LETTERS: STAR BRIGHTENS CHRISTMAS

To the editor:

There was rejoicing among the 150 members of a Christian congregation of Romanov in the Soviet Muslim Republic of Kirghizistan in the western part of central Asia.

But why did the people rejoice?

For by widening the street, the workers had bulldozed their prayer meeting house into a heap of rubble. Salvaging what they could, the church members put up kind of a log cabin for worship but continued petitioning authorities for a permit for a new church building.

In 1981, they received a permit. That's why the people rejoiced. They went to work immediately. They gathered stone and rock from the mountainside. They cut down timber. Skilled hewers, members of the church, cut the timber into boards, beams and rafters.

Stonemasons hewed the rock smooth and erected walls. They worked after their days of labor for the state. They worked evenings and into the nights and on holy days. As 1982 drew to a close, they had spent their last rubles. But a modest new church building stood complete with electricity and a wood-burning stove built of stone.

The people were proud and happy, but they knew also that in the Soviet Union all the church buildings were the property of the godless regime. So they hurried to report the completion of their handiwork to the authorities to get permission to take possession of their church building. But they were in for a surprise. The bureaucrats broke into laughter. They said, "We'll let you know when you may move into OUR building to worship your god."

The people waited 15 months. They were anxious to hear from the bureaucrats, because they desired greatly to celebrate Christmas in their church. Finally, the answer came: "As you know, your house belongs to us, and we intend to hand ti over to our Young Pioneers (a Communist youth organization)." The church people stared thunderstruck, but not for long.

The church elders traveled to Frunze (the state capital) to plead their case before the Communist state committee. They did not even want to see the petitioners. The days of the 1983 became shorter and shorter until Christmas approached.

On Christmas Eve, the Christians gathered in their cabin. Somebody brought in a small pine tree. Women tied candles to the twigs. The candles and the petroleum lamp did their best to brighten up the room. The people huddled together, for there was no heat in the hut.

The lay preacher rose and spoke: "This is the saddest Christmas we ever had. Bolshevik children will romp to their hearts' delight in our sanctuary. They'll not see the picture of the Christ child on the walls but will look on the face of Lenin with his goatee and on the faces of Marx and Engels covered with thick, black, artificial beards. In our church their communistic children will learn to become good Communists. What an irony! They'll have a good building on which they have not worked one hour or paid one kopeck." The preacher fell silent. The lamp went out for lack of petroleum. Still shining gently were the candles, but they started quitting one by one. Women and children cried softly. As the last candle died, the people left the darkened shack.

And, indeed, across the street, in their own church building, in illuminated rooms, romped to their hearts' delight communistic youth. But in their sorrow and grief over the loss of their handiwork, a voice rang out: "Look. A star!" A star had risen in the East quietly and stood brightly shining over the Alai mountain range, in no way a miracle star, only sparkling and twinkling as Venus occasionally does before the crack of dawn.

The people did not ask for the name of the star. For them, it was the star of Bethlehem all over again. They started singing their Christmas songs right there by the wall of their church.

The preacher stretched out his hand and, pointing to the star beaming in the clear air over the mountains, cried out -- knowing there were no Communists around: "God has not spoken yet his last word over communism, but he will. And when that happens, we will return and lay claim on our house of worship." "Amen!" the members shouted.

Long they stood and marveled. They knew it was a natural phenomenon, a star as all the others, but one shining on this evening much brighter then all the others around.

Yet they regarded the beauty in the sky as a sign that God had not forgotten them, a messenger from on high sent to banish darkness from their hearts and heal the wounds the Communists had inflicted on them by stealing their chapel.

A few years longer only had they to bear the yoke of the oppressors until they heard clear and loud the hammer blows against the Berlin Wall. Christians and Muslims alike rushed to lay hands on their oppressors, but the nest was empty. On a fast train they were under way to Moscow. From Moscow had those godless come who had trampled upon them for 70 years. The Christians, as the old preacher had said, claimed their house of worship. The children, especially, got a kick out of throwing the images of Lenin, Marx and Engels on a trash heap. Instead, the Christ child's picture was placed over the pulpit in their church. It was only a few weeks until Christmas. And they watched for the star.

And lo, on Christmas Eve, it rose majestically over the Alai mountain ridge -- just as the old preacher had said it would.

HERBERT HIRSCHFELD

Cape Girardeau