Going back to Beslan

Watching the horror of School No. 1 unfold on TV back in early September, the idea that six weeks later I would be pacing the corridors and classrooms of that same building never entered my mind.

To go and play football - an inconsequential game in the face of deep human tragedy and grief - seemed almost absurd. However, as a vehicle for demonstrating human care, and, more importantly, God's love, this project more than proved its worth. As one of the team of coaches put it, 'It was without question the most difficult and distressing experience of my life, but every smiling face I encountered, every hand that reached out to shake mine, every child I heard laughing during our time there rendered it worthwhile'.

Certainly football opened the door and provided the visible evidence of our love and care. It also made a lasting impression on the children and perhaps more so on the parents of those children rocked by such a horrific experience. Many of the mothers were amazed that men - in particular - would show concern to children. This appears to be counter-cultural in Ossetia and the local people clearly recognised that it was God's love for us that compelled us to care for their children.

Gospel for hurting people

For me personally it was the opportunities to proclaim the gospel of grace and mercy to this hurting people that meant the most. Each day we had numerous opportunities to clearly tell children and adults about the love of God and the hope for the future based upon the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Literally thousands of children, scarred either directly or indirectly by the massacre at School No.1, sat quietly as we spoke of the suffering yet risen Saviour.

Graveyard

Wednesday October 20 was the day we visited the graveyard in Beslan and the remains of School No.1. This one day captured so well the whole trip with its roller-coaster ride of emotions. First we went to the graveyard to pay our respects both formally - with the laying of wreaths and flowers - and informally as we were given time to walk from grave to grave. A strangely 'new' place with freshly laid tarmac and kerb stones, the cemetery is a stark reminder of the scale of this wickedness perpetrated by evil men against their fellow humans. The pictures of the graves where two, three or even four members of one family are buried side by side have been well documented. For me the greatest impact was the sight of eight carefully dug, yet empty, graves. A profound reminder that some families were still waiting confirmation of their worst nightmare, along with a deep sense of my own mortality and the need to proclaim hope to those still alive. The tears and prayers during that long 45 minutes were both private and corporate - both respect of the dead and as a means of support for one another.

We drove the short distance to the remains of School No.1 in understandable silence. Here, in contrast to the individual graves at the cemetery, was one big tomb. Outside the gymnasium were hundreds of bottles of water or soft drinks - a memorial to the fact that those who were imprisoned in their own school had been denied even the most basic of needs before many had lost their lives.

Inside the gym (which was far smaller than we'd expected) the charred floor and derelict shell had become a shrine of floral tributes and yet more bottles - along with toys and photos. The cries of grieving relatives still rang round - grandmothers wailing uncontrollably alongside a young father who simply crouched beside a photograph of his tiny daughter.

The rest of the school was completely devastated by the bombing and gun battles that occurred at the conclusion of the siege. Blood-stained walls, bullet holes and bomb damage, remnants of shattered dreams strewn on the floor - even an old Operation Christmas Child shoebox in one of the class rooms, a bullet evidently having ripped through one of its corners. In one room scores of bras hung from chairs and windows - painful evidence that the forms of abuse suffered by some of the female hostages were not exclusively explosive.

No forgiveness

In many rooms and corridors inscriptions had been daubed on the walls - our Russian translators, realising we were trying to comprehend both the language and the sentiment, quietly whispered 'No Forgiveness'. As members of the team spoke to a boy who survived the ordeal he informed us: 'It was hell - no drink, no toilet. We were told to look at the floor. Anyone who looked up was shot.' He was told to carry various guns and ammunition between rooms. Every time he was called to attention he thought he was going to be shot. Boris escaped through a hole in the wall next to where he lay as the bombs began to detonate.

Here is the future

His escape and future were the issues that gave this trip real meaning. Within 30 minutes of leaving School No.1 we were arriving at School No.6. Here was the future. The whole school lined the playground as our coach pulled in - band playing, children cheering. Here was a tangible sense of purpose and hope, something to prepare for, something to smile about. And here too was our opportunity to show that there is forgiveness with God. We ran ourselves and those children ragged during the soccer coaching session and we sang and danced with joyful hope - spurred on by the infectious enthusiasm of our hosts. Then the whole school sat in silence as we shared with them the news that God understood their grief and loss, and that the gospel offered them hope and direction for their future.

What we experienced at School No.6 was repeated that day in Schools Nos.15 and 31. Indeed, during the whole trip we engaged with thousands of children in various parts of North Ossetia. Our team also included trained medical staff who, with the help of a mobile ultrasound machine we took out with us, were able to help both medically and emotionally a large number of local people traumatised by the tragedy.

Faith, hope and love

On the final day of our trip I was able to go with two other team members to distribute food parcels to those in particular need. This again was a deeply moving experience, but even here it was heartening to see members of a hurting community searching so sincerely for faith, hope and love - and being able to assure them that in Christ all three were available.

As our trip ended the Minister for Youth and Sport - who had been with us for a good proportion of the trip told us: 'You brought us hope, you brought us joy... hope that we can now move on.'

Fortunately our trip was not an isolated, individual gift of time, resources and gospel proclamation. With the help of local Christians in Vladikavkaz and the Russian partners in Samaritan's Purse, further opportunities appear to have been opened up. Opportunities for the gospel to be seen and heard in practical ways. Ours was a pioneering trip ù an initial drop of pleasure in a sea of sadness. As Edward Everett Hale said: 'I am only one, but I am one. What I can do, I should do. And what I should do, by the grace of God, I will do.'

We only travelled a short distance with the people of Beslan on their journey of grief. But the words of Proverbs 11.25 proved true again: 'He who refreshes others will himself be refreshed'. We were all deeply inspired and our hearts were renewed with the truth that 'the Lord is my refuge and fortress, my God, in whom I trust' (Psalm 91.2).

Mike Wildsmith,
Pastor of City Evangelical Church, Leeds

Gospel for hurting people

Graveyard

No forgiveness

Here is the future

Faith, hope and love

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