I’ve been traveling in and out of Romania since 1990, but this exit from Timisoara was the most interesting by far. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I did not exit on schedule. When the security officer started tearing my carry-on apart, I knew this was not a good sign. Finally, after breaking the hard plastic under the handle, the officer held up two shotgun shells. In just a few seconds there were several security police surrounding me. They spoke about as much English and I did Romanian which certainly added to the drama. The officer held up the shells and pointed to me as if to ask, “Are these yours?” That was an easy answer for me, “Yes, Sir.”
My pastor friends, Lucian Chis and his wife Elena, were watching from a distance and since the officer couldn’t speak much English, I pointed to them telling the officer they were my hosts during my visit. They waved and the officer walked over to speak with them. Pastor Chis told the officer I had been visiting his home for over 20 years, and he would be glad to help with translation. The officer told Pastor Chis, “Your friend is in big trouble—he brought shotgun shells into Romania and most likely he will not be leaving the country.” Pastor told the officer that would be great, because they would be glad to have me stay. Puzzled by his response I’m sure, the security officer told the Chises they should go home as I was being detained, and they would not need their help. Pastor gave the officer his card with his cell number and left the airport.
I was taken to an upstairs interrogation room and the officer began making calls. Soon there were three more officers of various ranks filling the much too small room—none English speaking. I should have been upset and wondered why I wasn’t. I had missed my flight and even though my next flight was uncertain, I needed to get home. From the moment the officer held up the shells, a deep peace settled over me. The circumstances were not favorable or pleasant, but I was filled with joy and happy as a lark on a bright spring day.
The officers began taking pictures of the shotgun shells. How many pictures can one take of two shotgun shells? Lots and lots, and then a few more. I couldn’t understand their questions, but I knew they wanted to know why I had these shells in my case. I tried to explain and soon realized they didn’t have a clue—English was a foreign language to them. That was no surprise as I was the foreigner in their country and at their mercy. They kept repeating the word, permit. I told them my dad had bought me the 410 shotgun when I was 14 years old and at that time we were free to have a gun without a permit. I soon realized our trying to communicate was a lost cause.
Finally, a man dressed in civilian clothes entered the room. He was obviously “The Chief” as the officers immediately deferred to him. They began by showing him the shotgun shells and documentation telling him why I was being detained. He looked over the documents and held up the shells to examine them. His seemed to understand my English a little better than the others; although he later told Pastor Chis they were having trouble with my accent. Another long conversation in Romanian ensued and finally the security police handed The Chief a card. He left the room with his phone to his ear and in ten minutes Pastor Chis arrived.
Pastor Chis and the “Chief” began talking. I later learned that the Chief’s wife attended the church Pastor helped plant in the early 90s. He told pastor that they were having problems in the home and Pastor Chis offered to visit with them. Of course, I didn’t know what they were saying at the time, but I knew the emotional temperature in the room had turned in my favor. What I did know: God was at work.
How did two shotgun shells get in my carry-on you ask? Glad you asked, because that’s what The Chief wanted to know.
The Chief gave me a blank piece of paper on which I was to write my “Declaration.” He basically told Pastor Chis what I should write. After each phrase, I would read it back to the chief and at one point mentioned that I’d been in and out of Timisoara several times with the same case and never had a problem—he quickly said, “Don’t write that.” Pastor Chis later told me The Chief said he knew I was a “good guy” but they had to follow through with the report. The airport had just received the latest equipment for scanning luggage after being criticized by the EU for their lax security protocols. The Chief said his report will be presented to the Judge and then decisions will be made as to what my status will be regarding any return to Romania. I now hold the dubious “honor” of being the only American pastor to be charged in the Timisoara Airport with a crime and now have a police record in Romania.
The Chief told Pastor Chis we could go. I asked him if he believed in God. He seemed not to know what to say. I said I was sorry for the trouble I had caused them. I told The Chief that my being detained was God’s will and plan for me. Honestly, I would never have made such a plan, but God knows best. How was God going to use two shotgun shells and my being detained and missing my flight for my good? I thanked them for being so courteous to me and for doing their job. I shook hands with each officer using a Romanian word for “thank you”—one of the few Romanian words I’ve learned over the years. They finally smiled and we left the room.
Oh, about the shells. About ten years ago, I had a service in Keyser, WV and decided to take my gun and do some target shooting. I’d not shot the gun in over 20 years, and in Wild and Wonderful WV you can still shoot a gun without any problem. My schedule would not allow me time to shoot, but I did show the gun to a friend and he said, “Bishop, that gun is an antique (he was kind enough not to make any statements about my antique status) and worth over one thousand dollars. He asked if the gun was loaded. I simply said, “What good is a gun if it isn’t loaded.” He told me it was against the law to carry a loaded weapon in your car. Fines were heavy and they could take the gun and the car. Standing at the back of the van I took the shells out of the gun and tossed them where, yes, in my carry-on suitcase.
That takes care of the saga of the shotgun shells; now on to the airline strike. The night before I was to fly, I got a text stating that I had been rerouted to Zurich. Lufthansa was on strike and all flight schedules were being affected. The agents at the airport couldn’t understand why they would reroute me to Zurich as there was no connecting flight the next day from Zurich to the US. Sleeping in airports isn’t high on my to-do list, but it looked like a chair for a bed in the Zurich Airport was in my not too distant future.
After my nearly four hours meeting with security, Pastor and I headed to the Lufthansa ticket office to see about my flight to the states. The agent was very curt and told Pastor I’d have to purchase a new ticket as it wasn’t the airlines fault I’d missed my flight. Pastor told him that was not acceptable and the agent left without another word. In a few minutes, a young lady came in and asked how she could help. She saw the name Chis on a paper pastor handed her and she asked, “Are you Alexandra’s father?” She said, “Ale and I were class-mates.” Pastor Chis told Anacu he remembered her since her early years in grade school. It seemed like old home week had broken out as Pastor and Anacu did catch-up.
Anacu began making calls to Munich and the internet company from which I’d purchased the ticket. Munich said since I’d been delayed by security and hadn’t purchased the ticket on the Lufthansa site, there was nothing they could do to help short of selling me a new ticket. The internet company responded that since Lufthansa had changed my ticket, the airline was responsible and on it went for the better part of an hour.
Finally, Lufthansa relented and Anacu was able to book me on my original flight (a day later) from Munich to the US. No additional charges.
For over four hours, I’d been sitting quietly watching God at work. First the police officers treated me with respect and though not friendly (since they saw me as a potential terrorist), they were not unkind. There was The Chief who knew about Pastor Chis and his involvement with the Exodus Church–-opening up to Lucian talking about his family concerns with pastor offering to help. Then I met Anacu, whom pastor had known for many years, going well beyond the call of duty to help get me back to the US.
I needed to get home as I had learned about the death of Larry Gillard, my best friend from High School days. Naomi, his wife, was counting on my being there—I wanted to be there for her and the family. I arrived home at 10 p.m. Wednesday night after being up for over twenty hours. I got up at 3:30 am Thursday morning making preparations to drive to Florida.
My carry-on case — minus two shotgun shells–and I were on the road again.
Shotgun shells, Airline strikes—no problem for God who works all things together for the good for those who love Him.
[Editor's Comment: I enjoyed reading Wesley Russ story. To have peace in the mist of this storm is nothing less than miraculous. You can easily see, I hope, that God was working to bless Wesley and to get others involved in this story.
What do you think? I am very much interested in knowing what you see in this story. Please write me today: hugh@hughsnews.com
Many thanks.
Hugh H. Morgan
Editor of Hugh's News, Inc.
Email: hugh@hughsnews.com
Website: www.hughsnews.com]
I was taken to an upstairs interrogation room and the officer began making calls. Soon there were three more officers of various ranks filling the much too small room—none English speaking. I should have been upset and wondered why I wasn’t. I had missed my flight and even though my next flight was uncertain, I needed to get home. From the moment the officer held up the shells, a deep peace settled over me. The circumstances were not favorable or pleasant, but I was filled with joy and happy as a lark on a bright spring day.
The officers began taking pictures of the shotgun shells. How many pictures can one take of two shotgun shells? Lots and lots, and then a few more. I couldn’t understand their questions, but I knew they wanted to know why I had these shells in my case. I tried to explain and soon realized they didn’t have a clue—English was a foreign language to them. That was no surprise as I was the foreigner in their country and at their mercy. They kept repeating the word, permit. I told them my dad had bought me the 410 shotgun when I was 14 years old and at that time we were free to have a gun without a permit. I soon realized our trying to communicate was a lost cause.
Finally, a man dressed in civilian clothes entered the room. He was obviously “The Chief” as the officers immediately deferred to him. They began by showing him the shotgun shells and documentation telling him why I was being detained. He looked over the documents and held up the shells to examine them. His seemed to understand my English a little better than the others; although he later told Pastor Chis they were having trouble with my accent. Another long conversation in Romanian ensued and finally the security police handed The Chief a card. He left the room with his phone to his ear and in ten minutes Pastor Chis arrived.
Pastor Chis and the “Chief” began talking. I later learned that the Chief’s wife attended the church Pastor helped plant in the early 90s. He told pastor that they were having problems in the home and Pastor Chis offered to visit with them. Of course, I didn’t know what they were saying at the time, but I knew the emotional temperature in the room had turned in my favor. What I did know: God was at work.
How did two shotgun shells get in my carry-on you ask? Glad you asked, because that’s what The Chief wanted to know.
The Chief gave me a blank piece of paper on which I was to write my “Declaration.” He basically told Pastor Chis what I should write. After each phrase, I would read it back to the chief and at one point mentioned that I’d been in and out of Timisoara several times with the same case and never had a problem—he quickly said, “Don’t write that.” Pastor Chis later told me The Chief said he knew I was a “good guy” but they had to follow through with the report. The airport had just received the latest equipment for scanning luggage after being criticized by the EU for their lax security protocols. The Chief said his report will be presented to the Judge and then decisions will be made as to what my status will be regarding any return to Romania. I now hold the dubious “honor” of being the only American pastor to be charged in the Timisoara Airport with a crime and now have a police record in Romania.
The Chief told Pastor Chis we could go. I asked him if he believed in God. He seemed not to know what to say. I said I was sorry for the trouble I had caused them. I told The Chief that my being detained was God’s will and plan for me. Honestly, I would never have made such a plan, but God knows best. How was God going to use two shotgun shells and my being detained and missing my flight for my good? I thanked them for being so courteous to me and for doing their job. I shook hands with each officer using a Romanian word for “thank you”—one of the few Romanian words I’ve learned over the years. They finally smiled and we left the room.
Oh, about the shells. About ten years ago, I had a service in Keyser, WV and decided to take my gun and do some target shooting. I’d not shot the gun in over 20 years, and in Wild and Wonderful WV you can still shoot a gun without any problem. My schedule would not allow me time to shoot, but I did show the gun to a friend and he said, “Bishop, that gun is an antique (he was kind enough not to make any statements about my antique status) and worth over one thousand dollars. He asked if the gun was loaded. I simply said, “What good is a gun if it isn’t loaded.” He told me it was against the law to carry a loaded weapon in your car. Fines were heavy and they could take the gun and the car. Standing at the back of the van I took the shells out of the gun and tossed them where, yes, in my carry-on suitcase.
That takes care of the saga of the shotgun shells; now on to the airline strike. The night before I was to fly, I got a text stating that I had been rerouted to Zurich. Lufthansa was on strike and all flight schedules were being affected. The agents at the airport couldn’t understand why they would reroute me to Zurich as there was no connecting flight the next day from Zurich to the US. Sleeping in airports isn’t high on my to-do list, but it looked like a chair for a bed in the Zurich Airport was in my not too distant future.
After my nearly four hours meeting with security, Pastor and I headed to the Lufthansa ticket office to see about my flight to the states. The agent was very curt and told Pastor I’d have to purchase a new ticket as it wasn’t the airlines fault I’d missed my flight. Pastor told him that was not acceptable and the agent left without another word. In a few minutes, a young lady came in and asked how she could help. She saw the name Chis on a paper pastor handed her and she asked, “Are you Alexandra’s father?” She said, “Ale and I were class-mates.” Pastor Chis told Anacu he remembered her since her early years in grade school. It seemed like old home week had broken out as Pastor and Anacu did catch-up.
Anacu began making calls to Munich and the internet company from which I’d purchased the ticket. Munich said since I’d been delayed by security and hadn’t purchased the ticket on the Lufthansa site, there was nothing they could do to help short of selling me a new ticket. The internet company responded that since Lufthansa had changed my ticket, the airline was responsible and on it went for the better part of an hour.
Finally, Lufthansa relented and Anacu was able to book me on my original flight (a day later) from Munich to the US. No additional charges.
For over four hours, I’d been sitting quietly watching God at work. First the police officers treated me with respect and though not friendly (since they saw me as a potential terrorist), they were not unkind. There was The Chief who knew about Pastor Chis and his involvement with the Exodus Church–-opening up to Lucian talking about his family concerns with pastor offering to help. Then I met Anacu, whom pastor had known for many years, going well beyond the call of duty to help get me back to the US.
I needed to get home as I had learned about the death of Larry Gillard, my best friend from High School days. Naomi, his wife, was counting on my being there—I wanted to be there for her and the family. I arrived home at 10 p.m. Wednesday night after being up for over twenty hours. I got up at 3:30 am Thursday morning making preparations to drive to Florida.
My carry-on case — minus two shotgun shells–and I were on the road again.
Shotgun shells, Airline strikes—no problem for God who works all things together for the good for those who love Him.
[Editor's Comment: I enjoyed reading Wesley Russ story. To have peace in the mist of this storm is nothing less than miraculous. You can easily see, I hope, that God was working to bless Wesley and to get others involved in this story.
What do you think? I am very much interested in knowing what you see in this story. Please write me today: hugh@hughsnews.com
Many thanks.
Hugh H. Morgan
Editor of Hugh's News, Inc.
Email: hugh@hughsnews.com
Website: www.hughsnews.com]