas.
I have attended the National Bible Institute of New York City for one year.
After three years of study at the International Baptist Seminary of East
Orange, N. J. I have graduated.
It gave me pleasure and satisfaction to testify for Christ in the street
meetings and the factories, both in Kenosha, Wisconsin, and Chicago,
Illinois. At first I became a colporteur, then I moved into Detroit,
Michigan.
First Pastoral Charge
It was in the spring of 1929, that I came to Detroit, Michigan. There I met
a group of Ukrainian Baptist people worshipping God in a rented store. I
volunteered my service as a Sunday School teacher, then I organized a junior
choir. There people gave me a call to preach and to be their pastor.
Within the first year the membership doubled, then we purchased a church
building at the corner of Victoria and Newbern Street, North Detroit.
For six years I labored with them and God blessed our efforts. Then I felt
that God was calling me to preach the gospel in my native land. So I left my
charge in Detroit, and returned to Ukraine.
I have the satisfaction of knowing that starting with a small group of people
in a rented store building, I left them in their church building, clear of
any debt.
CHAPETER 2
Missionary Experiences in Galicia
It was June 14, 1936 when I arrived at midnight in the city of Lwow. There
were hundreds of people at the railroad station, but they were all strangers
to me. I was looking for my brother in Christ, Reverend L. Zabko-Potapowicz.
I had never seen this brother or any of his pictures; nevertheless, as I
searched through the crowd, my eyes were directed toward a certain
individual. It was the person for whom I was looking.
When I came near to Reverend Zabko-Potapowicz, I asked him if he was the
person whom I sought, and he replied,
“That’s right. I am.”
Then we took a horse and buggy. As we were riding, I saw the beautiful blue
sky full of stars. Immediately we began to talk about missionary work in
America. In a few minutes, I arrived at an old home where brother Zabko-
Potapowicz lived. In the house were two rooms. When I asked him where his
kitchen was, he replied,
“Here.”
When I asked him where his dining room was, he replied,
“Here.”
And when I asked him where his front room was, he replied,
“Here.”
These three “heres” were in the same room. The other room was where the rest
of the family lived. A man with high education lived in two small rooms. He
worked here sixteen hours every day writing different articles for a
Christian paper. Having seen this place, I wondered how I would get used to
living in these two small rooms after living in America for twenty-two years
with all kinds of comforts of life. Now here I was in Europe in a house
where they hadn’t a sink or other necessary comforts. In the morning, the
brother called his wife and children. He and his wife knelt down and thanked
God for His goodness and mercy towards them.
I was planning to take a rest for at least one week right after my journey,
but I was not able to have this rest. On the day following my arrival, we
had a funeral. I’m very sorry that my story begins with a dark night and a
sad funeral, but I hope it will close with a bright morning and many souls
saved. So on this second day we had a funeral which started at nine o’clock
in the morning. We walked over two hours to the cemetery. Hundreds of
people were following us. Some of them were following for the sake of
curiosity and others were laughing, cursing and spitting. They were cursing
us because we did not have a cross; nevertheless, we were marching bravely to
the cemetery.
When we reached the cemetery, there were not hundreds of people, but
thousands. There were three of us preaching. While one would preach, the
other two would rest. With the marching and preaching in the cemetery, this
ceremony took seven hours. I remember many were saved at the cemetery. Many
raised their hands expressing their wish to accept Christ as their personal
Saviour.
After these seven hours of service, I was so tired that I wanted to hire a
horse and buggy to take me home; but my brother minister whispered in my ear,
“You can’t do that.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you can’t,” was the answer. “You see these hundreds of people,
hundreds of Christians who were marching patiently with us singing and
helping us with this service. We are not better than they are. If we take a
buggy, I’m afraid that this door will be closed for preaching of the Word of
God. They would think that we are very wealthy.”
Hearing this, I was surprised that I wasn’t allowed to hire a horse and
buggy, even with my own money; but I realized it was their way of doing
missionary work. They set a good example for the rest of the people.
As I worked in this city, it seemed to me that I could not see any results
from my work. I worked patiently until New Year’s Eve. Hundreds of people
gathered together in the hall where we were worshipping. The New Year’s Eve
meeting was conducted the same way that we do in America. I had the
privilege of preaching that evening, and before we knelt down a little before
12 o’clock, I asked if there were any souls that wished to take the Lord as
their personal Saviour before the year closed. Many hands were raised. On
one side of the room I counted over thirty-five. That night I believe over
sixty souls were saved. Again we had to wait a couple of months until these
converts grew in the grace and knowledge of the Word of God.
Next June, we marched down to the lake. Again hundreds of people followed
us. Before we reached our destination, the people were there already waiting
for us. In that little lake, I baptized twenty-seven candidates. I shall
never forget the testimony of the first brother whom I baptized. When I
asked him whether he accepted Christ as his personal Saviour, he replied,
“With all my heart I have accepted Christ as my Lord and my Saviour.”
The devil did not like that. He grew angry. He tried to raise trouble
through his servants who were there. Nevertheless he did not do any harm to
us at the lake. The service was great. The day was beautiful outside, and
there was plenty of sunshine. It seemed to me as if the doors of heaven were
opened to pour the blessings upon the children of God, for there was great
rejoicing as they saw these souls saved. The devil was watching until we got
through with the service and separated into small groups on the way to our
homes.
First of all these troublemakers followed our young people who sang by the
lake. They hid themselves in the hut. Then a certain man saw the brother
who gave that strong testimony that I mentioned above and beat him
unmercifully. When I came nearer, I asked what was the matter. The very
same man said,
“You heretics! Why do you come here? We don’t need you here. We have our
priests, so we don’t need your Gospel. Stay away with your Gospel. Scram!”
I took my hat off and said.
“Thank you.”
Then I went away. There was a young man with me whom I have had the
privilege of leading to Christ. As he walked behind me, he noticed a certain
strong, large man raise his stick and try to break my glasses. He raised his
hand and protected me. He was knocked down, and that same man followed me
and beat me badly. My back was entirely black. I wasn’t able to move either
of my hands. Three of my ribs were almost broken. I was not able to do
anything for almost a month as I was under the doctor’s care. There were
twelve of us who were beaten, not only Christians, but even those that came
to this service for the first time. For instance:
There were two young Polish girls. For the first time they saw a baptism
according to the Bible, and heard the Word of God. While they were walking
with us, our adversaries asked these girls,
“Are you Protestant also?”
They said, “Yes we are.”
They were beaten because they said they were Protestants, although they were
not Protestants as yet. After they were beaten and had cried a little, they
turned their faces to those unbelievers who were fanatic Roman Catholics and
said,
“Because of this, we shall never never miss any more church services of these
Christian people.”
As far as I can remember these two girls never missed a single service. But
I was worried whether we would have any people at our afternoon service. I
thought they would be afraid to come to our service, but I was mistaken.
Before I arrived at that service, so many people came to hear the Word of God
that it was necessary to take the windows and the doors off in order that
those outside might hear too. So after all we praised God for His blessing.
CHAPTER 3
It was a beautiful sunny Friday in July 1936 when I arrived in the town of R.
R. The greater percentage of people in this town were Jews. The first
missionary arrived from American ten years ago and started the Christian work
in this town. When I arrived in this little place, it brought back to me
fresh memories of the time when this missionary, Reverend William Peretiatko,
preached in American and led me to Christ.
There was not a single missionary in Galicia. He started to preach the Word
of God. Many a time he was in danger. One man old me that before he became
a Christian, he wanted to kill this missionary, nevertheless God Almighty
protected him. At present, I would say that there are, not hundreds, but
thousands of Christians in this part of Galicia. They began to worship in
the peasant hut, but the work grew so fast that it was necessary to have a
larger building. They prayed, and the Lord answered their prayers.
In the very same town there was a very old police station for sale. This
group of Christians decided to buy this old police station. By the station
grew a beautiful chestnut tree that was so large that one could hardly see
the building.
When I entered this building, I was led to a certain large room by Reverend
Ivan Pidhorecky. He told me that when they purchased this building and
invited Christians from the neighboring village, Reverend Nicholas Luty was
asked to preach at the opening service. Many people gathered together, ready
to hear the Word of God. Reverend Mr. Luty was to be the first speaker, but
when he was asked to speak, he was not able to speak, but wept. Nobody knew
what was the matter. After weeping and crying it out, he excused himself and
said,
“Excuse me, dear brethren. Let me explain to you why I wept. Before we
purchased this building, I preached in a neighboring village and was arrested
for preaching the Word of God. I was chained and led by two policemen from
that village to this building. Every one of you can see this pulpit, and in
the very same place stood an iron bed to which I was chained and locked. I
was also beaten, but I’m happy that the Lord made such a change, a wonderful
change. In the very same place where I was chained to the bed, I can stand
now as a free man, preaching the Word of God. That is the reason why I wept.
I was crying not because I’m sad, but because I’m happy.”
Then evening came. Many people gathered together, and I was asked to preach
the Word of God in the very same place where this brother minister of mine
was chained to the bed. The room and corridor were packed. Outside many
people were standing, so we opened the windows that they might hear the Word
of God. I preached freely standing on this historic but a Holy place where
my brother minister was chained and also beaten. As I preached, I noticed a
gentleman in the corner to my left to be one of the officials. Immediately I
came to the conclusion that he was a spy, as there were spies in other places
very often. He was sitting in the dark corner, but in his eyes I read that
he was hungry for the Word of God. Why he was there is a question that
intrigued my mind. But now I can tell you why? He was an official and was
not allowed to go to any Christian services except to the Roman Catholic
Church. That was the reason for his sitting in the dark corner, so there
would be no danger of his being seen by anyone. If they saw him, he would be
reported and lose his position.
After the service, this gentleman came to me and said,
“May I have a conversation with you sir, for a few minutes?
“Yes, you may,” I answered.
We went into a room and began to talk. He asked many different questions
concerning salvation. He was a very strong Roman Catholic and knew his
catechism, yet knowing the catechism did not satisfy his soul because his
soul was longing for something better than simply dead letters. I spoke with
him about four or five hours. It was 3:30 in the morning when we finished
our conversation. Then we knelt down asking God’s blessing.
The next day I was asked to a Christian home for tea, and this official said,
“May I go with you?”
I said that he could. He told me that he wanted to talk more about
salvation; so the next evening I sat across the table from him and we talked
of what the Word of God said about heaven and hell, and how one could escape
hell and inherit the eternal life through Christ Jesus. Everything was fine
and quiet until I heard a noise from outside and the sound of two broken
windows. Next I saw a small woman come into the house. It was the
official’s wife. She was angry as could be. Then she began cursing and
slapping his face and beating him terribly. After beating him, she said,
“I went to the Roman Catholic Church looking there for you, but you did not
go to church. You came to this sectarian clique.”
The man looked at her patiently and said in a quiet voice,
“My dear wife, what are you doing? You did not find me in the saloon or with
the car players. You did not find me in a bad place, but you found me
talking with this American missionary. I wish to learn something from him
about the Word of God. You have not only made me ashamed, but have disgraced
our country. When this man goes back to America, what will he say about our
country?”
Then I heard some more noise. Her father came. He began cursing even worse
than his daughter. I started to talk with this man’s wife and father-in-law.
As we talked, the official escaped. It was a good chance for him. When they
looked around, they cursed still worse saying,
“Escaped! Escaped!” Because he was nowhere to be found.
They left also. I was wondering what I should do. It was a terribly dark
night. The street was narrow and muddy, but I was glad it was so dark that I
had a chance to run away from this house to the church. When I reached the
old police station which is now a church, the gentleman was there already
waiting for me. He showed me his index finger, and I noticed it was twisted.
He told me his father-in-law did that, and now he couldn’t play his violin
any more. He asked me to forgive him for what happened, but I told him he
was going to get more if he chose to follow Christ. He then promised he
would follow Christ even if he had to pay with his life.
At the next service that I had in the same building, there were many
conversations and I shall never forget it. The next time I came to this town
we held a service and marched to the river through the fields and woods.
Hundreds of people came with us to the river where we had a great service.
On that day thirty-four (34) were baptized, testifying to others that they
died to the world and were risen with Christ. They were not even afraid when
the unbelievers were throwing lumps of earth at them. My dear reader, I wish
I could paint to you that beautiful picture by the river, of the fields, pine
trees and sunshine, and of the happy people singing, praying, playing, and
rejoicing in the Lord.
CHAPTER 4
From the town of R. R. I took a trip to the Carpathian Mountains. Another
worker joined me on the way. When we had almost reached the Carpathian
Range, two young men boarded the train at station P. They looked at us and
one of them said, pointing with his finger,
“Aren’t you a minister?”
I looked at my companion and whispered in his ear:
“Do you know this man?”
“No, I do not,” he replied.
I thin turned toward the gentleman and asked --
“Is it written on our foreheads that we are ministers?”
He smiled and answered: “Oh no. But did I make a mistake? Aren’t you a
minister?”
He sat down next to me and I asked him a few questions. First I asked him if
he was a Christian; then if he loved Jesus. He said that he wasn’t a
Christian, but that he loved Jesus. I further questioned him and asked if he
believed that Jesus Christ was the Son of God who came to seek and find that
which was lost and that Jesus Christ died for our sins. He said --
“I do.”
I learned later on, that he even read the Bible and was already persecuted by
the neighbors, especially by the Catholic priest of whose parish he was a
member. Then I said --
“If you believe all these things and are trusting Jesus as your personal
Saviour, what makes you think that you are not a Christian?”
“Sir,” he said, “I’m still smoking.”
In Galicia one cannot be a member of the church unless he stops smoking. We
continued our conversation. I found out that this gentleman was not able to
get any kind of a job in his town because the priest told everyone not to
give him a job, because he reads the Bible. He was a mason by trade, and for
my readers it might be interesting to know how he got this Bible.
He went to a neighboring village to build a stove out of bricks for a
peasant. As he was working, the Christian woman told him about the wonderful
Saviour who had saved her. She was illiterate nevertheless, she testified of
her Saviour to this man. He got a Bible and read it, to himself and to his
family, and also to those who came to visit him.
Before he left the train, he asked --
“Won’t you please come to our town and preach the Word of God?”
I was very sorry to have to say that I would not be able to go, for I was too
busy in other places.
We went on. As we got off at the last station, I was told that we would have
to walk quite a bit. My companion and I walked as long as ten hours before
we reached the village. As we came into the village, it was already dark.
My companion pointed to the high mountain and said --
“Do you see that little light there?” That is the place to which we have to
climb.”
I thought he was joking. To me that light seemed as if it were a star far
far behind the clouds. But it was no joke. It was a little light in a
little peasant hut far up on that high mountain. Finally we climbed up the
mountain to that little hut. The people were waiting as they expected us to
come sooner. I thought I would not be able to preach after ten long hours of
walking, but I did. I had to. When I was in America, I received a letter
from this missionary in Europe telling me that they had a hard time to breath
as they preached in a small room packed with people. There was no fresh air.
I did not believe it then. But while I was in that hut, I learned the truth
of that by what I experienced. I do not know how long I preached, but I felt
my heart stop. I was not able to say a word. My mind told me that I was
still alive; so I collected my strength, took a deep breath and began
preaching once more. After five minutes or so, the same thing happened
again. Even if one is all in, and tired, where people gather to hear the
Word of God, one must preach -- “Woe unto me if I preach not the Gospel!”
In this very same village I was a visitor two more times. One time we had a
service outside in the apple orchard. It began to rain, but not a soul went
away. I remember many were saved at that time. My third visit to this
village was on November twenty-second (22), 1937. They had two months of
good cold weather in the Carpathian Mountains. When we gathered together in
this hut, that was once a roadhouse but was turned into a house of prayer, I
saw three children walking barefooted. The only clothing they had on this
cold day was a white homemade shirt and little homemade trousers.
I remember that on this trip to the village, the brother who invited me,
bought a loaf of bread. The bread was black as could be. Four of us had
that black bread with potatoes but without any meat for our supper. Next
morning, we had the same bread and potatoes for breakfast, luncheon, and
dinner. It was the third day and we had the same things. But as I ate that
bread, I was very careful not to eat all, for at every meal there was a
little girl in the corner watching us. I learned that she was watching to
see if there would be anything left for her, after we had finished. I
remember that this very same little girl was riding with us in the same
wagon, and while we were on the way, she pulled her piece of bread from her
bosom and ate happily. I turned to her father and he said,
“She is very glad that she got the bread.”
Although they are so poor, they love the Lord and I had the privilege of
baptizing eight in this place. This little girl made such an impression on
me that I resolved then to try to procure a home for poor children, and I’m
praying daily that the Lord Almighty will give me the opportunity of doing
something for these poor, very poor Ukrainian children.
CHAPTER 5
In the spring of 1937 I made a trip to near the Romanian border. In that
part of the country, ground is rich and black, and the wheat and rye grow
splendidly. There are many small rivers. The land is not level but rather
hilly. When I arrived in the village of P., where I have had the privilege
of preaching before, I was a guest at a Christian home. As we ate our
dinner, the brother minister asked me to find two knives on the table. It
was easy to find one, but he asked me to find two. I looked and looked for
the other one, but I could not find it. Then he took a thread and said,
“Here it is. This is the other knife. With this knife we cut hot corn
mash.”
In this village, the Christians have a hard time because they haven’t a
single hut large enough where they can gather together for worship. They
tried to build a hall but were not allowed to do so as the Catholics are very
strong and would not permit the Protestants to have their house of worship.
I spent over twenty-four hours there. If one stays more than twenty-four
hours, he has to report to the country officials. So I did.
When I came to the officials, to fill out a report blank, one of them asked
me: -- “Mr., have you permission from the higher officials to come to this
village?”
“I have a visa,” I replied.
A visa is not enough,” he replied, “I wish to remind you sir, you are near
the border. Another thing, you are a foreigner; therefore, you have to have
special permission to come near the border, that is, within thirty
kilometers.”
It was then only one-fourth of a kilometer from the border. That official
kindly and politely told me to leave this village at once. He would not even
take my report because it would be bad for him to do so; so I left that
village and went to another. I was still near the border.
While I was walking with one of my friends, to my right and left I saw
beautiful white fields of rye and wheat. On this field were shocks of
sheaves stacked. As we walked along, I saw many people working in the fields
cutting rye with a sickle. One cannot pass by them without exchanging
greetings with these words, “Boze pomahay.” It was their custom and I soon
learned their ways. If I was near them or even a little distance away, I
would take my hat off and say, “Boze pomahay.”
That means “God help you.” Then they would straighten up and bow their heads
to me and say,
“Than you. May God help you too.”
I was tired of repeating these words by the time we reached the village, but
let me describe the way these people were dressed. A man, or a young man,
wore long handmade shirts with white trousers, large straw hats and were
barefooted. The women wore mostly bright colors. Their skirts were of
different colors and they wore white skirts. The vest part of their skirt
and sleeves were cross-stitched in different designs of flowers. Every woman
had a bright-colored shawl on her head. But they were working hard.
I shall never forget one family which was cutting rye near the road. They
asked us to stop by them and talk with them. They left their work and the
five of us sat on the sheaves talking about Christ. The way He came to this
earth and what He expects from us. I shall never forget that young man of
sixteen or seventeen years of age with bright eyes, smiling face who with his
open heart accepted the Lord as his personal Saviour. We knelt down in that
open field and asked the Lord to bless all those who accepted Christ as their
personal Saviour.
We were happy to continue our journey further, and we finally reached another
village. It was dark already, although the summer days were long. I was
afraid that there would be no people at that service, but to my surprise
there were many. Somehow news spread around even to the neighboring
villages, and people gathered together as I preached the Truth. When we
finished with our service, it was after midnight. The Christian men asked me
whether I reported to a country official. I told them I had and that the
county official told me I have no right to be near the border. They then
told me to leave as soon as possible for another village. I was fortunate
that I did not have to walk from this village, but rode in a wagon.
Finally I reached another town, but still near the border. In this town I
was to baptize eleven candidates in the river, “Prut.” Sunday morning about
ten o’clock, hundreds of people gathered together with us on the banks of
this river. But before I arrived there, there were many boys and girls
throwing stones at these Christians. When I came there, I went into the
midst of these people. I began to talk with them never realizing that I was
in the midst of a very dangerous crowd of people. As I was almost ready to
go into the river with those eleven candidates, I saw a policeman riding very
fast on his bicycle. As soon as he reached this crowd, he called from their
midst and asked me in a very nice way for my documents. I showed him my
American passport. He took it and put it in his pocket. Then he asked me to
go with him to the office. But I said --
Mr. Policeman, please permit me to finish my service and baptize these eleven
candidates.”
“Sir, I cannot do that,” he replied.
“Why?” I asked him. Then he pointed at the crowd and said.
“Do you see that angry crowd? Do you see that they were ready to hurt you
when I called you from their midst? You cannot have baptism. Not because I
don’t want to permit you, but because it is too dangerous.”
Finally I realized that he was right. We went to the office. They took a
report of me and then said,
“Please leave this place as soon as possible because you have no permission
to be near the border. Second because this angry crowd will probably gather
together with more people and raise trouble, sir. We have not enough police
to protect you and make order among this angry crowd.”
So immediately I took a horse and buggy and rode to the railroad station.
Before I drove away, these Christians and eleven candidates were weeping that
I did not baptize them, but while I was driving with the policeman, I put my
hand to my mouth and whispered to them:
“Never mind. Don’t be discouraged. I’ll come sometime in the night and
baptize you.”
The policeman looked at me and smiled, and I left this village. I took the
first train to Lemberg and praised God for that good policeman who saved my
life.
I never had trouble, either with police or the government. They were always
kind to me. But when I did have trouble, it was usually from the priest who
stirred the people against me. Nevertheless, I’m praying that the Lord might
help those who heard the Word of God to become Christian. This is my great
desire and prayer.
CHAPTER 6
It was raining as I was driving on my way to the village of J. and I was
soaked all the way through. It was very late when I came to the village and
also very dark. One never can tell what will happen when he comes to a
strange village. I usually have somebody else with me besides the driver
when I travel, but this time I was all alone with the driver. I was anxious
to dry my clothing before speaking, but I was not able to because people were
waiting for me in the large village library. Rain and mud does not stop them
from coming to a service.
I understood that they had been singing for sometime and were wondering
whether I would come. Although the room was packed, when I entered into the
village, the news spread that a minister had arrived, and more people came.
As the service was going on, I heard a noise from the outside and the door
opened. A group of young men entered into the room one right after another.
I learned that they had come for the purpose of breaking up the meeting. As
soon as the first young man entered, he saw a certain individual in the
audience and then took his hat off. The rest of the gang followed his
example. They were undecided whether they should stay in this meeting or
leave. They were asked to be seated. Very often this group would break up
meetings when the leader of that Christian group in the village was away, but
this time he was home. As I preached, I noticed a man of about thirty-five
years of age in my audience. He had nice curly black hair, large thick
eyebrows, bright eyes, and a dark complexion. When I looked at him, I
noticed that he was troubled. At first he listened to the sermon with his
head up, but little by little I saw his head go down. He was crying. After
I delivered the sermon, I gave the invitation to accept Christ to anyone who
wanted to be saved. Many raised their hands, and this man also. Then I
asked those who raised their hands to come to the front. From twelve to
fifteen people came forward. Later on, still more, but that man sat in his
place. He would not come forward. After I prayed with these new converts
and gave them instructions in what to do after they had given their hearts to
the Lord, I went to that man and asked him why he did not come to the front.
He was not willing to answer my question in public, so we went into a private
room and began our conversation. I talked to him about his soul and asked
him to accept Christ as his personal Saviour, but he hesitated. Then I
changed the subject and asked him how he came to this service. This is what
he said,
“I was sitting near a bush at the edge of the forest. I was deep in thought
and did not see anybody. Suddenly I felt someone lay his hand upon me. I
lifted my head and saw a man. That gentleman (and he raised his hand toward
a man who was a Christian) told me to go to church. I asked him if he knew
who I was. He replied that he did know who I was. His hand was still upon
my shoulder and he said once more, ‘Go to church,’ so I came. I heard your
sermon; and it touched my heart when you gave the invitation, I raised my
hand but was not able to go forward.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I can’t,” he said.
I continued my conversation with him.
“Don’t you want to be saved?”
He did not answer. I continued -- “Don’t you care to be happy? I know you
are an unhappy man.”
He said, “I want to be happy.”
“Then why don’t you want to accept Christ as your personal Saviour?” I
asked.
He looked at me and did not say a word. Finally he said, “Mr. Preacher, you
do not know who I am.”
“Yes,” said I, “I do know who you are.”
“Oh, no! You don’t know who I am.”
Again I said, “Yes, I do know who you are. You are an unhappy lost sinner,
and you need Christ. If you accept Him tonight, you will be happy. I was an
unhappy sinner too, but since I accepted Christ as my personal Saviour I am
happy. That is why I can tell you who you are.”
He looked at me with a sad face and said -- “If you know who I am, you would
not say that there is a chance for me to be saved.”
I told him that there was a chance for him. I said, “Do you remember when
Christ was crucified and at His right and left were thieves crucified also.
One of the thieves accepted Christ with the last breath of his life. You
have a hundred percent more chances that that thief. You are not arrested as
yet: therefore, you have more chances than that thief.”
This man looked at me: his hands were shaking and he was trembling all over.
But he continued to say the same thing, over and over again, that if I knew
him, I would not say what I was saying. Then he looked at me and asked if he
could trust me. I told him he could. And he began to tell me his story.
“I am not better than that thief that you mentioned. I do not remember if I
have committed murder directly, but I’m sure that I have indirectly. I’m a
thief, I am a bad man. There is no chance for me to be saved. Not very long
ago when I came to my little home, the police saw me and wanted me. While
they were around the house, I hid myself in the kitchen under the floor as I
had a hiding place there. The police came to this kitchen and asked my wife
where I was. Of course, my wife did not tell them. She was cruelly beaten,
nevertheless, she did not tell them that I was right under their feet hiding
under the floor. The police were wise; they went to my children and asked
them, but the children did not tell them either, because they did not see
where I hid myself. When the police left, I ran away into the woods, and
most of my time was spent in the woods. Sir,” said he, “when I decided to go
to Czechoslovakia, Romania, Russia, or even Germany, I could sneak across the
border so that even the soldiers could not see me and whatever I wanted I
got. I’m a terrible husband. My wife is suffering. My children would be
lucky if they could see their daddy at least once a month, although they are
my children. And you tell me there is a chance for me to be saved? I don’t
see how it could be. Another thing, if I accept the teachings that you
proposed to me, what would happen? As soon as I would come home, I would be
arrested. Then instead of being happy, I would be unhappy.”
When I heard what this man told me, I realized that it would be hard for him;
nevertheless, I said -- “Everything is possible for the Lord. Just trust
Him. Accept Him as your personal Saviour. Give yourself into His hands, and
he’ll take care of you.”
After a long conversation, he accepted Christ as his personal Saviour. We
knelt down and prayed together. After prayer, he went home. He told his
wife that from that night on, he was going to live a different life. From
that night on, he was going to be a faithful father and husband. His wife
looked at him and said -- “John, now I know you are getting crazy.”
But John proved that he had accepted Christ as his personal Saviour. This
news of his conversion spread all over the village, even to the neighboring
village. Strange he said, nevertheless it happened. John never was arrested
after his conversion. His wife, his boy, and he also were baptized. What a
great testimony it was to the unsaved when John testified in the river, to
the large crowd of spectators, that as soon as he accepted Christ he became a
new creature.
Sometime later when I visited John’s home, I saw that his family were all
happy. His little children sang spiritual Hymns and this is what his son
told me, “Mr. Lukianchuk, I’m so happy that my daddy accepted Christ. We
children are so happy although we are not any richer materially, but we have
no more trouble. We have our daddy with us always. He teaches us how to
sing, tells us Bible stories and also teaches us verses from the Bible.
It made my heart glad when I heard that, because I have had the privilege of
leading John to Christ, and now he was teaching his children the Word of God.
Now he was going to visit other villages to distribute tracts and portions
from the Bible, etc. All I need to do is to tell John that in such and such
a village there is need of someone who can go and tell them about Christ, and
John never refuses. He goes and testifies of what the Lord has done for him.
CHAPTER 8
As I was traveling from cities to towns and from towns to villages, I
received an invitation to visit the village of Shalashi. This village is
located in a beautiful section where many pine trees grow. On my way to it,
I saw deer here and there, two or three and sometimes as many as ten. It
seemed to me that they were not afraid of us.
When I reached the village of Shalashi, the people were already waiting
inside and outside of a hut. Many strangers came. Many came from curiosity
because they are a curious people. Immediately the police came and asked me
where I came from. When he saw my documents and realized that I was an
American citizen, he did not say any harsh words; but spoke politely, -- “How
long are you going to stay in this village?”
The police were surprised to see an American missionary there, as everybody
thinks that one who has lived in America for a long time would not care to
come to these peasants to preach and live with them.
As I preached, I felt that the Holy Spirit moved many souls to accept Christ
as their Lord and Master. After closing the service, I asked the brethren
how the Word of God was first preached in this village. So one of the
brethren said, -- “I’ll tell you the history of this church. As you have
noticed, our village is very large. When you passed through you saw a Greek
Catholic Church; but after we built that church, we did not have a priest.
Usually the priest came only once a month. The citizens of this village got
disappointed and always quarreled saying, -- ‘Why did we build this church?’
“One time three men came together and one of these men said, --
“’I have a good idea. If you will do what I tell you, within a month or two
you will get a priest.’
“Another said, ‘You are crazy with your stunts and tricks. We were waiting
years and years to get a priest into this village, and you say you have some
kind of trick that will bring a priest. I don’t believe you. You’re always
saying something.’
“The third man said, ‘But let him tell us what kind of trick he has.
Probably it will work out.’
“They finally agreed to hear the man and what kind of trick he had. This is
what he said:
“’You know there are some Baptist people in Rawa Ruska. If you follows agree
with me, we’ll go to this town and invite those Baptists to our village. I’m
sure they will come and preach to us. After a day or so when they are going
to be in our village, we’ll send a delegate on to our Catholic Bishop. When
he hears that the Baptists have opened their mission in this village, I’m
sure he’ll send a priest to us at once.’
“Finally they decided to do this. They sent a man to Rawa Ruska asking those
Christians to come to Shalashi. The Christians were glad to receive this
invitation and a day or two later they came. Not only did their elderly
brethren come but their young people also came to help them with the singing.
News spread throughout the village and the villagers gathered at a certain
home. They were happy to hear the Word of God. These Christians stayed for
about two or three weeks. Many were saved. Finally somebody notified the
Catholic Bishop and sure enough, the Bishop sent a priest. But it was too
late. Many souls were saved; they never went back to the Catholic Church.
The three men who invited these Christians went back to the Catholic Church
and never came to our services any more. This is how God’s Word began to be
preached in this village.
From this village, I went on farther to the village of Ternovica Lisna. When
I arrived in this village, I was also interested to know how the Lord’s work
was started there. Brother Mocharny told me that on a certain day when the
Polish Roman Catholic priest was going from house to house with Holy Water to
sprinkle and bless the homes and chase the evil spirits away, in a certain
hut he saw a man -- a Polish man reading a Ukrainian Bible. When this priest
saw one of his members reading the Bible without her permission, he snatched
it from his hands and carried it away. On his way he met a Ukrainian priest
and said to him -- “Father, here is a Ukrainian Bible. Take it.”
When the Ukrainian priest took the Bible, he gave it to Mr. Mocharny. Mr.
Mocharny looked it over and noticed that it was a Bible. He said to the
priest, “Father, may I have this Book for a while?”
“Yes, you may,” said the priest, “only for a few days. When you have read it
a few days, bring it back to me because I have to have it.”
Mr. Mocharny read it a week, two weeks, three weeks, a month. He learned to
love this Book. One day the priest met him and said -- “Mr. Mocharny, bring
me that Bible of mine. You have read it long enough.”
“Oh, Father,” said Mr. Mocharny, “that Book is so wonderful, permit me to
read it a little bit longer.”
The priest permitted him to read it a little while longer. Finally, after
reading the Word of God over two months, Mr. Mocharny was converted through
reading it. When the priest met him again, he said -- “Mr. Mocharny, if you
are not going to bring my Bible, I will send the police for it and then
you’ll have to give it to me.”
This frightened the man so he took the Bible to the priest’s house, but he
never went back to a Catholic Church. He got another Bible from someone
else. He gathered his neighbors together and read the Word of God to them.
It found place in the hearts of many people, and many of them accepted Christ
as their personal Saviour. Twice I had the privilege of baptizing in this
village. The first time seven persons and the second time, eight. But
persecution followed for Mr. Mocharny.
His hut was across the street from a Greek Catholic Church. He had a little
orchard, and this orchard was completely destroyed by the unsaved. One time
when a Christian died, the Christians from the neighboring village came to
help these new converts and brought a minister along with them. When they
marched to the cemetery, they were met at the gate of that cemetery by the
priest and his followers. They were almost ready to fight, but God gave
wisdom to the minister and he took out his camera as if to take a picture of
the priest. The priest was standing there as angry as could be holding his
stick in his hand ready to strike. Then the minister said -- “I have your
picture. I’m going to publish a paper and your picture is going to be
there.”
This scared the priest. He said, “Oh, please, please don’t put my picture in
the paper.”
The minister said, “If you promise you won’t persecute the Christians any
more, I’ll destroy these films.”
He opened his camera and said, “There is nothing there.” Then he said to the
priest -- “You are an educated man. You know that if you expose this film to
the sun, it will spoil.”
But the priest did not understand the trick or what the minister meant when
he said, “There was nothing, and there is nothing.”
The minister did not have any film in his camera. That is what happened in
this village.
Then I went to the village of Ruda. A fellow minister and I came here to
hold a funeral service. I learned that in this village there were only three
Christians. When this young girl died, the villagers decided to watch these
Protestants to see what they would do with the body. Although it was a
working day, they declared a holiday. Some of them said that the Protestants
were going to bury this girl in the house under the table. Others said that
they would bury her on the threshold, and still others said in the garden
under the apple tree. That is the reason why they were watching, for they
were curious and superstitious.
When the other minister and I arrived, immediately a great crowd gathered.
The boys, as boys are everywhere, were the first ones to try to enter into
the house. The house was small and as it was a summer day, I told my fellow
minister to take the body outside as soon as possible and have the service
outside. They took the body outside. The people were standing far from us,
but as three of us preached the Word of God, I saw the people coming nearer
to us. The old men were smoking their pipes by the fence as they sat on the
logs. When the Word of God got hold of them, I saw that they were emptying
their pipes, and standing up removing their hats. When we were in the middle
of our service, these youngsters and old people were so close to us in a
circle that I had to keep walking around the casket and the preacher so they
would not come closer. I was afraid when they came closer. Two thoughts
were raised in my mind. First, if they came closer, they might be interested
in the Word of God, and wish to hear more and more, or they might get angry,
come closer, knock us down and beat us. That is the reason why I was walking
around the minister asking the crowd to give more space. But I was mistaken.
These people were hungry for the Truth. That is why they came so close.
As we marched to the cemetery, I looked back and saw men and women running
after us with their rakes and hoes. My hands began to shake. I thought they
were going to beat us. I was prepared to take the punishment, but the lord
changed their minds for them. They put aside their rakes and hoes together
and followed us. They reached the cemetery when we were already by the
grave. Again we sang and preached the Word of Truth. The Word of God got
such a grip on their hearts that when we were through with the service and
were on our way to the train, they ran after us again saying -- “Thank you
for coming to our village and preaching to us the Word of God. Please come
again.”
Then they shook hands with us and left.
Later I heard from my brother in Christ whose sister we buried, that these
villagers told him to sell his horse and cow to pay the minister for the
funeral. They told him if he had invited five priests he would not have had
such a nice funeral for his sister. The priest could not preach such a
gospel sermon as this minister did. It was a little encouragement for us
that we were used for the glory of God to preach His Word to those poor
hungry souls.
CHAPTER 9
The Village of Sorrow
In the preceding chapters, I have either given the full name of the different
cities, towns, and villages, or at least the initials. In this chapter, I
cannot give either the real name or the initial; but I will call this
village, The Village of Sorrows.
During the World War when Russia was fighting with the Austrians, some
Glacian soldiers were taken prisoners by the Russian army. Mr. Nicholas,
from the Village of Sorrows, was captured also. Most of the time during his
captivity, he was in a great Ukrainian city, Kief. When he was a little boy,
he had read so much about this beautiful, historical city that he was glad
that they had brought him there. During his spare time in the evenings or
Sundays, he usually took long walks through the city. He found many
beautiful Ukrainian Greek Orthodox churches, beautiful historical cathedrals;
nevertheless, he was looking for something else.
On a certain Sunday evening, while he was walking in one of the streets in
the great city of Kief, he heard singing in a large hall. For the firs time
he heard this strange melody reaching him as he walked through the street; it
came from the open door of the hall. He heard not only the melody, but the
words also. He stopped by the door. A young man who was standing by the
door in the hall noticed that Nicholas had stopped. He came out and invited
Nicholas in for the service and he accepted the invitation. As Nicholas
heard the singing and preaching for the first time, he could not understand
it all. He left that service and during the whole week, he thought and
wondered who those people were who sang so beautifully, read the scriptures,
and prayed in the way that he never heard in Galicia.
When next Sunday came, Nicholas went to that church again. He still was not
able to understand all that was said, but he got hold of parts of it. He
caught something that was very important to him. He learned that God loves
the world, and that Christ came to die on Calvary’s cross to redeem sinners,
but still Nicholas was not converted. He went to this church for a month or
so and then finally accepted Christ as his personal Saviour.
Although he was in captivity, he was a free man. He was waiting for that day
when he would be sent back to his native village, The Village of Sorrows, in
Galicia. The happy moment came when Nicholas arrived in his native village.
Immediately he called his children, wife and relatives, and told them of his
belief in Jesus Christ. He testified to them but they too were not able to
understand what he said. He continued to testify in the Village of many
Sorrows, and one night when he held his service, a little boy from behind the
fence was listening to his sermon. We’ll name this boy Harry, although this
is not his real name.
Harry was not permitted to go to these Protestant Christian services because
his father and mother were Catholics and would not dare to permit their boy
to join any other church. Harry was about fourteen years of age. When
Harry’s father learned that his son went to listen to those, whom he would
call sectarians, he strictly forbade him to go there any more. But Mr.
Nicholas’s son was converted and he and Harry were friends. They were
watching the cattle in the field and Mr. Nicholas’s son usually told Harry
what his father preached about. Harry grew interested nevertheless he was
not allowed to go to the Christian services.
While Harry was watching horses one night, he lay down and looked at the sky.
There were so many, many stars. He gazed at the stars and thought to
himself; -- “Sky -- stars and way above the stars there is a heaven. In
heaven -- God lives, and the Saints also. I wish I could be there too.”
Harry was fifteen years of age. One Sunday while his father and mother were
away from the village, he went to a service; but no one saw him there. He
hid himself in a dark place so that if somebody would tell his father that he
went to this service, it could not be proved because no one saw him in this
hall where the Christians were gathered together. As the minister preached
that night, Harry was weeping in that dark, hiding place. He repeated to
himself -- “That is for me, that is for me. I wish my father would be a
Christian or at least permit me to come here every Sunday.”
He was crying. At that meeting, Harry, a young boy of fifteen, gave his
heart to Jesus in that dark hiding place. Nobody knew of it except God and
Harry, but he was hungry for the Word of God. So one time when he was with
the minister’s boy, he asked him if there was any way for him to get a New
Testament. This boy asked his father, the minister, and he supplied him with
a New Testament. This was to be a secret between Harry and the minister and
his son. The only time Harry could read the Word of God was when his father
and mother were away. Somehow or another, Harry’s father found the New
Testament and threw the Book into the fire. To Harry this was the same thing
as if his father had taken the last piece of bread from his mouth. He would
rather have only one meal a day than lose his New Testament, but the Book was
gone.
But the Holy Spirit was working in the heart of Harry, and he decided to
follow Christ and join the church. One night, he came to the minister and
asked for baptism. The minister told him to wait until he was a little
older, but nobody in the world could persuade Harry to wait. So one night,
when nobody but the stars and God in Heaven saw it, Harry was baptized in the
river. Again, some way his father learned about that and tried to stop Harry
from going to church. His parents decided to give him only one slice of
black bread a day until he would stop going to the Christian services. But
Harry took it gladly just so he could go to church.
One morning when Harry came from church, his father put a question before
him. How soon would he leave that new religion as he persisted in calling
it? His father tried to make Harry go to the priest for confession, but
Harry said -- “Father, I can’t go to confession because I have already
confessed my sins. The priest cannot forgive my sins. I didn’t do anything
wrong against the priest; therefore he cannot forgive me my sins. I did
wrong against God. I went to Him and confessed my sins, and He forgave them
all.”
But Harry’s father thought that his son had gone crazy. He made him go to
the priest. Harry went to the priest and the priest asked Harry if he would
repent of his sins. Harry said, --
“I did not do anything wrong. I repented already before God and He forgave
me my sins. I have nothing to confess to you.”
The priest was very angry. Harry was thrown out of the church. The poor boy
went home. Evening came. Harry asked for permission to go to the Christian
Church but was not allowed. Instead of his going to church, his father took
him to the barn and tied him to the post. Then he took a wet rope and beat
his son so severely that he could not hold his head up straight. After being
beaten, he was left alone in the barn tied to the post. Harry almost lost
consciousness. Later on, his father came again and said -- “Harry, my son,
my only son. Please leave your Bible. Please stop going to that church.
Come with me to my church.”
But Harry quietly whispered -- “Daddy, I cannot leave Jesus. I cannot leave
the Bible. I did not do anything wrong. Oh, I cannot go back to worshipping
idols.”
Again he was beaten. His young body was bruised, black and blue. He was
bleeding in several places and left alone in the barn for the rest of the
night. About the middle of the night, a good neighbor came and loosened
Harry from the post and took him to his home. He heard when Harry was being
beaten. In the morning Harry’s father became angry. He said, “The Shtundist
stole my son.”
He first went to the minister’s home but did not find his boy there. He went
here and there but could not find Harry in any of the Christian homes. The
neighbor was not a Christian, but he was a man with a good heart who saved
the boy’s life. After a few days, when Harry got a little better, he came
home. But now his health was broken. His father tried again to persuade his
boy to stop going to the Christian Church, and Harry prayed daily for his
parents.
Six months later, Harry became seriously sick. While he was very sick, his
father called the priest to give him the sacraments. When the priest came,
Harry said,
“I have nothing to confess. I confessed my sins before God two years ago.
My sins are all forgiven. They were bled out. Christ washed my sins by his
precious blood, which he shed on Calvary’s cross. I have nothing to confess
to you.”
The priest went and shortly after that, Harry was drawing his last breath.
The father and mother came to the side of his bed. They looked upon their
boy and then the father said, “Harry, my boy, tell me what I can do for you.”
Harry looked at his father and mother and did not say anything. Again his
father cried out -- “Harry, my son, you are dying! Forgive me. Oh, forgive
my cruelty to you.”
The mother cried kissing her boy. Harry opened his eyes and in a quiet voice
said, “Daddy, I forgive you. Jesus forgave me my sins, and I forgive you.
But Daddy, oh, Daddy! Promise me that I will see you in heaven. Promise me
that you will accept Christ, my Jesus whom I accepted two years ago.”
Harry was holding his father’s hand until he went to Glory. But before he
went to Glory, in the last moment of his life, he asked his father to do him
a favor. He said, “When I die, Daddy, please invite my minister, not your
priest. My minister of the Gospel. Let him bury me.”
His father promised him that he would have his minister bury him. When the
funeral was held, Christians gathered together, not only from the Village of
Many Sorrows, but from the neighboring villages as well. Instead of crying,
they sang spiritual songs. While the message was being delivered by Harry’s
body, the father came to the casket and cried out,
“Harry, Harry. My dear son! My only son! Forgive me, forgive me. I am a
murderer. Oh, forgive me!”
But Harry was not able to say anything more. On that funeral day, Harry’s
father and mother gave their lives to the Lord. Yes. Harry was faithful
unto death. He was so anxious to see his daddy become a Christian while he
was living, but by his death, he won his daddy and mother for Christ.
CHAPTER 10
It was a cold stormy, snowy, Carpathian Christmas morning. In a large
peasant hut, a group of Christians gathered together for morning worship.
The room was packed, and I had the privilege of delivering the sermon. While
I was preaching, the door opened, and I saw a young man walk into the room.
He appeared to be about seventeen or eighteen years of age. My first glimpse
of him gave me the impression of a dangerous and troublesome person who came
to disturb our service, but I was mistaken, for the young man got down on his
knees and began to pray. I may describe to you, my dear readers, how he was
dressed. His coat was almost torn to shreds, and the trousers were in the
same condition. His shoes were worn to the extent of having such large holes
at the toes that gave them an appearance of large hungry mouths, and his toes
looked like tongues, sticking out, for he did not have any socks on. But
when I was preaching, I saw his face light up in smiles. Surely, I can say
that his cup was running over with joy and praise to his Master and Redeemer
who saved him. When I looked at his clothing and then at his face, there was
a great contrast. His clothing expressed his poor condition, but his face
expressed his full joy in the Lord. When looking at his poor clothing, one
could not but wonder what he had to be happy about, but he was happy in the
Lord. The service was blessed, and many souls were saved. When I got
through with the service and pronounced the benediction, this young man stood
up and congratulated the Christians on the wonderful service. Then he
pointed his finger at me and said -- “Brother Lukianchuk, I was sent by the
brethren from village W. to invite you to visit our village and preach God’s
Word to us. We have never had the privilege of having a missionary or
minister in our village. Won’t you please come?”
I learned that this young man walked over seventy-five miles in order to
invite me to come and preach to them. I was not able to give him an answer
promptly, for the people of that village were very hostile, and during the
Ukrainian and Polish war, this village was supposed to have been entirely
destroyed. When some Christians passed through there, these villagers were
so angry that they wanted to kill them and place crowns of thorns upon their
brows. This was the reason why I hesitated to promise this brother that I
would go to his village and preach. Nevertheless, he waited patiently for an
answer. I battled in my heart over this question, but finally decided that I
must go and preach the Word.
The spring of 1937 came and I took a train to the village of W. Upon my
arrival at the station in the city of S., I was met by four of the brethren.
My experience here shows why somebody usually came to meet me, because it was
too dangerous to be alone with the driver. I reported my presence to the
high official of the city and told him that I was going to village of W. to
preach. He promised that I would not be harmed, and the police were notified
immediately. We rode in a pleasant wagon to the village. To my right and
left were beautiful mountains which we call the Carpathian Range. They were
covered with many beautiful green trees. In the valley below was a small
river which was curved like a snake running through the valley. We had to
travel eighteen miles by wagon. In America this distance can be made by auto
in thirty minutes, whereas it took us over two hours. This slow traveling
gave us plenty of time to talk things over.
A young man whose name I do not wish to mention, told me how his father,
mother and grandmother of seventy-five years was not a Christian at the time
he was first beaten and could not stand it when they beat his grandmother.
He kept his eyes especially on one young man who broke his grandmother’s arm.
He grew so angry that he chased him as far as the river but left him there.
When this young man and his friend went into the woods to work, the same
people caught them and beat both of the young men so hard that when I asked a
young man where he had a pain, he replied -- “Brother Lukianchuk, ask me
where I have no pain.”
His entire body was black as coal from bruises, which were made when he was
beaten with the dull side of an ax. Somehow the two managed to escape, and
the young man began to pray for the first time under a tree. He told me that
the tree was not very large, yet when he prayed, the unsaved around the tree
did not see him. I believe it was a miracle. God himself protected this
young man, and he was converted under the tree after his prayer.
Finally we reached the village of W., and again I reported myself to the
chief of the village. This was in the afternoon. I held a meeting the same
afternoon, and the people gathered to hear the Word of God. Most of the
congregation consisted of young people, and I noticed that most of the
revivals were among the young people. I was told that we could not have a
long service as the unbelievers were going to organize themselves and come to
this place to kill and destroy us; therefore, the service was short. I say
short, but it was at least an hour and twenty-five minutes long. Before
sunset, all the people had left the hut where we held the meeting. Night
came, a terrible night! The Catholics were busy all night getting ready to
attack our hut, but thank God that we had a dog who barked whenever one of
them came near the hut. We were not able to sleep even five minutes.
Saturday came. Although it was dangerous, we made a holiday and held two
services. Again, the hut was packed to the doors. I was hardly able to
breathe, as there was no fresh air. What a blessed time I had with these
people who came to hear a missionary for the first time. In the evening
three policemen came. When they found out that I was an American citizen,
they said -- “Minister, you do not know this place. You do not know the
people of this village, you have come to a dangerous place. We would like to
stay and protect you but we have not enough police, so please do not go out
of the house in the night.”
I asked them if I would be permitted to hold a service on Sunday. The answer
was “no”; so I asked them why. They replied that it was too dangerous. I
asked them once again if they would strictly forbid me to have a service?
They said “yes,” and then they said “but” -- and that meant I could have a
church service.
So on Sunday morning we gathered together in a neighboring hut. Oh, I wish I
could picture the men, women, and young people as I watched them come to the
service. The service began. They all prayed and cried in their joy. I
spoke from the Word of God. One of the Christians stood up and said that the
Holy Spirit told him that we were going to be either beaten or killed. Then
we closed the service. Sixteen souls were saved in this meeting. Everybody
rushed home except one family. They appeared to be waiting for something so
I asked them what they were waiting for. They said -- “We are afraid to go
home because when the Catholics come from their church and see us, they are
going to kill us for being at a Christian meeting.
I said I was an American citizen and would go with them, for they would not
beat me. So, we went together. As soon as we reached the middle of the
village, women and children began to throw stones at us from behind the
houses. Just as soon as they showed their faces, I took a snapshot of them
with my camera that I carried with me. As I snapped the picture, they yelled
out.
“Wow! That Baptist is shooting at us.”
We went quietly on our way to the home of this brother. As I was eating my
dinner, the door opened, and a boy about thirteen years of age walked in.
His face was pale, his legs were trembling, and his hands and lips were
shaking. The owner of the house said, -- “Ivan, what have you to tell us?”
The poor lad was so out of breath from running that he was not able to say a
word. Finally, he pointed his finger at me saying,
“Sir, save your life. Get away from this place as soon as possible. I heard
the priest pronounce in the church that he and every one of his members
should come to kill you and Brother Zalizko.”
When I heard this, I became weak and everything dropped from my hands as I
was eating. I could not speak. Then Brother Kmechak questioned me saying --
“Brother, what are you going to do if they beat you?”
“I’ll take everything to the Lord in prayer,” I replied. “Whatever He says,
I’ll do.”
He was satisfied with my answer, and I left he house in the company of a
little boy and a young girl. On the way, the young man who walked seventy-
five miles to invite me to this village met us. Immediately four or five
boys started throwing stones at us. As we walked along, the crowd grew
larger and larger. They all were throwing stones at us. I believe there
were about fifty people in the crowd following us, and I took courage to take
a snapshot of them with my camera. We reached the other side of the village,
and I wondered where I should go. I asked the Lord to direct me, and the
Lord through the Holy Spirit told me not to go to a home of a Christian, for
the crowd of angry people would destroy the house and every one of us. Just
then, two stones were thrown through the window of a Christian’s house. I
decided I would go to the headman of the village.
I knocked at the door and was told to come in. I entered and told the chief
that his citizens were throwing stones at me, an American citizen and
Christian missionary. He smiled in a sarcastic way.
“Chief,” I said, “give me a horse and wagon with police protection. Take me
to the railroad station, for if you don’t, I will not leave this house.”
With that, I took the third place from him on the bench. In that house there
were thirty-five men and at least fifteen to twenty women discussing
different things. The main topic of conversation was a dead horse. This is
the way the story went.
‘One farmer borrowed a horse from another. He worked so faithfully with the
horse that the owner of the horse was not able to use him any more.’
These people were trying to make peace between the two farmers, but when I
came in, they stopped their discussion. One man opened a conversation with
me saying,
“Sir, why do you come to our village and preach the gospel to us? You lead
your people astray; we don’t need you here. Don’t come here any more.”
“Sir, I’m sick,” I said as I looked at him.
I was silent for a while. Finally, I said again,
“This friend of mine,” and I pointed to the man who was next to me, “told me
you were a good doctor. I went to see you. I asked will you help me? You
did and I got well. Then my neighbor’s wife or child was taken sick. I
don’t remember exactly just who it was, but I told them to go and see you,
the doctor. You helped them also. Tell me, did I do right or wrong that I
led them to you?”
His answer was --- “Of course, you did the right thing.”
Then I told this man that this was only an illustration, but that I really
was sick spiritually. I was in sin; a poor lost sinner. One day a
missionary came to my home and led me to the Lord. At one time, I was
feeling so low spiritually that I locked myself in my room, took out a
revolver and was going to commit suicide. But now Jesus is my Saviour who
redeemed me and saved me, now I am well and happy in Jesus Christ, my Lord
and Saviour. Then I said to him -- “Who are you to forbid me to tell about
this wonderful Saviour to my Ukrainian people?”
I learned later that this man whom I called doctor, was the very same man who
broke the arm of the good old seventy-five year old sister. He beat her and
other Christians almost to death. Then another man stood up and said, --
“Mr. Lukianchuk, you preach a strange doctrine to us. You preach your
Baptist Bible to us.”
I looked at him in surprise and said.
“Baptist Bible?”
I then pulled out my Bible from my pocket. It was worn from being used too
much. I opened it and asked him if he knew how to read. The answer I
received was silence. Then I said,
“If you do not, I’ll read it for you.”
I read the names of the three men who had translated the Ukrainian Bible and
asked them if they knew who they were. Again, I asked the man.
“Were they Protestants or Catholics?”
Again, the answer was silence.
“If you do not know who they were,” I said, “then I’ll tell you. They were
Catholics, and we praise God for these three men. They did their best for
our Ukrainian people. They gave their Bible to us. They translated the Word
of God into our language. So I’m preaching, not a Protestant Bible, but your
Catholic Bible. If you do not believe this, bring your Bible from the
church, and we’ll compare them. Furthermore,” I said, “I’m willing to have a
discussion with your priest, proving to him that we are right and preach a
doctrine that is the Truth.”
That man had nothing to say. Another man stood up and said -- “Sir, you
protestant people call us idol worshippers.”
I turned to those who were in that house and said -- “How many of you can
prove to me that we went to your homes and called you such a name as idol
worshippers at any time?”
The room was in complete silence. The man who had spoken was ashamed, but by
the grace of God I was able to prove to him, and the other people in the
room, that from the historical standpoint, that before 988 AD our Ukrainian
people were worshipping idols, but in 988 they were baptized in the river.
The fourth man who was sitting on the bench stood up and said to the chief of
police,
“Chief, please give this missionary a horse and wagon with police protection,
otherwise he will not leave this house, just as he said.”
So the chief sent a policeman with me and the brethren gave us a wagon. Four
of us left the house to go to the railroad station. Just as soon as we left
the house for the station, I saw the policeman was trembling, for it was a
rainy day and cold. I took my raincoat off and gave it to the policeman, and
then put my arm around him telling him of my Saviour. He said to me, --
“Minister, what those hypocrites said against these Christians is not true.
They are good Christians and set a good example for the people in our
village. I wish that all of our people would be like these Christians.”
Then he quoted a verse from the Scriptures found -- Matthew 24, verse 13.
“’But he that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved.’”
“Mr. Policeman,” I said, “you know the Scriptures.”
He told me that his brother read the Bible, and once in a while he would read
it when no one was watching. He said that everything I said was right and my
preaching too. He was a poor man with a family and wanted to live a while;
that was why he wasn’t a Christian.
We had almost reached the neighboring village when we were met by forty young
men. Everyone of them had a stone in his hand. I took off my hat and said
to them, -- “Praise be to Jesus.”
That is the way they greet one another, but I received no answer. Again I
said, -- “Praise be to Jesus.”
A few young men answered -- “Praised be the Lord forever.”
They wanted to stone us, but the policeman said,
“Young men, I’m authorized by the chief of our village to protect this
American missionary, and if you harm him, it's just going to be too bad for
you.”
My hands and entire body was trembling. Nevertheless, no one touched me
there. As we continued our drive to the station, I saw two men standing
together and looking at something. As I was already scared, I cried to my
driver,
“Stop! Stop! Please stop! Look at those men. I think they are looking at
Brother Zelizko’s dead body lying there.”
Those two men came to our wagon; they were Gypsies. They told us that that
brother was saved by them and went on his way home. It was almost evening,
and we went on our way also. To my left I saw a man in the field, far away
from us. We called out -- “Brother Zelizko! Come here!”
He was too far away, for he didn’t recognize us nor our call. He thought
that these forty young men were calling to chase him again, so he began to
run quickly away. We called out once more, and then he recognized our
voices. He came to our wagon and I asked him, -- “What happened?”
“When the boy saw you speaking to me,” he said, “I tried to escape from the
village, but seven men were following me. I ran three miles and they ran
after me. I wasn’t able to run any more so I went to the Gypsy hut. The
Gypsy hid me in the attic. Those men came and asked the Gypsy to give me up.
I was praying up in the attic and heard what they were talking about. The
Gypsy came to the attic and asked me if I wanted to go. I didn’t answer; I
was praying. Then four men climbed up to the attic and said, -- ‘Hands up.’
I told them I had no revolver, only my Bible. They told me to come down. On
the ground floor, there were other men hollering, ‘throw him down, that
sectarian, throw him down. We’ll show him how to preach that Gospel of his.
He will not preach the way to live a righteous life any more, (pointing out
where we are wrong). When we get through with him, he won’t preach that
Gospel of his.’ So then I came down for that was all I could do. Then they
tried to pull me out of the house, -- I grabbed hold of the bed, but they
pulled me off. I grabbed hold of the table, but they pulled me out into the
vestibule. I caught hold of the door, and they pulled me so hard that the
doorknob was left in my hands. I felt sorry for the Gypsy so I let go of the
door. They promised the Gypsy that they would not kill me in his house, so
they started to pull me toward the woods. I escaped from them, kneeled down
by the fence and prayed out loud. The Gypsy family was screaming and the
neighbors began to gather. These bandits pulled me off the fence and carried
me in the direction of the woods. Once more I escaped and began to pray that
God Almighty would forgive them and keep me faithful to him even if they
killed me; so that I could be with Jesus. As the neighbors gathered
together, a ‘husky’ man ran toward us with two of his ‘husky’ sons. He was a
Polish man -- he saved my life. That is how it all happened.”
This is a true story of what happened in this village, and before I left for
America I baptized sixteen souls in the neighboring village and left at least
twenty-five for next summer. Two days before I left the town in which I
lived, these people sent a delegation to me asking for forgiveness. They
invited me to preach to them and promised me they would not harm me. They
confessed they were lead astray by the priest. I can say “Praise the Lord”
that he helped me to be his witness in this village.