First Impressions of Bosnia: Part 2-Dinner in Sarajevo

"Can I sit here?" the man asked, standing over me while I was eating my lamb sandwich. "Sure," I said.

I was surprised to find out that the man was an Iraqi business man selling noodles in Bosnia(his biggest competitor is Ramen!). When he first told me he was Iraqi, I tensed up, but he actually grew up in Dubai and loves Americans.

"Americans, they are good people inside. You have a bad government sending all those soldiers over to Iraq to die, but American people are good. " He began to tell me of all his business ventures: his chicken farms, his hopes to buy land in Serbia and put Muslims to work, etc. I watched, fascinated, as he took gigantic bites of his greasy sandwich and continued to talk as if he did not have a small mountain in his mouth and occasional saliva dripping down to the table.

As he told me about his young wife and kids, we moved quickly into a civil disagreement after he stated his desire to take a second wife who was Bosnian. "I need a son with Arab and Bosnian blood to run this end of the business, " he told me. "How is your wife going to feel about this?" I asked him. Finally he stated: "What can she say? The Qu'ran allows it! Besides, is it better to have a girlfriend or a wife?" He looked expectantly for my answer, and since I was thinking with an American mind and he was thinking with an Arab Muslim mind, I had no response for him. We then moved on to arguing about whether it was better to keep it a secret from his wife or not. "It's better if she doesn't know so she won't get hurt; I love my wife very much!" He insisted. "How is she going to feel in 10 years when she finds out about your second family?" I answered.

In the end, we were joined by his Director from Bosnia, and they gave me their card and told me if I needed any help in Bosnia, to give them a call.

Note for the Reader: I certainly did not plan to get in this particular conversation nor would I particularly advise such a conversation on one's first night in a new country.

First Impressions in Bosnia: Part 1

I stepped off the train at dawn, feeling very alone as my feet touched Bosnian soil for the first time. I was supposed to meet a local pastor at 7:15, but it was only 5 o'clock, and Zenica isn't exactly a thriving metropolis at that hour. Wild dogs were skittering around the streets; one looked at me with a half-guarded, half hopeful look. When I spoke kindly to it, it ran up and began gleefully nipping my heels and wagging its tail. Word must have quickly spread in the wild-dog world, because as I began roaming the streets looking for a bank machine, all of a sudden there were three dogs following me.

Dario, a Bosnian pastor, picked me up for the church's daily 7:30 a.m. prayer service. He said he began it just with one other man, and every morning they walked around the city praying together. A couple of months ago, his church had grown to 30 people and 10-12 would show up to prayer in the mornings. Unfortunately, there is great tension between another evangelical church in town(there are actually only three Protestant churches for a population of 110,000), and Dario lost a lot of members. This particular morning, only one man named Yhugo was there with us. And yet, Dario played his guitar, prayed, and sang with great passion.

Later on, as we chatted over chicken sandwiches, I began to realize the formidable challenges here in Bosnia for Christians. There are actually very few Christians in this country: 500-1000 are the estimates. Dario, himself a radical convert out of a life of drugs and alchohol, has challenges that almost seem to be choking him. He has almost no financial or other support and he trusts God to provide for him and his wife and two kids. The tensions and competition between the Evangelical churches in town seem quite ugly, and contribute to very little cooperation together. It is very difficult to evangelize here, due to a variety of reasons. Dario is trying to do everything himself, simply because there is no one else. "I need help!" he asserts. "I need someone to come for 4-5 years so they can learn the language and culture and share this responsibility!" Our first couple of hours together, he was enthusiastic and energetic; speaking of the challenges and frustrations and yet his face continually lighting up in an infectious smile. As the morning wore on, however, I sensed a fatigue and discouragement settling on him. We ended up watching his two girls practicing tennis at the local courts and he seemed lost in tiredness and silence. When I noticed him glancing at his watch a couple of times, I realized it was time for me to go. "I"m sorry, " he said as he shook my hand. "I'm so tired all the time now that sometimes it's hard to concentrate." I told him I would pray for him and tell people about his situation, but I wondered if he had hoped for more. Although I am usually unaware of such things, I was increasingly feeling stifled in the town. "What is your sense of the spiritual atmosphere here?" I asked him upon parting.

"It is very oppressive, " he answered.

Quite honestly, although I am ashamed to admit it, I could not wait to hop on the bus and leave the town.

The Veil over Vukovar

Vukovar is quiet today
And yet
whistling through the pock-marked buildings
murmuring in the piles of rubble
are the faint and distant echoes of
violence
hatred
destruction
agony
tears

A city's survival of a three month siege
untold murders
rapes
torture
bloodshed
is no small miracle.

The victors thought
the last few remaining
carted away half-dead,
minds wailing the dirge-like notes
of memories to heavy to bear,
would signal an ethnic triumph

And yet admist this grisly death
The city lives,
but not easily.
It is like a sleeping beast
and its food is destruction
were it to be awoken hungry once more.

Life and death
stand side by side
against the grey sky
one proud in its post-war beauty
the other huddled ashamed
against his brother's wall,
its decaying sides
mocking the fresh paint next door.

Does Jesus sit over every ravaged city
weeping over humanity's lust for power?
Does He walk the streets
sit among the rubble
waiting for someone to notice Him?

Croatia

The church clock is striking midnight outside in Osijeck, Croatia, and the storm that has been pounding my window for the last hour is fading into a pleasant pattering. For those of you who quickly had to grab a world map to discover the whereabouts of Osijeck, join the club. I have been keeping an Eastern European map very handy these days.

This is my first day in Osijeck, and it has already been an eventful day. The Missions conference ended last night and this afternoon I accepted a kind offer from the academic dean of Osijek's Evangelical Theological Seminary. Thus, after a quite pleasant car ride, I am now comfortably set up in the guest quarters for the night.

As we crossed the border into Croatia, I suddenly felt that I had entered a movie. The academic dean got out of the car and began animatedly discussing a matter with which clearly the border guards were very unhappy. The border guards were opening and gesturing at one of the five boxes of books that the dean was carrying back from the conference to distribute to seminaries in Croatia, Bosnia, and Serbia. Finally, we pulled out of line and parked the car where the dean switched from Croatian to his native Romanian to describe the situation to our other companion. I, of course, speaking neither of those languages, decided to remain unobtrusively quiet. We were there for almost an hour, in which two more guards came up to get proof that the books were donations for seminaries and that we really were at the conference we claimed to be, before the guard let us go. As we drove away, the Dean admitted that although it was a bit of ridiculous situation, as we were not carting alcohol or drugs across the border, they were technically in the right because he had not filled out the proper forms stating they were a donation. Both men had a good laugh that the American student was able to get a little taste of post-Communist borders!

Later on, we were enjoying dinner on a restaurant patio when a fierce storm swept down on us quite suddenly. Large branches were flying across the patio, my cheeks were getting pelted with gravel, and we found it very hard to enjoy our pizza. The thunder and lightning have been truly magnificent! After constant heat, I truly welcome the freshness of a rain.

In the next couple of days, I hope to go visit Vukovar, just south of here, which was a stronghold of violence during the war. It was already sobering enough to see remaining effects of the war here in Osijek, including bullet holes in buildings and a town that looks like it has seen much tragedy.

The House of Terror and Pieces of Joy

Yesterday, day three of the Missiological Studies conference which I am attending was devoted to what was called "Exposure Trips". I travelled to the one entitled "Christianity under an Ideology", which essentially wanted to expose us to what the Church in Hungary was doing during 41 years of a Totalitarian regime (one year of national socialism and 40 years of Communism). It was an extremely moving and interesting day. First, we went to see the House of Terror: both the Nazi's and Communists used this house as a detention center and torture place for "enemies of the state". Next, we went to hear from four Church leaders, representing the basic four Christian streams in Hungary(Catholic, Lutheran, Reformed, and Baptist, regarding their experience under Communism. I was most moved by the Benedictine priest who served 10 years in the Gulag, the Communist version of a concentration camp in Siberia, and I feel compelled to share the highlights of his story.

Father Oloffson's words moved me deeply, not just because of his story, but from the quiet power that emanates from words forged during the crucible of suffering. I scribbled furiously as he spoke, trying to capture the words themselves, but being conscious that I could not capture his fiery spirit which exploded from his body in animated gestures and through his loud, passionately expressive voice. In fact, although he was 92 years old, the best word to describe his demeanour is LIFE: he radiated a full and joyous life. Perhaps you can see this in the picture that was taken of he and I!

He said that shortly before he was sentenced to the Gulag, God gave Him a special experience in which He revealed his assignment in the Gulag: to encourage his fellow prisoners. "We were not heroes", he claims, "but we wanted to survive the hell, because it was hell". To do this, he and some others came up with four rules that enabled their survival over the next 10 years of nine hours a day, seven days a week of gruelling manual labor in the harsh Siberian climate.

1. "We should not dramatize suffering, because it makes you weaker". In other words, they did not allow complaining, and when one member of their little group began complaining, he was forced to start talking about his former occupation before the Gulag.
2. "We should not be looking for suffering...suffering will come on its own, but we should be searching for the little joyous moments of life". In fact, they went so far in this as to have "Pieces of joy Olympics". At the end of a day, they would compare who had found the most moments of joy and the two highest would compete the next day. The final winner would have his favorite song sung to him by the others. One such piece of joy is as follows: They would not be forced to go outside to work when the temperature hit negative 20 below Celsius because it was too cold for the horses. Although a horse's life was considered more important than theirs, they found the joy in remaining inside for the day!
3. "At the right moments, boost your self esteem (when you are treated like an animal, he said it is difficult to maintain your own thoughts as a human being) by proving yourself better than your captors and oppressors".
4."The one who has someone to hold onto, it is easier for him/her to survive suffering.We believers cling to the Lord, and we discover that He wants our survival".

Although not all the group of 26 Hungarians were believers before this experience, they all survived and are all now believers. From stories like this, I always ask myself what sort of Christian I will be when confronted with impossible circumstances. Will I be able to follow the suffering Christ down such a narrow road? Would I be able to take a special assignment in the Gulag and carry it out faithfully during 10 years of hell? I think it is difficult for Americans such as myself to really understand such a regime, but we have much to learn from such people who have had such life experiences. Yesterday, I was humbly aware that I was in the presence of greatness. I close with a last quote from Father Oloffson:

"Why am I so happy? Because I am a child of the gospel. And that was my task, to bring this happiness into that situation".

Gypsies: Not quite the romantic figures in my childhood storybooks

As soon as I found out that Esther, the pastor of a small Reformed church in Budapest, has a special calling to what she calls "gypsy ministry", I was completely intrigued. Gypsies seem to be the scourge of Hungary. Although they are less than 10 percent of the population, their populations are rapidly growing while the "white" Hungarians are shrinking(although gypsies are considered to be Hungarian citizens, there is always a distinction made between "Hungarians" and "Gypsies"). You might see the gypsies as musicians and beggars, and often stereotyped as thieves and sluggards, for most are illiterate and rarely do any keep a job.

"Well, the stereotypes are kind of true, " one Hungarian Christian told me. "In fact, I had an experience where two gypsy men and a gypsy woman tried to rob me".


Esther used to pastor a small congregation in the Ukraine, where there is a large Hungarian minority population who were unfortunately on the wrong side of the territorial pie that was sliced up post-World War II. She told me the story of a Hungarian woman who in 1992 felt called by God to participate in ministry. She went to her pastor who told her that she needed to first receive some training. One day she had an encounter with a gypsy, and began to entertain the idea of praying for the gypsies. Although this idea was at first repugnant, as she started praying for them and visiting their villages, she began to develop relationships with them. Ten years later, a gypsy woman saw the Jesus film and realized the message was for her. She wasn't sure what to do so she went to visit the very Hungarian woman who had been faithfully praying and visiting for 10 years. And thus began the blossoming of the gospel in that particular gypsy area of the Ukraine. The Hungarian woman invited the gypsy woman to a Bible study in the Reformed Church, and she brought two friends. Eventually, because the gypsies began to overpower the Hungarians, who were also reluctant to participate in Communion with them, the Bible Study moved onto gypsy territory. My new friend Esther enters the story at this point: she was called on to administer the sacraments to the gypsies as well as developing training programs for some of the new Christians.

These age-old Hungarian-Gypsy tensions are an interesting and unexpected find for my research. I think probably most countries have their "gypsies": a marginalized, stereotyped group of people who don't fit in with the larger culture, and have many problems and issues that may threaten or are perceived to threaten the stability of the general society.

Exploring Budapest

A day in Budapest is not nearly enough to explore its beauty and mysteries, but I tried to make the most of it, even though the temperature was in the 90's(not unlike L.A.) with an extremely high humidity(unlike L.A.). Consequently, my first night in my hostel was almost unbearable: six people in a small room with no air-conditioning or fans, on the fourth floor and myself being in a top bunk! It was like being stuck in a sweaty sock that had just been on a 21 day wilderness course. However, other than that, this is great hostel. I had a great day, probably walking close to 10 miles, exploring the castle district and other historical sites. I had the pleasant surprise of making a new friend: Matt is a medical student who met Kelli in India and happens to live in Budapest! He very graciously showed me some sites yesterday evening, and I plied him with questions about the spiritual climate of the city, gypsies, and other questions that only a local could answer. There's nothing I love better than to travel a foreign city with a local! I move onto Balaton today, where the missions conference is being held. Although the temperature is taking a cooling trend, I look forward to being right on a lake!

Vienna quips

-I love the traditional Viennese coffee called the "melange".
-The Viennese film festival that i have been enjoying is not really showing films. The first night it showed a Japanese opera, and the second night it highlighted a Venezuelan symphony. I found it interesting the amount of young people that turned out to watch this classical music.
-I awoke this morning to a cockroach crawling in my ear. Not really what I expected in Europe, although I have been suspicious for some time that the Australian cockroaches have sent out an international alert to terrorize me wherever I go since I made such a dent in their colony. However, I handled this rude awakening very maturely: I just let out a little yell and threw myself off my bed, hunted down the cockroach, and sent him to cockcroach....uh...afterlife.
-I had a great lunch with Don, an American who has been here for 22 years. See post below for details.

"The Heaven's are closed, but...."

“Austria is beyond a post-Christian culture”, said Don over the Greek food he suggested we eat. “But of course people are searching. I think Austria has the second highest youth suicide rate in the world. They don’t want to talk about the church; however, in recent years they are more open to talk about Jesus. The lack of spiritual vitality here is not because Christians are not trying, though. It almost feels like the heavens are shut”.
Don, an American living in Austria for the past 22 years, currently runs a non-profit aimed at unifying Christians across denominational lines in Austria. Despite Don’s feeling that the heaven’s are shut, he testifies to glimmers of God’s movement. When he and a friend came to seek the blessing of the Austrian Cardinal regarding part of their ecumenical vision, they were surprised when the Cardinal placed his hands on them and blessed them before they could barely get the words out. It turns out that the Cardinal had had a dream in which God had told him to bless the work two Americans coming to visit him.
“Being part of this is one of the most rewarding experiences of my life, although it has its extreme difficulties. Theological balance is inherently part of these gatherings because of the denominational representation. Sometimes, all we can agree on is our confession of Christ”. But Don says that this is really all they are required to agree on.
“If the church cannot be reconciled within itself, what hope does a place like Bosnia have? “ asks Don, who was involved in relief work in Bosnia right after the war. He believes it has to start within the church. Part of why he thinks there are little holes growing the spiritual atmosphere is this movement toward unity as well as the intense intercession that remains a central part of their reconciliation ministry.
Another part of Don’s part reconciliation ministry branches into Messianic Jews and Christian Gentiles. Over ten years ago, three men (two messianic Jews and one Gentile Christian from different countries) had a similar vision of a second Jerusalem council, which would counterbalance the first council (See Acts 15). In other words, just as Gentiles were released to be full members of Christ body while still being Gentiles, this second council would release Jews to be Jews. These three men all traveled to Auswitch where they spontaneously met and discovered they all had a similar vision. For the last 10+ years, they have been periodically traveling around and holding mini councils with churches to share their vision.
“At the end of the day, God reigns over the earth and all nations. I think Western Christians, like Israel in Scripture, have underestimated our covenant with God. I believe as conflicts in the world continue to happen and even expand, reconciliation between all committed Christians will increasingly be needed. Maybe one day we will be forced to cling together because that is all we’ll have”.
In Don’s view, staying focused on Christ while building relationships is crucial. Once that relationship is there it becomes easier to disagree and discuss doctrine while remaining united in Christ.
“It’s a long road,” says Don, “but we’re making progress. And there are signs of change”. Quite a significant statement, in my opinion, after 22 years of faithfulness. What a great lunch!

The Joy of the Wild...er....I mean Los Angeles

Last night I successfully trapped eight feral cats in order to take them to the free spay/neuter clinic this morning. Folks, let me tell you something: You have not truly lived until you have driven through L.A. traffic with eight feral cats piled in your car. Any visual images that you just pictured from that last sentence are probably true: only multiply it by 100. The crazy thing is that I am trying to get ready for my month long trip to Europe. Shouldn't feral cats be the lowest thing on my priority list? Well, perhaps for a sane person. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of calling a couple of non-profit feral cat organizations in the L.A. area regarding the growing cat colony next door. Make no mistake: Once you have made such calls to people EXTREMELY committed to saving all the feral cats of Los Angeles, there is no going back. They send you emails and leave phone messages checking up on your progress with trapping the colony, not to mention that when they learned I was going to be gone for a month, made offers of who to hire to feed the colony while I am gone! It is under this kind of pressure that I crumbled and decided to attempt to trap the entire cat colony.

For those of you who are worried that my father's worst fears are coming true and I am becoming a creepy cat lady, put your minds at rest. I do not yet have a motor home or school bus, and I promise I AM NOT KEEPING THESE CATS!

P.S. I just discovered I have a baby possum living outside my window that crawls around in the bushes all night. No wonder Nattie wakes me up every night to bark out the window! Where do I live again?