Conversation with an Almost-Priest

It was my second time on a train.

The first time had been only a week before. An overnight trip from St. Petersburg to Moscow. We were taking the same trip but in reverse.

We rode coach because, despite the stereotype of rich Americans, we were dirt poor. The coach car was broken up into "compartments" like you see in the movies, except it only consisted of two walls with two pull down beds on each side. There was no door. The wall opposite of the compartment was lined with two pull down beds, one above the other. These were even cheaper seats.

There were nine of us: Dani, Amaryiah, Victoria, Katy, Miki, Maggie, Sharla, her husband Tharon, and myself. Since there were four to a compartment, one of us would have to be alone. I volunteered. While the vacation to Moscow had been fun and relaxing, it did define alliances a little more clearly. There was this subtle tension in the group underneath everything else. I went to my compartment and set up my stuff on the lower left bunk.

Two people, one guy and one girl came in, both in their mid to late twenties. They were dressed in all black. The guy wore a black t-shirt and baggy black pants with chains and rivets attached to them in no seeming order. His hair was black & red, neither of which was natural. The girl, a thin pale thing, wore tight black pants and a black tank top with a red bra. Her hair was long and naturally black. Both had piercing and tattoos. They saw I was American (it's sort of hard to hide) and in very broken English, explained to me they were a goth metal band. They were on tour and their bandmates were in another compartment. They gave me their business card, which was useless to me since it was in Russian. They left to be with their other bandmates while I pulled out my book, an English translation of The Brothers Karmazov.

The fourth member of the compartment walked in. He was also dressed in all black, but not like my other "bunk-buddies." He wore the white clerical collar of a Roman Catholic priest. He was in his early thirties, wore glasses and his brown hair had already begun to thin. He glanced at my book and asked me in accented but unbroken English if I was American. I told him I was and that I was an English teacher in St. Petersburg. I asked him how he knew English. He told me he was originally from Germany. He had learned English while he was in school, before he entered the Seminary. He wasn't a full priest yet. He had spent the past four years in the remote parts of Siberia doing missionary & humanitarian work. He was on his way to St. Petersburg to become an official priest.

The only knowledge I had on Roman Catholicism was what I learned from dating a Catholic named Sage the year before. I had been to Mass a few times but I was content with my own religion and didn't bother exploring any more than was necessary. I asked him if there were many Catholics in St. Petersburg. He said there were many. It was the second most prominent religion there, after the dominating Russian Orthodox. I had been to a few Russian Orthodox churches in St. Petersburg but hadn't seen any Catholic ones. He told me of the Catholic Church of St. Catherine that was on Nevsky Prospekt, the longest and most famous street in St. Petersburg. I had been there many times and made a mental note to find the church.

We began to talk about a variety of different subjects, including the concept of good & evil, who or what God is, and how there was a great need for more kindness & understanding in this world. The conversation turned to the subject of love and trust. He told me about his brother who still lived in Germany. His brother and his girlfriend had been living together for over six years. Once he asked his brother why he doesn't marry his girlfriend. He brother told him that even though they loved each other, they didn't know what the future would bring. It was easier for them to stay unmarried because they were unsure if things would work out if they got married. My companion looked at me with frustration. He repeated what he told his brother:

"Love is needed in a marriage, yes. But it needs more than just love. It needs work. Love alone cannot withstand the problems that will come up. You have to be dedicated to each other enough that you're willing to work when things get hard."

It was then that the lights were automatically dimmed, signaling it was quiet hours. I thanked my companion for the conversation and wished him luck. He thanked me as well and gathered up his things and left to the bathroom.

In the morning when we arrived in St. Petersburg, I packed up my bed and things in silence. The goths & the almost-priest did the same. I grabbed my bag and walked towards my group in the compartment next to us. As people shuffled by us to get off, they asked me how my night was. When the almost-priest walked past, he smile and waved. I smiled and waved back. I told my friends I had spent the evening having a conversation with an almost-priest. Somehow that didn't surprise them.

Love you.
Mean it.