"Privet," the smiling white-haired man said as he walked our direction. "Privet," my brother, Matt, and my friend, Anna Scofield, replied in unison. Because I knew no Russian, I just smiled.

Matt, Anna and I had decided to attend a Sunday morning service at First Baptist Church of Vancouver to hear a Russian sermon. Because many Russian families attend the church, Anna's brother-in-law, Andrew Romanov, translates the English worship service into Russian each Sunday morning. Matt and Anna, both enrolled in the Russian student ministry workshop this semester, welcomed the opportunity to listen in on the Russian translation.

The Russian translation was transmitted through wireless headsets. On our way to the sanctuary, we picked up a pair of headsets from a small table covered with dozens of the devices. During the service, the three of us took turns listening to Andrew translate.

I listened as Andrew's baritone voice produced the strange-sounding Russian syllables. I noticed a middle-aged Russian woman sitting next to her two sons in the pew across from mine. Eagerness shone on her plain face as she watched the pastor attentively, her headset in place.

After the service, Matt, Anna and I wandered to the back of the sanctuary. We had been standing there, chatting about the service for several minutes, when the elderly Russian man approached us. I didn't notice him until he greeted us in Russian.

After Matt and Anna responded, the man asked them, "You speak Russian?" Anna responded with a Russian phrase, saying that she didn't speak the language. The man chuckled. "You know a little bit of Russian," he said. Anna nodded. The man paused, forming his next sentence. "You like our church?" he asked, looking Anna directly in the eye. We responded that we did.

I expected the conversation would soon end because each English sentence seemed such a strain for the man to produce. But he struggled on. He asked us what church we attended and how many youth attended our church. He labored over each word, and we struggled to understand his oddly constructed sentences. But the warm smile never left his kind face.

After talking for nearly five minutes, we had established the answers to a meager handful of questions including our names and ages. The man warmly grasped each of our hands. "You," he said, pausing, looking upward as if gathering the correct words from his mind, "come back to us soon," he finished. We assured him with nods and smiles we would.

Our exchange with this Russian man impressed me. His actions convicted me. I thought of the many times I've noticed visitors at my church and allowed them to stand alone rather than make an effort to talk to them. "They're not my age," I think to myself. "Someone else will talk to them," I reason. "Besides," I conclude, "if I do go welcome them, I won't know what to say."

My conversation with the Russian man showed me how frail my excuses are. This brother in Christ learned our names and showed interest in our lives when he wasn't in our age group and had to struggle to speak our language. He didn't allow those barriers to keep him from ministering to us. He exerted a tremendous amount of effort to make us feel welcome and to show us Christ's love.

God commands me to show others Christ's love, and I have no excuses. In the future, I'll remember my Russian brother and remind myself that ministering to visitors is as simple as saying, "Privet!"