Some basics for those of you just now dropping in: My sister and I are on an 11-month Christian mission trip to 11 different countries across 4 continents. We’re headed to: Argentina, Bolivia, Chile, Uganda, Ethiopia, Rwanda, Serbia, Bulgaria, Romania, Cambodia, and Thailand. The work will range from country to country in partnership with established ministries in each area.
It’s month 6. My team is in Mrcajevci, Serbia.
We’re helping to renovate a Christian summer camp.
It’s going to snow tonight. The day has been cold and foggy. There are thick clouds above us. The forecast shows below thirty for the next four days. And, in the immortal words of Lorelei Gilmore, “I smell snow.”
It’s been cold for a while. It was a real shock to the system after five months of, in order: hot, hot, hottest, hot hot, and hotter. On our first day in Serbia we took a bus from the Belgrade airport out to Kamp Mrcajevci. For two hours we drove through forested hills of pitch black trees, long leafless and perfectly silhouetted against the snowy ground. Inside the bus was warm and smoky.
Most everywhere in Serbia is smoky. Our host told us that Serbia has the highest per capita cigarette consumption rate of any country. I haven’t verified this, but I believe it. Young Serbs smoke openly on basketball courts and in plazas and outside their schools. Old Serbs smoke relentlessly in cafes and supermarkets and everywhere else. Tall young girls with smooth ponytails and red lips, gangly boys with manbags, old men in vests and caps, old women or babas dressed all in black. Everyone smokes. I’m thinking of taking it up. (Just kidding, Mom.)
Here God lives in Orthodox Serbian churches. They are stunning and everywhere and very tired. They feel sacred but lifeless. Outside of church walls, the religion comes to life in culture of the people. Serbs hold onto orthodoxy with the passion that comes with tradition and national pride. There’s little faith involved. Though the church preaches Christ and Christ crucified, many of the people have no relationship with him.
One woman we spoke with has been Orthodox her whole life, but only recently encountered Jesus in a personal way. She met a missionary who told her that Jesus loved her. The thought had never occurred to her. Religion was so completely fused with her culture that she had never even stopped to consider the reality of God, much less how he might feel about her. (Having grown up in the American South, I can relate.) She described the experience as Jesus taking her hand and saying “let’s go home.” She told us “I felt like my heart start to beat again.”
Julie and Karl, our hosts, run a Christian camp aimed at reaching kids with the message of a loving and passionate God- a God that lives in monasteries and churches, sure. But also in schools and in your bedroom and in fields and anywhere else you might be. The goal is for Serbian kids to come to know Jesus in a personal way. They hope the campers will experience God apart from simple tradition and beautiful buildings.
The camp is acquiring more land and building an addition That’s where our team comes in. We’ve been clearing brush and tearing down old fencing. We chop, haul, and stack wood for summer camp bonfires. We broke up a walkway, brushed each stone, and reassembled it elsewhere. I’ve learned how to properly use a pitchfork and work to the pace of a fire. Taylor and I cleaned out an old shed. The structural integrity was a little lacking. It almost came down on top of us, but everyone’s okay now.
Sometimes we go into town and visit the budding Christian community. We’ve grown to love an older woman who taught us to make crepes and speaks no English. We cried with a woman who’s husband sees her walk with God as insanity. Non-orthodox Christianity is considered a sect or cult here. He threatened to leave with their young son and burnt her Bible in their fireplace. “He’s coming around though,” she said.
In two weeks we’ll be in Romania, but I can’t imagine leaving this place. I love our industrial sized camp kitchen where we make big pots of creamy soup and bake sugar cookies. I love the open fields. I love our bunk beds. I really love the three camp dogs.
Lately Julie has been talking about finding them a new home. She’s nervous that one day a camper will antagonize one, and it’ll bite. Before I left home, my dad said “you’d better not send home any boxes with holes.” We had been talking about orphanage ministry at the time, so I don’t think this applies. Dogs are way less work than babies. It’ll be fine. Also, Dad, they are really really really cute. You’re gonna love ’em.
