It was a Friday night. There were thousands of us in the old Dynamo Stadium. We had a myriad of reasons for being there, from the ardent to the curious. Some wore old Orthodox Crosses prominently, some counterfeit heavy metal t-shirts. Old and young, entrepreneurs and prostitutes, all swept up in the search for something to believe in, something bigger than themselves, something to help them through the night, and next week.

There was music and singing on the stage – we only recognized a few words. We swayed and waited. Patiently.

Eventually, the superstar preacher came out with a translator and, as he said, some Holy Ghost fire…

How we wanted to touch the Americanness! … We soaked in every second-hand word. … Charismatic. … Something happened. … We worshipped.


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