DIFFERENT TIMES, DIFFERENT CHOICES, THE SAME HEART FOR MISSION

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Three generations of Teeuwen men felt moved by the need in Albania. What have they learned from each other about mission? And how do stories about courage and faith inspire the young people of today? Jacques (93), Andrew (57) and Joab (22) Teeuwen share on their connection with Albania and the power of stories.

A journey with far-reaching consequences

Immediately after his conversion in 1952, Jacques realised: “I need to share this news with others.” He and his wife Ruth (90) led an adventurous and international missionary life for many years. For thirteen years they worked in Papua (Dutch Papua New Guinea at the time), and Jacques made countless trips to communist countries behind the Iron Curtain. 

One of the journeys that stands out is the one to Albania in 1979. The country proudly declared itself to be the first atheist country in the world. A statement that struck a chord in Jacques. “I wanted to go there! Although Albania was a closed country, my travel companion and I found a way: go in ‘undercover’ with a communist tour group. This wasn’t without its dangers. The secret police searched our rooms for forbidden items, such as photo cameras or bibles. We would have been deported or - worse yet - arrested if someone found out we were Christians.” 

“God has to rise to the challenge and reveal Himself”

Jacques’ son Andrew remembers that time vividly. “My father often travelled undercover to countries to smuggle Bibles and it was always thrilling. But the Albanian trip was intense. I said goodbye to my father, wondering if I would ever see him again. At the same time, I was struck by his faith. I was as outraged as he was that a country or government simply declared that God did not exist. I thought, ‘God has to rise to the challenge and reveal Himself.’ So, as a 15-year-old boy, I decided to pray daily for Albania.” 

During his stay in Albania, Jacques did not meet a single Christian. As his plane took off, he prayed over the country: ‘Lord, give me this mountain for you’. He didn’t know that years later, his son - who is now the regional leader of Pioneers Southern Europe - would become a missionary in those same mountains and start a Christian congregation there. Andrew's love for that country and its people can be traced back to his father's one journey. “Eleven years after my father's reconnaissance trip, I had my very first encounter with an Albanian. Finally, I was talking to one of the people I had prayed for for so long. It was an amazing and emotional moment,” Andrew says, with tears in his eyes. 

Three generations of commitment

Jacques and Ruth passed on their heart for mission to their children and grandchildren. Andrew knew from a young age that he wanted to be a missionary. “When the Danis - an indigenous tribe in the jungles of Papua - discovered that the gospel had been around for nearly 2,000 years, their only question was: ‘Why did you wait so long to come here?’ Our son was very moved by this reaction,” Jacques explains. “That’s why he now works with Pioneers, an organisation that wants to take the Gospel to unreached people groups.” 

This heart for Albania continued into the third generation. Grandson Joab – who has just finished his Bachelor’s in Communication Sciences – will soon be going to Albania to prepare for a youth mission trip, and he was there in 2018 with his church’s youth group: “That was the first time I saw poverty up close. It was a wonderful opportunity to be able to help the people there.” 

“You have a responsibility to share your story”

The trip to Albania is only one of Jacques’ many remarkable stories which you can read in his Dutch book God verandert grenzen. Stories that, as far as Andrew is concerned, should be passed on. “The biographies and stories of heroes of the faith are uplifting and challenging. Courageous faith full of obedience and trust in God is one example. I see it as the responsibility of older people to pass on their experiences, to encourage younger generations.” Joab, Jacques’ grandson and Andrew’s nephew, feels the same way: “I feel inspired by the way my grandpa and grandma faced every adventure full of faith. They have been helping people their entire lives, without getting anything material in return. As young people, we can learn from that.” 

Modern-day missions: group chats and a surf school.

The way evangelism is done has certainly changed over the years. Where Jacques spoke before large crowds, Andrews' method is personal conversations and Joab mainly embodies the gospel by helping people who are experiencing poverty. 50 years ago, Jacques and Ruth had to travel for two days through Papua to make a telephone call, but Andrew is now in a group chat with his Albanian congregation. Andrew says: “These days, the term ‘missions’ can sound old-fashioned. But when you understand what God's desire is for all nations, it takes on real meaning. At Pioneers we even have missionaries who run a surf school. And praying and giving are also crucial parts of the call. You don’t have to go all the way to Papua - you can be a witness anywhere!” 

VERSCHILLENDE TIJDEN, VERSCHILLENDE KEUZES, HETZELFDE HART VOOR MISSIE

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Drie generaties Teeuwen-mannen werden geraakt door de nood in Albanië. Wat leren ze van elkaar over zending? En hoe inspireren verhalen over moed en geloof de jongeren van nu? Jacques (93), Andrew (57) en Joab (22) Teeuwen aan het woord over hun betrokkenheid bij Albanië en de kracht van verhalen.

Een reis met verstrekkende gevolgen

Direct na zijn bekering in 1952 beseft Jacques: “Dit nieuws moet ik aan anderen vertellen.” Hij en zijn vrouw Ruth (90) leidden jarenlang een avontuurlijk en internationaal zendelingenbestaan. Zo werkten ze dertien jaar in Papoea – toenmalig Nederlands Nieuw Guinea - en maakte Jacques voor Open Doors talloze reizen naar communistische landen achter het IJzeren Gordijn.

Een bijzondere reis was die naar Albanië in 1979. Het land verklaarde trots het eerste atheïstische land ter wereld te zijn. Een statement dat Jacques diep raakte. “Ik wilde erheen! Hoewel Albanië een zeer gesloten land was, vonden mijn reisgenoot en ik een manier: ‘undercover’ mee met een communistische reisgroep. Niet zonder gevaar. Onze kamers werden doorzocht door de geheime politie op verboden voorwerpen, zoals fotocamera’s en bijbels. En we zouden het land uitgezet of - nog erger – opgepakt zijn als iemand had ontdekt dat we christenen waren.”

Jacques’ zoon Andrew herinnert zich die tijd nog levendig. “Mijn vader ging vaker in het geheim naar landen om bijbels te smokkelen en dat was altijd spannend. Maar de Albaniëreis was echt heftig. Ik nam afscheid van mijn vader, mezelf afvragend of ik hem ooit zou terugzien. Tegelijkertijd sprak zijn geloof me enorm aan. Ik was net zo verontwaardigd als hij dat een land of regering gewoonweg verklaarde dat God niet bestond. God moest die uitdaging aangaan en zichzelf openbaren, vond ik. Dus besloot ik - als 15-jarige jongen – dagelijks voor Albanië te bidden.”

Het evangelie heeft sinds de jaren 90 in het hele land vrucht gedragen. Er zijn van noord tot zuid en van oost naar west kerken die de naam van Jezus groot maken en verkondigen.

De gemeente die toentertijd in het noordoosten van Albanië (in Peshkopi) door het Pioneers team is gesticht, gaat nog steeds door. Zij wordt luchthartig als 'kraamafdeling' betiteld omdat er daar voortdurend vooral jongeren tot geloof komen die de stad dan verlaten en zich in de hoofdstad Tirana of in het buitenland bij een andere gemeente aansluiten. De gemeente in Peshkopi heeft in de jaren negentig in Kosovo een nieuwe gemeente gesticht, onder anderen door het uitzenden van twee jonge Albanezen naar Kosovo.

Er is ook een Pioneers team werkzaam onder de Roma in de buitenwijken van Tirana. Ze runnen daar een kleuterschool en geven praktische en geestelijke steun aan de inwoners van die wijken. Omdat de meeste Roma analfabeet zijn worden bijbelse verhalen mondeling overgedragen.

Tijdens zijn verblijf ontmoet Jacques geen enkele christen in Albanië. Terug in het vliegtuig bidt hij uit over het land: “Heer, geef mij dit bergland voor U”. Hij kon toen niet vermoeden dat zijn zoon jaren later zendeling zou worden in diezelfde bergen en er een christelijke gemeente zou starten! “Elf jaar na mijn vaders verkenningsreis had ik mijn allereerste ontmoeting met een Albanees. Eindelijk sprak ik iemand van het volk waar ik al zo lang voor bad. Een geweldig en ontroerend moment”, vertelt Andrew met tranen in zijn ogen.

Drie generaties van betrokkenheid

Jacques en Ruth gaven hun zendingshart door aan hun kinderen en kleinkinderen. Zo wist Andrew al jong dat hij zich wilde inzetten voor de zending. “Toen de Dani – een inheemse stam in de jungle van Papoea – ontdekten dat het evangelie al bijna 2000 jaar bestond, was hun enige vraag: ‘Waarom hebben jullie zo lang gewacht met hierheen komen?’ Die verbazing raakte onze zoon diep”, vertelt Jacques. “Daarom werkt hij voor Pioneers, een organisatie die onbereikte volken wil bereiken met het evangelie.” Andrew is tegenwoordig regioleider van Pioneers Zuid Europa.

De betrokkenheid bij Albanië bereikte ook de derde generatie. Zo gaat kleinzoon Joab – net klaar met zijn bachelor communicatiewetenschappen – binnenkort naar Albanië als voorbereiding op een jongerenreis en was hij er in 2018 met de jongerengroep van zijn kerk: “Dat was de eerste keer dat ik armoede van dichtbij zag. Een geweldige kans om mensen daar te mogen helpen.”

‘Je verhaal delen is een verantwoordelijkheid’
De reis naar Albanië is slechts een van Jacques’ vele bijzondere verhalen die u kunt lezen in zijn boek God verandert mensen*. Verhalen die wat Andrew betreft doorgegeven moeten worden. “Biografieën en verhalen van geloofshelden zijn opbouwend en uitdagend. Moedig geloof vol gehoorzaamheid en vertrouwen op God is een voorbeeld. Ik zie het als verantwoordelijkheid van ouderen om hun ervaringen door te geven, om jongere generaties aan te moedigen.”

Joab ervaart dat ook: “Ik vind het inspirerend hoe mijn opa en oma met vertrouwen ieder avontuur aangingen. Ze hielpen hun hele leven mensen, zonder daar fysiek iets voor terug te krijgen. Daar kunnen we als jongeren van leren.”

Moderne zending: groepsapp en surfschool

De manier van evangelisatie is door de jaren heen wel veranderd. Waar Jacques voor grote menigten sprak, is Andrews’ methode het persoonlijke gesprek en geeft Joab het evangelie vooral handen en voeten door mensen in armoede te helpen. En terwijl Jacques en Ruth vijftig jaar geleden in Papoea twee dagen moesten reizen voor een telefoongesprek, heeft Andrew een groepsapp met zijn Albanese gemeenteleden. Andrew vertelt: “Zending kan tegenwoordig ouderwets klinken. Maar als je begrijpt wat Gods verlangen is voor alle volken, krijgt zending echt betekenis. Bij Pioneers hebben we zelfs zendelingen met een surfschool. En bidden en geven is ook een opdracht, dus je hoeft niet naar Papoea te gaan. Getuige zijn kan overal!”

Geïnspireerd worden door meer verhalen? We delen ze op www.pioneersnederland.org

* Het boek van Jacques Teeuwen is verkrijgbaar bij de christelijke boekwinkel of via internet

House of Hope - Tirana, Albania

See how the Lord is at work amongst the poor and marginalized Roma community in Tirana, Albania.

Before the Throne - A Missionary's Journey

When Jordan flew to the Balkan Peninsula two years ago to plant churches among the Roma people group, he had no idea he would one day be sitting here, in a crowded café, sipping espresso and telling his story against the backdrop of bad American pop music. He also had no idea he would be saying things like, “I really did block out a lot of the difficulty that was waiting for me when I got here,” or “I feel like I got here and just was embarrassingly humbled. Embarrassingly.” But he is saying these things, because that is exactly what happened.

“I romanticized it entirely,” he confesses, imagining that working with the poor meant “getting dirty, and just meeting all their needs, and being this hero and, um, doing it all in the name of Jesus.”

Jordan’s journey overseas began with a simple statement uttered by one of his trusted mentors: “You know, I see you as more of a missions guy.” A month and a half later, he found himself walking on Pioneers’ campus in Florida, feeling more and more confident that these were “his people” and that God was calling him to spread the Gospel among the unreached – he just didn’t know where yet. After meeting with several potential teams, he heard of the opportunity to work with the poor and marginalized in Eastern Europe, and it caught his attention. “I romanticized it entirely,” he confesses, imagining that working with the poor meant “getting dirty, and just meeting all their needs, and being this hero and, um, doing it all in the name of Jesus.” To Jordan, nothing could’ve sounded more appealing.

To be fair, he is good at those things. Poverty doesn’t scare him, and neither do the sacrifices that keep most of us from moving to the other side of the world to tell people about Jesus. And while it can take missionary recruits years to raise enough funds to get to the field, his natural boldness and singular focus got him there in six months. Everything happened so quickly and easily, what reason did he have to doubt?

He didn’t, not for a long time. Because at first, the flavors were exciting, the language seemed easy to pick up, and the people were kind and receptive; it was every bit the adventure he imagined it would be. However, unlike the short-term mission trips he’d gone on in his twenties, he didn’t have a ticket home when the honeymoon ended. When the food became bland, he woke up in the Balkans. When the language became complex, he woke up in the Balkans. And when he saw the flaws and weaknesses in himself, his teammates, and those he was trying to reach, he woke up in the Balkans. “You feel, or at least I felt,” he says, “lonely and insignificant, and helpless like a little child.”  

Even the ministry became a source of discouragement as, with each passing day, he realized how far they were from their goal of reaching the Roma with the Gospel – much less helping them escape the clutches of poverty. Worse, his team went through an intense time of conflict, resulting in half of them going back to the States and half of them starting over. Months turned into a year, and eventually his disillusionment brought him to a place of bitterness, frustration, and anger. “And then in my case,” he pauses, “loneliness and even bits of depression.” Not quite the wave of self-edifying momentum he rode to the Roma’s front doorstep.

Like many of us do, Jordan responded with heavy doses of self-medication and escapism; food, drink, too much sleep, not enough sleep, too many Skype calls home, not enough Skype calls home, movies, school – he turned to anything and everything but the One who could truly help. Of course, nothing did. “I would look out my window or sit on my balcony and just see this lively neighborhood that just didn't care that I was there,” he says, his voice equal parts amusement and regret, “I had come to save all of them, but they didn't care.” At the end of his first year, “The Lord felt extremely far away, and I felt extremely small.”

And that’s when Jordan saw it. “You've been relying on yourself,” he realized, “and not the God who is big.” On his own, he was never supposed to be significant; it was always supposed to be God.

As it turns out, he was right. He was small – but that wasn’t the problem. When he finally turned to God for help, God didn’t build him up or feed him nice-sounding platitudes about all his hard work and effort. On the contrary, “He affirmed that I was small, but that He was big.” And that’s when Jordan saw it. “You've been relying on yourself,” he realized, “and not the God who is big.” On his own, he was never supposed to be significant; it was always supposed to be God.

Not much changed in his circumstances after that realization, but a lot changed in his mind and heart. “You start understanding,” he explains, “that as you've walked away from situations that you thought impossible or that you didn't have enough energy for or didn't have enough language for...God did.” He still went about his daily tasks, still labored to learn the language (a process that never really got easier), and still worked hard to begin new and impactful ministries. But now, he knew by whose strength he did these things – and it wasn’t his own. The odd thing was, being aware of his weaknesses only made him feel more capable. “The difficulty didn't go away,” he admits, “but the ability to deal with it greatly increased as I sought the Lord through it.” 

He laughs as he thinks back to the moment he begged God to send him somewhere challenging, somewhere he could do great and significant things for the kingdom. While parts of that prayer were well-intentioned, “basically, it was like a bravado thing.” A bravado thing that God answered by putting him in a new place, using difficult situations to reveal the pride and arrogance in his heart, and then disciplining him until those things were gone – or at least, Jordan would tell you, smaller. It wasn’t how he thought God would answer his prayer (and it certainly wasn’t how he wanted him to), but it was how he needed him to answer it.

“You have in your mind how God is going to work, or how he does work, and he always surprises you for the better.”

“You have in your mind how God is going to work, or how he does work, and he always surprises you for the better.” That is a truth Jordan holds to tightly as he looks to an uncertain future, one that may or may not include a return flight to the country he’s finally started feeling comfortable in. Regardless of whether or not he does come back, he is glad to draw from the lessons God taught him here, lessons of humility, remaining faithful in times of difficulty, and drawing from the strength of his Maker rather than his own meager reserves. They are, he suspects, lessons he will continue to learn the rest of his life.

“I know who is in control,” he says in a café in the middle of a crowded, lost, vibrant city in Eastern Europe. “I know who is in power, and I –” he pauses, “I know where I stand before the throne. And it's far down.” It isn’t with pride in himself that he says these words; it’s with pride in the King who does sit on the throne. He is, Jordan would tell you, the only one worth taking pride in anyway.   

Daily Bread - Rina's Journey

By a Pioneers Field Worker in Albania

She orders tea with ease, her dark features and hard-won command of the language almost convincing enough to make people think she’s Albanian. In fact, just yesterday someone thought she was a local who left the country for a long time and came back with an accent. Here on the truth-telling streets of Tirana where people don't hesitate to tell you what they really think of your language-speaking ability, that’s a win.

But that’s not what Alisa’s here to talk about. Neither is she here to talk about what it’s been like to move to Albania and try to plant a church among the marginalized and impoverished Roma people group, though that is a fascinating story in its own right. She’s here to talk about Rina, a Roma woman with Multiple Sclerosis who, until recently, lived in a tiny cinder-block home just a few steps away from hers.

Though neighbors, the two women didn’t interact much when Alisa and her family first moved in. Alisa would see Rina sitting in a chair outside her front door and wave to her as she turned into her driveway, but that was it. Admittedly, she was comfortable with the distance, since “getting close meant responsibility.” But all that changed when Rina, using a broken stroller as a walker, wheeled up the hill to Alisa’s house, knocked on her door, and told her she and her teenage son had been without food for four days.

“When she said that, it was pretty striking,” says Alisa. “Like, my next-door neighbor doesn't have anything to eat, and I have an entire pantry full of food and no scarcity of when can I get the next...” her voice trails off at this part, as if reliving the horror she felt at the state of her refrigerator. Determined to fix the situation, she immediately drove to the store and bought more than enough food to keep Rina and her son fed for a couple weeks.

“Once God opened my eyes to what was actually right beside us,” she says, “I couldn't drive past her. I couldn't just drive home.”

But that wasn’t the end of it, because it wasn’t the end of Rina’s poverty. “Once God opened my eyes to what was actually right beside us,” she says, “I couldn't drive past her. I couldn't just drive home.” As she wondered what to do, Alisa felt God speaking to her, saying things like: “She's your neighbor, and I've put her inside your sphere of family.” Even more convicting: “I put you here for her.” It was a tall order, but it aligned with what Alisa knew of God’s love and concern for the poor and how he often used the Church to care for their needs. And wasn’t she a representation of God’s Church, here to do just that?

So she began bringing Rina food every week. She stepped inside Rina’s house, sat on her broken couch, and listened as best as she could. In broken Albanian, she discovered Rina had four daughters in addition to her son, but since her daughters were obligated to care for their new families, she didn’t see them much. She learned Rina’s husband left her for another woman but neglected to divorce her, which meant as a technically married woman, she couldn’t receive any of the government support given to people with disabilities. She learned Rina’s landlord didn’t care to fix the broken roof or giant hole in the wall, but he did care an awful lot about receiving the rent money on time. And when they talked about God, she learned Rina didn’t seem to like him much – probably because she didn’t think he liked her.

After a few months of getting to know each other, Alisa invited Rina to church, and surprisingly, she agreed. Though she never participated in the worship or communion, Rina heard the Gospel every week, and that was encouraging. Church also meant more social interactions, which, Alisa was learning, her friend needed just as much as food. Then one day after service, a member of the congregation sat down with Rina and explained the Gospel in ways Alisa didn’t have enough language to do. She seemed truly interested, even asking how she could get to God through Jesus, when she said something they weren’t expecting: “But, I’ve never sinned.”      

Alisa was stunned – how could she think she’s never sinned – until she remembered her friend’s background. Rina had grown up with a religious perspective that said sins were grave, egregious acts of wrongdoing, and the people who did these acts deserved the punishment they got. “In her mind,” Alisa explains, “saying like, ‘I've sinned,’ means ‘I deserve this horrible life that I've had.’” But Rina hadn’t killed anyone, and she certainly wasn’t the one who had walked away from her marriage. In her worldview, saying she had sinned meant she must have done something to deserve her suffering, and she just didn’t think it was true.

Listening to her friend’s objections, Alisa realized what Rina needed was an entire worldview shift, and since only God could do that, they left the conversation alone. Rina still came to church and Alisa still worked tirelessly to help her financial situation improve, but nothing changed in Rina’s heart – and maybe, Alisa thought, nothing ever would. Then one Sunday during communion, Alisa noticed her friend was in turmoil. Showing more emotion than she’d shown since they’d met, Rina turned to Alisa and said, “Would you get me one?” Alisa did a double take, asking if she was sure, to which Rina responded, “I believe this. I believe it. I want you to get me some this time.” A few minutes later, she took her first communion.

Alisa smiles now as she talks about the change she’s seen in her friend. While she used to say things like, “God hates me. Look at my life. He must hate me,” she now tells Alisa, “I do have hope, and my son is working, and he's going to school, and there's hope that life is gonna get better, and that's just because of what God has done in my life.” The difference is stark, dramatic, and good.

While Rina’s reality is still marked by more difficulty than most people see in their lifetime, there are glimmers of light there, too. Her church (because it is hers now) collected enough money to move her to a better house. Her son (most of the time) goes to work. And her relationship with Alisa has become more of a true, reciprocal friendship. As proof, Alisa tells the story of the time she went to visit Rina and found her surrounded by a few other Roma women. The unlikely group fell into talking about their children and what it’s like being young mothers. “And it felt like,” she remembers, “Oh, we're all just sitting here as friends, sharing common life.” No one asked Alisa for anything except her opinions on raising boys; it was a new, wonderful dynamic.

And it is this dynamic Alisa hopes will continue. Rather than become Rina’s forever benefactor, she hopes to one day just be her friend. Until that day comes, Alisa is committed to helping with humility, always pointing Rina back to her true Provider. Because the reality is, Alisa knows, she could have been the one watching her son languish from lack of food while her neighbor’s pantry sat full of homemade cookies. However much she may feel independent or secure, she knows (more than she ever has) that “we're all really dependent on God for our daily bread.”

When talking about what she wants her friendship with Rina to look like in the future, Alisa describes a setting where, “I go over and just visit with her, where God is providing for her needs, and I can just be a friend that encourages her to have more faith.” Two mothers, two followers of Jesus, two women dependent on God for their daily needs. It’s a beautiful image, and though faint, it’s already starting to appear. 

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back - A Roma Story (Part 3 of 3)

By a Pioneers Field Worker in Albania

“Are we getting better at answering your questions?”

To be honest, I don't know what Sula’s asking; she’s speaking in a language I don’t understand, but my teammates tell me about it afterwards. They also tell me how sad the question made them feel.

My teammates – a married couple, their three children, and a single – have lived and worked in Tirana, Albania for almost two years. They came here to start a church among the unreached Roma people group, and like most endeavors in God’s kingdom, it’s proving to be far more difficult than they ever thought possible.

Oppressed and discriminated against for centuries, the Roma are used to receiving handouts from compassionate and/or guilt-ridden strangers. However well-meaning, these efforts have created a mentality among the Roma that says: “Outsider = money”. This ingrained perspective has been one of the team’s biggest roadblocks to church-planting here. How, after all, do you form a reciprocal, life-giving relationship with a woman who’s opening line every time you see her is, “My husband is sick, can you give me money for medicine?” And at the same time, when does it make sense to ignore the very real needs of those you came to serve? It is a dangerous, tricky tension to navigate.

Which is why it is remarkable we’re meeting in Joni and Sula’s home at all, listening to a recording of John 8:1-11, discussing what this passage says about God and people. The fact that we’ve gotten past the what-are-you-going-to-give-me phase and formed a friendship (at least a tentative one) is a huge victory.

We don’t often celebrate the victories, however, mostly because by the time we recognize one, we’re up against another barrier. Take today’s, for example: “Are we getting better at answering your questions?” may seem harmless, but to us, it means Sula is still trying to please us (possibly so she’ll get a reward). It means she believes she is “lesser”, not just materially but also intellectually. It means in her mind, she is the student and we are the teachers, instead of all of us being the students of a holy, utterly mysterious, yet nearer-than-we-could-ever-imagine God.

How do you get past that?

The truth is, we don’t know. My teammates have tried to encourage Joni and Sula to lead the discussions, to own their role as equals in the church, but nothing has worked. We’ll be the first to admit that while we know on paper how to plant a church among the poor and unreached, reality is another story. To do it well – to do any of this well – we need Jesus.  

Sobered but not disheartened, we say goodbye and walk away. I look back and shake my head as Sula’s four-year-old son picks up a not-so-small rock to throw at his older brother. It is a far from perfect church; we struggle with fear, pride, addictions, temper tantrums, and a deep distrust in God’s provision and goodness, among other things. But it is, miraculously, a church. Most important, it is his church, and may God give us the grace to remember it.  

Sula and her family are the only known believers in the Roma community our Pioneers team currently works in. Would you consider specifically praying for this unreached people group, giving your resources to those who serve them, or going yourself?  

Portrait of the Lost - A Roma Story (Part 2 of 3)

By a Pioneers Field Worker in Albania

Gypsies. Poverty migrants. “Europe’s Unwanted”. Criminals. 

Few people groups in the world have been given so many derogatory labels, yet the Roma bear them with unseen grit – unseen because whether by a well-timed turn of the head or sheer ignorance, most people aren’t paying attention. 

Numbering anywhere between four and 14 million, the Roma originally migrated to Europe from India. They made their first appearance in Europe’s history books about 800 years ago, and the report isn’t encouraging. The locals, it seems, didn’t know what to do with these dark-skinned, newcomers on wheels. No matter how much the Roma tried to assimilate – even going so far as to adopt their new culture’s religion – the Europeans struggled to accept a people so different from themselves. So they did what many of us do when confronted with something “other”: they oppressed what they feared and controlled what was different, resulting in the enslavement, ridicule, and exclusion of the Roma people.

The atrocities dramatically and tragically increased with the arrival of World War II. Targeting anyone who did not fit their “ideal”, the Nazis embarked on a systematic genocide that killed an estimated 1.5 million Roma, one of the largest (and least-talked about) mass killings in history. After the war, European governments attempted to curb Roma populations through forced sterilization, a practice that continued well into the 21st century.  

While the violence may have stopped, that doesn’t mean Europe has finally accepted their Roma neighbors. In Albania, employers decline to interview much less hire them, officials refuse to test their children therefore barring them from public schools, and social services – even churches – have been known to miraculously “run out of supplies” when Roma mothers get to the front of the line. Through a combination of broken systems, prejudice, and their own hopelessness, the Roma have become society’s “bottom feeders”, the ones who sort through dumpsters for recyclables and extend their hands out for charity, and society is in no hurry to change that. 

Yet, for all the ways the world might classify the Roma as “poor”, their greatest poverty is a spiritual one. While most claim to follow some form of Islam or Christianity, their real god is survival, and they worship him well. When a Christian relief organization comes to town, they are devout Christians, and when Ramadan starts, they are sincere followers of Islam. As professional survivors, they know exactly what to do and say to fill their stomachs for a night – but little about how to find purpose, meaning, and hope. And until they know Jesus, they never will. 

It would be tempting, logical even, to treat the Roma as victims – but it would also be an injustice. Yes, they have suffered much at the hands of the powerful, but that doesn’t mean they are saints. And while they have certainly endured great pain, they have also laughed, danced, loved, and sinned. They are mothers who want good futures for their children, teenage boys who crave acceptance, and babies who want to be held so much they cling to your neck when you tell them it’s time to go. More than anything else, they are people – people who need far more than a meal or even a job. Instead of offering them our pity, may we lead them to the only real hope we have ever found. May we lead them to Jesus.  

As the Church, we are called to serve, love, and tell the unreached about the love of Christ. Would you consider specifically praying for the Roma people group, giving your resources to those who currently serve them, or going yourself? 

Photo Essay: Albania

Roma Women's Study

It is God’s great desire to see people come to know Him and churches planted amongst the Roma gypsie population of our city, Albania and the world. 

Macedonia

Village of Janche

Beaches

The crystal clear water of the Ioannina Sea run along the southern coastline of Albania. These waters both separate Albania from other Mediterranean countries and draw people each year to their shores.

Kruja Market

Albania boasts many handy crafts such as pottery, hand made rugs and jewelry.

Old Man Dominoes

One of the most reliable encounters that you will find all throughout Albania is that of the old men playing a game of dominos which they started the day before

Green Spaces

Albanian culture values time spent together out side, late afternoon is the time to leave your home and join the neighborhood on the benches scattered throughout the city.

Flowers and Traffic

Albania is often the intersection of the old and new worlds. The streets are full of congestion and the street corners are full of widows selling flowers.

Roma Village

Stormy skies and stormy futures for the Roma community living in deplorable conditions.

Shkoze Kids

The smile and joy of a child has the ability to transform even the most broken and needy communities. 

Fresh Food

Most food is purchased from these “farmer’s stands”.

Kids' Christmas

These children in a small village of Albania wait eagerly for the Christmas program to begin.

Berat Castle

There are so many amazingly old cities and castles that can be visited throughout Albania.

Kids' Park

Families eagerly celebrate Children’s Day at the opening of a new park. Albanian culture places a high value children.

Roma Family

The Roma Gypsie population is one of the most marginalized people groups in the world. There are many families like this one who do not yet know the love of Christ.

Sunset

The people like the landscapes are beautiful and welcoming.

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Video: From Albania to Greece

From Albania to Greece from Pioneers-USA on Vimeo.

After living in Albania for several years, Andrew and Alecia moved to Greece to make disciples among Albanians who have immigrated there. They recently partnered with local believers to plant an Albanian-speaking fellowship at the foot of Mars Hill in Athens, just steps from where Paul preached the gospel 2,000 years ago.