(last day with Tanja in Belgrade *tears*)
This weekend was debrief, a time of respite and rest after our first month. The entire squad stayed in a hostel in Belgrade, about a twelve minute walk from city center, and just across from the train station. During the day, things were pretty quiet (I mean this loosely, we were staying just across from a bus stop), but at night the parks surrounding were filled with migrants waiting to either be allowed entry into another country or allowed to take up residence in Serbia. Either way, it was hard to not be affected by this.
It was hard not to stop and consider what it does to a man, whose only option of housing his family is a couple of pieces of cardboard on bit of patchy grass.
It was hard to watch all the locals simply turning their faces away, pretending it wasn’t happening.
(casual memorial to the NATO bombing of Belgrade in ’99, a few blocks from our hostel)
It was equally difficult to face the stagnation that Serbia faces as a country: held under the thumb of the Orthodox church, those who attend do so for no better reason than to please and/or appease their families. They know no love, neither grandparents or parents or children or grandchildren—they live their lives in a circle of works and motions, despising anyone who would choose to do otherwise, disinheriting and ostracizing anyone who would seek after a deeper faith.
To them, deep faith is having a shrine in the entrance of their home, one bears the image of their patron saint and is to be acknowledged and paid tribute to by all who enter.
To them, reverence is kissing the forty-something relics in the back of their immense, ornate church, including coffins and images of long-dead saints, before bowing to the mosaic Mary and Jesus under the shadow of a tall cross, and finally, standing in line to be blessed by the priest.
I had the chance to stand in the back of one of the largest churches in Belgrade, during one of the evening services.
The church itself must have been as tall as a five story building, yet the main chapel was one open room, huge and echoey. It was eerie, and cold, and -while probably one of the larger churches I’ve been in- it felt so small.
There was no joy. None of the relics offered joy, they were pictures of dead men. Long dead men.
There was no love. None of those coffins offered love. No priest offered love. None of the people attending offered love.
And there certainly wasn’t any peace.
Now compare that huge-yet-small place to the rectangular, white walled room with white lights that I could hear, that was our debrief conference room. The one where we got to worship, and get taught, and be poured into by our incredibly wise leadership team.
One of the nights, I got to sit in the back and worship instead of lead worship.
I got to wonder at the joy on my teammates faces.
At the tears that streamed down our faces as we sat in utter awe of the complete love and forgiveness that we get to live in.
At the love that we have for each other, the love that is daily deepening and solidifying.
That room felt huge. Full of life. Full of spirit.
Huge.
So on another note, it’s All Squad Month!!! Yaayy!! The whole of I-Squad, plus Erika (our mentor) and Justin and Crystal (squad leaders) will be living in the same house and doing ministry together for the whole of this month!! That’s forty-four people in one house. Crazy, yet from the outlook of day four, it’s a lot less crazy than I’d imagined it would be.
So. After debrief, we drove from Belgrade to Dragonesk-Olt, Romania: a twelve hour trip through the mountains, past castles and faces carved into the cliffs, along the Danube. Our ministry hosts drove down the day before to drive us back, forty-four of us and our packs split up between six cars. By the grace of God, we made it here alive!
(casual castle across the Danube)
My car (populated by the Tovs-minus-Sara-plus-Crystal) was driven by Raul, a man who enjoys hard questions and intentional pressure. He doesn’t just ask questions. He asks, and then asks some more, until there are no remaining answers to be given. Raul is the main man of Hope Church (he doesn’t like to be called ‘pastor’), in charge of all things logistic, all things recruiting, and all things ministering as far as Dragonesk-Olt and the surrounding counties are concerned.
He is in need of a personal assistant.
He is always on the lookout for new missionaries, short-term, long-term: if you’re willing and have a heart for Eastern Europe, look no further than Romania.
Known as the cemetery for missionaries, Southern Romania is desperate for the love of Christ. There is a heaviness here accompanied by a nothingness, a darkness smothered by stubborn lack of sight.
Witchcraft is prevalent here.
Children are frequently cursed by their parents, the most common phrase being “I give you to the devil.” Yeah. Actually.
Orthodoxy rules Romania.
And yet, Jesus still reigns over it all.
There are few Christians in Romania (note the common trend in Eastern Europe: not a whole lot of Christians), but the ones here are burning bright. They speak openly and joyfully about the joy that God has granted them. They are brimming over with energy (especially Sorin and Andrea, the sixty-something year old man and sixteen year-old girl who led myself and a few of my squad-mates on a trash cleanup ministry that lasted for about an hour before getting turned into an adventure through the woods to the lake lol), they have no intention of giving up on their neighbors, on their town, their county, and the towns, villages, and cities surrounding.
Yesterday, we took bibles to three villages, making sure that each house got one, sticking them in mailboxes and fences. We were informed that more than 2,500 people were exposed to the Word of God through this.
This morning, we did market ministry, handing out tracks and invitations to an eyeglass ministry later this month.
This afternoon, we blanketed the town with the same invitations, tucking them into door frames, slipping them down mail chutes, into the coils of iron-wrought gates, handing them to people working in their gardens, walking past, getting into their cars. Some of our squad drove an hour and a half away to do a Joshua walk around the perimeter of a city, that the walls of the Orthodox church and the university within will crumble. Some of them did children’s ministry and widow’s ministry.
How beautiful upon the mountain are the feet of him who brings good news, who proclaims peace, who brings glad tidings of good things, who proclaims salvation—if each of us walked three miles a day (and I’m sure we’ve all walked triple that, if not more), we have walked nearly four hundred miles in the last three days, bringing glad tidings of good things.
We got some beautiful feet, that’s for sure. Eighty-eight of them.
