I just got back from a long walk in the rain to and from the American embassy to pick up my passport, only to arrive there and discover that they weren’t open today because yesterday was Independence Day. Dang patriotism.
Anyway… moving on…
What a day. Eric and Melanie and I went running this morning at 6:30 (ugh), up and down the river that cuts through Sarajevo. Eventually Eric and I reached a nice shady sidewalk, and we actually saw other people exercising! Thirteen of them, to be exact. We felt far less obnoxious with fellow crazy runners on the road. The day was then full of meetings: we spent our morning with a guy who works for the Mennonite Central Committee in Bosnia (which I am really interested in, by the way) and then visited the War Crimes Court and Prosecutor’s Office of BiH, which was really interesting and intense. But what I really want to write about is this morning.
Here's the church I'm so excited about... read on...
Our day started with a partial tour of the Old City with Miki, our program director. Sarajevo is an incredible place—full of history, full of culture, full of religious and ethnic diversity. The assassination that kick-started World War I took place on a bridge just down the road from our hostel, and the neighborhood we’re staying in was on the front lines of the Serb onslaught during the Bosnian war. We walked to Miki’s family’s apartment and his mom waved down to us from the balcony. The building is large and yellow, pockmarked by bullet holes and scarred by mortar fire, but window boxes full of cheery red and purple flowers do speak of resurrection. As we walked down the narrow street, Miki told us stories of the siege: here was the alley where everyone from all of Sarajevo came to fill buckets with water; here was the place where thousands of people lined up for usually-inadequate packets of food aid from the UN; here was the primary school he went to where his sister’s boyfriend was killed; on and on and on. For me, the war only comes alive with stories, with faces, with my fingers touching the bullet holes in concrete buildings.
After the war, someone filled in some of the shell- and mortar-caused holes in sidewalks with red cement. They’re known as Sarajevo roses. Today as I walked back in the rain, a Sarajevo rose was glistening on the pavement in front of me, wet like blood. A moment of reality.
We stopped at a Franciscan cathedral this morning, too. Miki said the Franciscans were well-respected in the city and gave much more effective aid than the UN soldiers, who were bound by shoddy mandates or crippled by corruption. I love it when the church embodies Christ. I was so proud of the Church this morning! Funny, because for much of the trip I have been wrestling with the wounds that Christians cause—after all, during the war most Bosnian Serbs claimed Orthodox faith. But if I can go on a little CMS tangent (oh, I love my minor!)… the cathedral we visited was awesome. In every sense of the word. On the one hand, personally it was wonderful—it felt holy, and I appreciated the few moments of peace and worship and familiarity and comfort, feeling at home in this building that houses my family of faith. The Franciscan church in Sarajevo had it so right! They preached the gospel in their love and aid for their neighbors (most of whom, by the way, were and are Muslim—but that’s a whole different topic for another post at another time). And their building reflects gospel! Its simple elegance and grandeur feel holy, and its artwork is bold and clear and tells a story. When you walk in, there are three long stained-glass windows in the front of the sanctuary. The one on the left depicts the Nativity scene—God made flesh, become incarnate. The middle shows Jesus crucified, nailed to the cross with “INRI” above his head—the story of salvation, of love and sacrifice. And the right panel has the resurrection, with Jesus standing triumphant over death and sin. Gospel. Simple. Beautiful. Below those three windows is a large mural, which depicts Jesus standing at a table offering bread, surrounded by people. They aren’t just his disciples; he’s not exclusive. People are walking up to the table, apparently welcomed to this feast which is the kingdom of God, and the posture of Jesus is welcoming even to those standing at the doorway of the church. It’s beautiful. It’s a picture of the kingdom of God, the living out of the three glass panes above it. Welcome to the Kingdom. All are invited to come and feast.
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