Register readers might remember me. I was a staff writer at the paper for a couple of years before leaving, last May, to get a graduate degree in journalism at Columbia University in New York.

Since January, I've been taking a course in religion reporting. Last month, the class took a study tour of Russia. What I saw there shattered just about every assumption I had about that nation and its religion.

I returned with a clear sense of why Pope John Paul II has found reconciling within the Orthodox church even more awkward, in many ways, than dealing with the communists ever was. But I also took back a sense of optimism. With Orthodox Easter upon us — May 5 — I thought I'd consider why.

To visit Russia is to see how exotic a place it really is. Cultural indicators like architecture, fashion, language, commerce, manners — all were in some way unlike anything I'd seen in Europe or America. Western styles seemed pinched and out of place. Gargantuan squares instead of piazzas. Wide streets instead of quaint alleyways. Vodka rather than wine. There was something more expansive, more risky about Moscow than the typical European city.

What is true of civic culture is even truer of religious culture. In Moscow, Catholic churches (there are only two in a city of 8 million; one, St. Louis, is tiny) stand out the way a Buddhist temple might in Pittsburgh. Before visiting Moscow, I thought Roman Catholic churches there would reflect something of the native religion. They don't.

Religious differences between Catholics and Orthodox go deeper than church design. Particularly pronounced is the contrast in liturgies. For the Orthodox, worship and belief are, in a certain sense, indistinguishable. The reason for this is simple. Unlike the Catholic faith, Orthodoxy has no magisterium, no binding teaching authority. Rather, for the Orthodox, faith is transmitted primarily through the practice of devotions and by participating in the Divine Liturgy. Russians prize their liturgy the way Catholics prize the Eucharist — or the deposit of faith itself.

The deep attachment of Russians to their liturgy can be seen in the common suspicion among them that when the Pope speaks of reconciliation, what he really means is reformation. This, despite his repeated insistence to the contrary. An incident in Kiev toward the end of our trip illustrated this double fear of the West, this fear, that is, of its culture and its religion.

‘Why can't Catholics and Orthodox just get together? What's the problem?’

Dubious Disputes

Our group had just finished a long day of visits to the important religious sites of Kiev with a trip to St. Nicholas Byzantine Catholic Church. A tiny minority in Eastern Ukraine, Byzantine Catholics are identical to the Orthodox in worship, but faithful to Rome.

After visiting St. Nicholas for vespers, our guide, Andrei, a Moscow-based journalist and faithful Russian Orthodox, stopped us for an impromptu lecture. “I just want you to notice the differences between the Catholic liturgy and the Russian Orthodox liturgy,” he said. “Notice that the priest's cassock was slightly different from the cassocks we saw in Moscow. And the prayers — they were shorter.”

After more than a week of daily trips to Russian Orthodox churches, our group was familiar enough with the Orthodox liturgy to know that the differences our guide was pointing out were no greater than those among some of the Orthodox churches we had visited. Andrei's lecture betrayed his own fears.

I mention the lecture because it typified for me the atmosphere of mistrust and anxiety Russians have toward the West. I also mention it because I liked the man who gave it. After ten days of following Andrei through church after church, I had become frustrated with his subtle, yet insistent, comments about Catholics.

Here was this young father, a talented journalist who was struggling to live out his faith in a society that is becoming more brutally secular by the day. At every church we entered, he strode purposefully toward a prominent icon to venerate it. Afterward, he'd rejoin us to offer a journalist's take on religious affairs and a believer's view of the mysteries we would soon witness. I respected him and I admired him.

One day while we were in Moscow, I took him aside. “This is ridiculous,” I said. “Why can't we just get together? The Orthodox have so much more in common with Catholics than either of us do with Protestants. What's the problem?”

His answer was curt. “Well, if we were to sit at an ecumenical conference, sure, you and I would be at one side of the table and the Protestants would be at the other,” he said, without offering much by way of sympathy. I was annoyed. I wanted to tell him to let his guard down.

I didn't have to. A few days later, Andrei pulled me aside. “Brian,” he asked, “what do you think the Pope means when he talks about Fatima and Mary's promise that Russia will be converted? Does he mean to Catholicism?”

I told him No, I didn't think so. Catholics pray that Russia will convert to faith in Christ and his Church, not that they’ll install pews in their churches and whitewash the walls. He seemed relieved. From that point on, our conversations became friendlier, more relaxed.

Two Lungs, One Heart

The night before we left for good, several of us were asked at a farewell dinner to say a few words about how the trip had affected our faith. I spoke about how, as a Catholic, I had found myself praying, almost involuntarily, for unity between Catholics and Orthodox each time I entered an Orthodox church. I said the Pope's desire that the Church “breathe with both lungs” had become my own. As I spoke, Andrei nodded his head beside me.

The following morning, as I boarded the bus that would take me to the airport, Andrei grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me on both cheeks, back and forth three times. I was the only one who got the treatment. I was a little embarrassed.

But I was also encouraged. My initial confidence about Russia and its future had been effaced soon after arriving in Moscow. Now it was being restored, just as I was leaving. If this Russian Orthodox guy can soften to a Catholic, I thought, then maybe Patriarch Alexei can soften to the Pope.

This Pope can move mountains. I am confident that, eventually, his powerful prayer will draw East and West together. He has shown his willingness to give everything he has to honor the Lord's fervent prayer that “they all may be one” (John 17:20-23). All it would take is for Patriarch Alexei to look at us, as Andrei briefly looked at me, as brothers and sisters in Christ. And see that there's nothing to be afraid of.

Brian McGuire writes from New Yorrk.