Bosnia and Herzegovina, “Compassion on the Ground” Seminarians’ Delegation 2009 Week of Compassion
Sunday, October 25, 2009 at 10:39AM Day 1 – Diane Faires
Last night on the way from the airport to our hotel, as we drove over the hill and caught our first view of the city spread out in the valley below us, the taxi driver proudly proclaimed, “This is my Sarajevo.” Our drive had taken us past the section of Sarajevo marked as the Serbian part of the city, and the driver seemed to be saying that his Sarajevo was not one which made distinctions between Serb, Muslim and Croat, but rather the heart of the city where all people come together. This is the place where Catholic cathedrals, Orthodox Christian churches, Muslim mosques, and Jewish synagogues co-exist side-by-side. It’s a place that I am quickly falling in love with.
Today we walked the city with our new Bosnian friend Dzevad, a local employee of Church World Service. We visited museums describing the local history, we drank strong cups of sweet coffee, we admired the colorful scarves and shining copper items in the shops of the winding Turkish quarter. We ate ice cream in the shadow of a minaret and waited to hear the Islamic call to prayer. We soaked up the atmosphere as we admired the beautiful mountains surrounding the city on all sides. These are the very mountains that held the city prisoner for nearly four years, as snipers fired on the city below and launched shells which killed around 11,000 residents, including 1,500 children. In spite of the bullet holes still marking the sides of so many buildings, it was hard for me to imagine looking to those spectacular mountains and feeling fear. What made it real was hearing Dzevad’s personal stories about life during the siege, as we wandered through the city. He pointed out the spot where a mortar shell had fallen on people waiting in line for bread, killing dozens in an instant. Places like those are called Sarajevo roses, because the scars in the pavement have been filled in with red wax as a memorial to the victims. As we stood beside a memorial fountain dedicated to the children who died during the war, a young girl rode around on her bicycle. In the tourist shops, they sell empty shell casings that have been engraved with hearts and flowers. Out of pain and death, the city is rising again. The ruins are being rebuilt. I hope that those residents of this resilient city can still look up at the mountains and see something beautiful and enduring, even after all they have been through.
Day 2 – Megan Amman
I had a lump in my throat most of the day. All of us did, I think. This morning, we piled in the van and departed for Srebrenica. We had an idea of what had happened there, and we knew it would be a difficult day. But it was something else to actually be there.
How long, Yahweh, will you forget me? For ever? How long will you turn away your face from me?
Srebrenica is where over 8,000 civilians – mostly Muslim males – were massacred in July 1995. At the memorial center, we saw a lot: pictures of the mass graves; thousands of headstones; the names and ages of everyone who was killed; men digging graves for the bodies that continue to be identified and laid to rest; a video of interviews with mothers who replay again and again their last moments with their sons.
How long must I nurse rebellion in my soul, sorrow in my heart day and night? How long is the enemy to domineer over me? Look down, answer me, Yahweh my God! Give light to my eyes or I shall fall into the sleep of death.
We also met Amera, who was our guide at the memorial center. She was young when the war happened. She lost her father and grandfather in the massacre. Her family is still waiting to bury her grandfather; at least 70% of a body must be identified before it can be buried. They have only found 30% of her grandfather’s remains.
Or my foe will boast, 'I have overpowered him,' and my enemy have the joy of seeing me stumble.
So, it was a hard day. But our time at Srebrenica wasn’t the end of it. On the way home, we shared a meal. We tasted freshly-picked blueberries. We drank water straight from a natural spring.
Our hearts were heavy with what we’d seen earlier. We cried out to God a lot that day. But as we felt the cold spring water on our skin, we remembered that there is hope. We remembered that God was there with us, just as God had been with the people in Srebrenica in July 1995. Just as God is still with the survivors who continue to grieve the loss of their family and friends.
As for me, I trust in your faithful love, Yahweh. Let my heart delight in your saving help, let me sing to Yahweh for his generosity to me, let me sing to the name of Yahweh the Most High!
--Psalm 13, New Jerusalem Bible
Day 3 – Tiffany Curtis
Today we experienced communion. Our journey began with a visit to a Serbian Orthodox church near Mostar in Herzegovina. The simple church was leveled during the war, and is slowing being rebuilt. Week of Compassion has funded the creation of a youth center next to the church. In the beautiful new yellow community building, the church now provides computer classes, recreational opportunities, and education in traditional Serbian culture, all primarily for children and youth. This is particularly significant for the community because Bosnian Serbs in this area were refugees during the war, and now those who have resettled are in the minority. Of the over 2,000 Bosnian Serb homes in the area before the war, only 300 have returned thus far.
The priest, Nemanja, is young--probably just a couple of years older than I, with a broad forehead and sparse brown beard. His wife Gordona is slight of build with short orangey hair and a delicate face. They both sit with us at a long table laden with bottles of juice and sparkling water, and bowls of long, thin pretzels and fresh fruit. We are blessed by Nemanja’s enthusiasm for meaningful theological engagement, as we share our experiences in ministry--our calls, our visions. When I ask him what he sees as the center of his ministry at this point, his response is lengthy and moving. He says that in the post-war context, where the community is slowly returning to the area, it is most important to help people re-engage with the liturgy, and to bring people to Holy Communion. For him, this both symbolically helps the community feel connected to one another and to God, but also literally brings Christ into their community. As a people who were displaced during the war, as were countless others, this focus on the tradition and the liturgy is a key way in which religion can play a vital role in recreating the identity of the faith community. We talked about the role of the Holy Spirit in making all things new, and the weight of that image in the context of a war-torn and smoldering country. Maybe sometimes the Spirit takes the form of a phoenix, rising from the ashes of destruction, and creating new life in the very craters left by the impact of the bombs and mortar shells.
While we feast on tiny sweet strawberries and fleshy dark cherries, and slowly sip delicious little cups of strong Bosnian coffee, the community treats us to a performance of traditional Serbian dance. The children who perform have learned folkloric dance through the church’s cultural education programming. With broad smiles stretching across their small faces, the boys and girls hop about rhythmically in pairs, draped in traditional ethnic costumes, happy, it seems, to share their rich cultural heritage with us.
We finish our time at the church by touring the small sanctuary itself, with its pale blue walls festooned with imitations of gilded icons. After Nemanja shares with us about the liturgy and the centrality of the Eucharist, I turn to a tall young man who has been diligently following us, snapping photos. I ask him about himself, and he diffidently tells us that his name is Marko, and that he is a university student, and a volunteer lay leader in the church. We ask Marko what motivates him to dedicate himself to the church, and with a shy smile betrayed by fiery eyes, he says quietly, “Love. Simply love.”
Filled with joy, we make our way to a Serbian Orthodox monastery fairly close by, in Žitomislići, where we are met by a handsome young monk named Lazar, with mysterious dark eyes and a towering stature accentuated by his long black robe. After telling us about the tragic history of destruction and rebuilding of the church, dating to at least the 1500s, we are led into a simple banquet hall, where we are generously and lavishly met by a feast prepared by one of the monks. The long table is piled high with heaping platters of fresh cabbage salad, steaming bowls of egg and nettle soup, freshly baked bread, roasted chicken, fresh white cheese made from cows at the monastery, rich cheese pastries, delicious crispy potatoes, and homemade wine and grape brandy. Laughter rings throughout the hall, and we feast in the spirit of love and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit. After lunch, we sit in the grassy courtyard, drinking Turkish coffee and homemade wine while Megan plays one of the monk’s guitars, and our driver Mujo plays accordion. Megan’s sultry voice melts through the heavy afternoon heat, and Mujo’s accordion punctuates the air with traditional Bosnian music. We all laugh and dance and sing in a truly holy community.
The day ends in the town of Blagaj--which means “blessing” in Bosnian--with a walk to a Sufi tekija cradled in the womb of a massive rock edifice, which births a spring that feeds the River Buna. At the Sufi House, we women are wrapped up in hijab and we are all invited to observe the worship. We clamber up the stairs and silently kneel down in the doorway of the small worship room. A group of probably 10 men sit in a circle in the darkened room, wearing dark vests and red fezzes. They rhythmically exhale and sway, chanting the divine name of God and repeating phrases and verses from the Quran over and over and over again until they reach some point of mystical connection. New cadences begin slowly, increasing in speed and volume until climaxing. The imam switches the pitch or words subtly and the song continues. We sit in awe of a truly ecstatic worship experience, each of us swept up into the divine music emanating from that place. God seems to be pulsating in my very veins, filling my heart with unbounded love and flooding my body with a peace and vitality.
After what could have been hours or merely minutes, the men in the dark room are done praying, and we are invited to tea. Dzevad and Andrew join the men and we women enter a separate room with the Sufi women and their children. The women welcome us warmly and we sit and drink small cups of sweet hot black tea.
On our walk home in the stillness of the late night, under the warm blanket of bright stars, Andrew tells us that while he was drinking tea with the men, the imam imparted a story: their sheikh back in the 18th century famously said, “If someone comes to the threshold of your tekija, do not ask him about his faith. If he has a soul from God, give him bread and tea, and invite him in.” We certainly were invited in, and shared in communion with these Muslim mystics on the banks of the clear, pure waters of the River Buna, bound together in holy community with all of God’s people.
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Day 4 - Lizzy Beach Mostar is the largest city in Herzegovina, and home to the Old Bridge. Mostar actually means city of the old bridge. Herzegovina has many spectacular bridges, but none as amazing as this Old Bridge. In the heart of old town Mostar, this bridge was originally built in 1566 under the Ottoman Empire. It is steep, and made of stone from the local quarry. This bridge crosses the Neretva River that runs through the middle of town – this bridge defines the town. During the war, this bridge and many local buildings were destroyed. The town was devastated. Today, the bridge has been restored (completed in 2006) using as many of the original pieces from the exploded rubble as possible, and the rest from the original quarry, which was reopened, from which the original was built. The rebuilding of this bridge is a symbol of hope for the people of Mostar. Not only is it a reconnecting of the two sides of the city literally, but it is also a symbol of moving on from the pain of the war. There are many Muslims (Bosniaks), Catholics (Croats), and Orthodox (Serbs) in the Mostar area; rebuilding the city takes time and energy, and the will to work together, to keep the post war peace between the groups who live there. |
Day 5 – Andrew Packman
We woke a little earlier than normal on Tuesday per the request of our punctual Croatian host and Church World Service representative Teo. He wanted to be sure that we’d be in the bus, lunches packed, and ready to roll by 9 a.m. so that after our 45 minutes drive from Livno to Bosansko Grahovo, we would have plenty of time to spend on site with the Build a Village Project beneficiaries we were there to meet.
Build a Village is a Church World Service (CWS) project whose purpose is to pool together the resources of the various non-governmental organizations working in the Bosansko Grahovo area and align them so that they are all rowing in the same direction. The Week of Compassion partners with CWS in projects like these. So our purpose for being in Bosansko Grahovo was to meet both the people implementing the different aspects of this project and the individuals benefiting from them directly.
Immediately upon arriving in Bosansko Grahovo, we could see why this city has been the recipient of so much international humanitarian attention. Buildings along the main street in town still bear now nearly fifteen year-old wounds from the war. Apartment buildings remain apparently vacant and dilapidated to this day. Our guides informed us that Grahovo was known after the war as a “convertible city”, that is, one in which most of the roofs had been removed by the constant barrage of shells from various armies. While this area enjoyed 100% employment during the Communist period, the factories employing the local population had suffered dearly from the fighting, and the once fully-employed population was now blighted by official unemployment rates around 92%.
Our group divided into pairs, each of which was assigned to various local humanitarian aid workers with whom Week of Compassion partners. Diane Faires and I were fortunate to be paired with Zorana and Dragan from Refugee Return Services. Both individuals hail from nearby cities, and when asked what got them started in this kind of work, both responded that there simply were not many options. They were just happy to have incomes to support their young families.
We began by loading three packages of food and supplies into the back of an SUV and making our way into the surrounding countryside to deliver our goods. The three families we visited lived in villages around Bosansko Grahovo. They consisted usually of one road, gravel or dirt, that ran through a compilation of fifteen or twenty houses and trailers.
We were particularly struck by the story of the third family we met consisting of a husband, wife, and twelve year-old boy. With Zorana as our interpreter, we deduced that the woman had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, but because of the limited medical facilities and the total lack of any specialists in the region, she was doubtful that she was receiving the proper treatment. They said that the nearest specialist was in Mostar, a large city some three to four hours away by car, and the cost of getting to Mostar and paying for the doctor’s visit was unthinkable for a family with little to no income.
Despite their unfortunate situation, the couple was proud of their high-achieving twelve year old boy. He went to a middle school about 30 minutes away and, judging by the plaques and certificates written in Cyrillic script on the wall, seemed to be doing quite well. The mother was insistent that she was also a fine student in her day and was proud of her contribution to her son’s academic success.
We then visited Branko and Bozica, a farming couple with three daughters living in a neighboring village. They graciously offered the four of us soft drinks and cookies while Dragan discussed the Community Entrepreneur Fund with them. Again, through Zorana’s interpretation, we gathered that this family had twice been beneficiaries of this particular Build a Village fund. Families or individuals may apply for low-interest loans to be used to purchase, as in their case, cattle and sheep with which they can earn a living. The beneficiaries are given favorable terms and conditions, a long period over which they may repay the loan, and an interest rate set just high enough to cover operational expenses.
Bozica spoke with us a little about her involvement on the Community Advisory Board. This is a group of local residents who have been elected by their peers to advise the distribution of Community Entrepreneur Fund loans. By giving the authority and responsibility to community members to determine where and how to invest these funds, Church World Service endeavors to avoid creating a kind of “humanitarian state” in which people become overly dependent on foreign grants. This method empowers local people to take ownership of their projects, hold beneficiaries accountable, and simply allows those receiving the funds to dictate the terms by which they are used. Of course, a CWS representative has the final say, but this seems to be a step in the right direction.
Our last stop was at the house of Branka and Boro Trkulja. We received the same hospitable treatment from this family; upon our arrival, all the men lifted themselves in unison from the bench on the front porch to make room for us. Branka offered us soft drinks and cookies, and later a few cups of traditional Bosnian coffee.
Like most of the people we met this day, the Trkuljas are Bosnian Serbs. During the war, this Bosnian Serb area saw heavy fighting between the Croats (whose border is only a handful of miles to the West) and the Serbs. The front lines teetered back and forth across the towns and villages speckled across these hills, laying waste to the bucolic setting these people called home. Finally, in 1995, the Trkuljas were forced to flee to Banja Luka and Belgrade, two Serb strongholds where they would be safe. With the help of people like Dragan and Zorana, many of these ethnic Serbs were able to return to their land by 1998, but when they arrived, they found the land ruined, their houses destroyed, and their places of employment burned to the ground.
But Branka and Boro returned. They returned to rebuild directly across the street from the bombed out shell of what they later told us was once a family member’s home. When asked why they did not tear it down, they said they still had hopes of rebuilding, and beyond that, they just could not bring themselves to finish off what the war started.
Like Bozica and Branko, the Trkuljas have benefited from a Community Entrepreneur Fund loan and purchased several dairy cows. They milk the cows daily and forward the fruit of their labor on to a mobile lacto-freezer truck (purchased by CWS, thanks to donations from many Disciples, including Disciples Women who came to the region in 2007) which then transports the milk to an enormous milk cooling tank in the main town of Bosankso Grahovo. With European Union agricultural standards on the rise, these lacto-freezing units have allowed milk produced by these once-refugees, now-returnees to be sold on the European market. And after only a few years of operation, the Milk Cooperative, to which families like the Trkuljas belong, is nearly self-sustaining.
At the end of our time in Bosansko Grahovo, I think we all stood in awe of this work. We began to put the pieces together in our minds, and recognize that money raised in local Disciples of Christ churches by Week of Compassion goes to projects supported by our partner organizations like Church World Services and ends up as low-interest loans in the hands of poor dairy farmers in rural Bosnia. And these loans, although small in stature, are enough to give a kick-start to small businesses that will put food on a family’s table. And they will do so in a way that the family does not feel that they are just being given a hand-out. Instead, they are earning money through their own labor. All that we provide is the start-up cash, which they repaid in full and gets reinvested in another worthy project.
We left Bosankso Grahovo that afternoon, full of stories like these I’ve just shared, and headed for the Franciscan Monastery in the city of Rama. Here we were to spend the rest of Tuesday in a spirit of contemplation in the aptly named kuca mira (house of peace). As always, we closed the day in worship. Our text was Isaiah 58:3-12, and we paid particular attention to the call Isaiah makes to be “repairers of the breach.”
Surely we had met “repairers of the breach” that day in Bosansko Grahovo. We met individuals who may have just fallen into their humanitarian positions because they refused to take up arms in the war, as was Teo’s story, or maybe they were just happy to find work like Dragan and Zorana. But regardless of their motivations, they were making their life’s work the repairing of the breach that the war had seared into their country.
Through the Week of Compassion, we are blessed to join with them in this holy work.
Day 6 – Jennifer Lewis-Kelly
Awakening to the sound of the monastery bells, I recall our driver, Mujo’s comment last night of the 6 a.m. ringing to bring in morning. Impossible! For, I feel refreshed, alive and fully awake for the first time in my life at this early hour. I later found out the cathedral chimes were rung at 7:15. That made much more sense.
The clouds area just above the mountains, first overcast day we have had. Ramsko Lake has morning rowers.
As I put my feet on the ground to rise to a new day, I begin to feel the heaviness of the weight in yesterday’s experiences. So much pain, suffering, death, results of war…but the joy, life, smiles, perseverance of the impoverished begins to fill my mind and then body. The journey must continue.
The nuns are singing hallelujahs. Their one voice rises to my ear on the way to God’s. I wonder if the gathering is in the sanctuary or in the kitchen while they are preparing breakfast. Either way, worship was occurring in a most holy place. Now, off to discover the House of Peace and enjoy breakfast.
Breakfast was simple but with great quality. Our conversation turned to reflection of how to best increase the quality of the lives of this country’s people, as if it could all be solved from this one moment of communion. Amy told the story of Friar Ivo, the Catholic priest we will spend time with upon our return to Sarajevo. Fr. Ivo, while in the monastery, was approached by Serbian forces during the war. Wait, the Serbs are Orthodox...don’t they believe in Christ also? A young soldier put a pistol to Ivo’s skull. The Friar responds, “My son, this will hurt you much more that it will hurt me.” The young soldier froze as Ivo said he would pray for him. Ivo survives to later discover his childhood home overtaken by the “enemy”. He visited the home and found a different family became its new inhabitants. Ivo wanted to see if they needed anything, food, water, blankets, but never mentioned this was his home. The family invited Ivo in and shared coffee with the friar. Perhaps he found comfort in seeing his home sheltering a family in need.
At this time in our conversation, a morning shower covered God’s earth, and then stopped as we transitioned toward truth and reconciliation work that could bring healing and wholeness to this land.
Exploring the monastery grounds, I enter the sanctuary. The repair workers are using jackhammers on the steeple. I can’t help but think of the similar sound of machine gun fire. As I enter the cathedral, the sound inside changes. The machine noise turns to the sound of deep horns throughout all the many enclaves of the sanctuary. I can’t help but think of the Shofar, the ram’s horn used by the ancient Hebrews to call all the people together to worship.
Lunch, of course, was delicious. The meal consisted of soup, fresh bread, tomatoes, cucumbers, green onions, and peppers. A meat stew and mashed potatoes were the main course. The dessert was a yellow cake topped with candied oranges and cold, hard chocolate.
The group also toured the grounds, monastery and museum. They also met the guardian and priest. One funny moment was when, out of respect, we apologized to a monk in contemplation, only to realize it was a faux monk. There were also several animals preserved by means of taxidermy.
On the bus back to Sarajevo, we stopped for ice cream and coffee. Both were a little disappointing, but the view was spectacular, a serene lake topped with mountains.
It was like coming back home to Sarajevo. Hotel Saraj welcomes us back. We say goodbye to Mujo several times. We have been so blessed to have such a safe and intelligent driver. His being will always be an integral and peaceful part of our Bosnian journey. We all must have said goodbye and thank you to Mujo ten times each.
Next, we walk back to St Anthony’s monastery to hear Pontanima, the interfaith choir for peace, practice. They are led by Josip “Pepi” Katavic. But unlike the sound of Pepi’s name, the choir is very serious with their music. This must the most finely tuned and timely choir I’ve ever heard. Each syllable is distinct and everyone even carried the “s” in a perfect manner.
Amy was completely back in her element in the choir, greeted by old friends. Lizzy joined the altos and started timidly, but quickly grew strong. During the break, Lizzy and Megan sang a duet for Pepi. After the choir returned, they gifted the group with a gospel song presented in English. They did a great job, but I was only able to pick up on a few words like judgment day and soul.
We returned to our favorite, and only, brewery in Sarajevo. Several of us engaged in deep theological discussion with Friar Ivo. I can really see why Amy has fallen in love with this Franciscan priest. He seems very progressive and makes no excuses, but teaches peace and patience.
The beer was large, a liter of dark or light, both very rich with the taste of this country’s life.
The day ended as it began with rain. We took three taxis back to the hotel. The devotion was led by me. It was focused on the Jewish tradition of remembering. The emphasis was on engaging with the body’s five senses in order to engrain memories of Bosnia’s stories into our being. Gathered foliage, roof tiles and incense were used to recall memories of the people’s stories.
Day 7 – Starla Solan
In the morning we visited Hope 87 and met Samir Selik. Samir had enlisted in the Bosnian army when he was 17 because he wanted to defend his city and his people. One day while he was working in the army he was hit by an explosive from a Serbian plane, and his leg was injured beyond repair. Because he was only 17 he was supposed to have parental permission for the amputation of his leg. The doctors waited a few days trying to get permission, but both of his parents were unable to be found due to the war, and at 17 years of age he had to make the decision to have his own leg amputated. This was a powerful story for all of us. We learned that Hope 87 is a world-wide organization that helps war victims, especially those affected by landmines or explosives, to recover physically, emotionally, and socially. Each person receiving aid from Hope 87 is given medical attention, physical therapy, a prosthetic limb (if plausible), psychological help, and then is given training and education in a technological field. After training, the participant is highly eligible for employment. Thus the program not only helps people heal, but also provides them with the means necessary to live a productive, successful life. HOPE 87 is a holistic program. Week of Compassion has supported it for many years.
In the afternoon we went to visit NAHLA, a women’s empowerment organization. The program primarily serves Muslim women, but is open to all women. We were able to spend many hours speaking with three of the women who were foundational in the creation and sustaining of the organization. NAHLA means honeybee, and the name was chosen because it represents the role of women in the community, in that women are the gatherers and distributors of much knowledge and care in society. NAHLA provides education, emotional support and counseling, cosmetology and massage, exercise, childcare, networking, and community for the women who take advantage of the services. The NAHLA Center provides a much needed community for the women and children of the area. The women that we met were strong and determined. We were able to ask them many questions, and they did the same. They were surprised to learn that so many of us on the trip (all women, except for one) were going into ministry as ordained ministers and that we could serve as head ministers in churches. I was surprised to see that the women chose to wear hijabs even though culturally in Bosnia they did not have to. I also respected the women for their choice to have their heads and their bodies fully clothed. Choosing modesty, rather than being forced into it, is much easier to accept and respect.
Later we went to the one and only underground tunnel that connected Sarajevo to the outside world during the war. Sarajevo was under siege during the war, so the only way to get supplies to the city was through the tunnel. We watched a war-time video of people passing through the tunnel, which made the situation come alive. We were also able to go into a part of the tunnel. It was a chilling experience after watching the video first. After leaving the tunnel we visited two different cemeteries. The first cemetery housed all four religious groups of Bosnia. Serbian Orthodox, Jews, Muslims, and Catholics were all buried in the cemetery. The grave stones were separated by religious affiliation, but they were all there in the same cemetery. It was interesting to see everyone buried together, even though they may not have gotten along during their life-time. The second cemetery we went to was a Jewish cemetery. The front lines of the war had been close to the cemetery and many of the grave stones were in disrepair or were completely destroyed by explosives. There is not a large Jewish presence in Bosnia anymore, and this was made manifest by the state of disrepair of the cemetery. The damaged gravestones exhibited an interesting quality, as if the cemetery represented the religious wounds that the people of Bosnia-Herzegovina still carry.
To top off the evening we ate at a very nice restaurant for dinner. We ate traditional Bosnian dishes among which were lamb meat, a creamy chive sauce on wheat bread, creamed mushroom soup, cabbage salad, red wine and various baklavas for desert. I was even able to eat lamb kidney, liver, and a bite of its tongue -- it was all very tasty. The highlight of the evening came when two men played classical guitars and sang Bosnian songs for us. It was a beautiful ending to an intense day in Sarajevo, Bosnia.
Day 8 – Shannon Fleck
Isn’t it amazing what a seed can do? To be planted into soil with the hopes that the soil will care and nurture the seed into a healthy and life-giving plant. One nurtured and loved seed can grow to feed and nurture many in return. Our experience in Bosnia has been beautiful, heartbreaking and eye opening. So much of the Bosnia’s “soil” had been damaged and beaten; it was such a wonderful experience to see some nurture and growth in the northern Bosnian town of Maglaj on the 8th day of our trip.
We journeyed north to Maglaj to see a soup kitchen in the town and meet the director of the Muslim charitable organization Merhamet, CWS’ implementing partner, which is running the soup kitchens in the region. Atif, the director of Merhamet in Maglaj, greeted us and we were escorted into the soup kitchen. We were shown the facilities, the kitchen and were there as several families, elderly and children were collecting food for the day. Atif informed us that over 600 people flow in and out of the facility daily in order to get food for their families for the day.
Atif was so endlessly grateful for what had been given to the organization to help it function. He continued to thank us all for what we have done. All I could think of was, “what have I done?” “I haven’t done anything to warrant such distinctive and humble thanks from this very kind man,” except that I then realized what I had done through my giving to Week of Compassion.
We began to make our way to a village outside of Maglaj where vegetables and wheat are grown in order to supply food banks all over the country. Along the way, we came upon a de-mining crew that was at work in a field. There are still many landmines throughout the country and de-mining efforts are expensive and dangerous and are still an active part of life throughout the country. We spent time talking to the men and I ended up volunteering to strap on the vest they have to wear along with a helmet and use their detection equipment. Now, I certainly wasn’t in the mine field directly, but it was an interesting experience. I laughed and joked while I was in the ensemble, because it was definitely a humorous sight, but later, the severity of it hit me. The mere fact that we were able to laugh and joke about such a thing yet again pointed to our context as Americans. We don’t have to worry about walking into our garden and stepping on a landmine that had not been discovered or feeling unsafe in the steps we take. The de-mining efforts are yet another example of how life in Bosnia is still in recovery and that the remnants of the war are still alive and well.
We proceeded onward to see the greenhouses that have been funded by the Foods Resource Bank, which is an implementing partner of Week of Compassion. Honestly, I didn’t really think greenhouses were going to be that interesting, but the sight of so many of them lined up in a beautiful row of hunger satisfaction, changed my mind quickly. All I saw when I looked into the rows of greenery were all the mouths that were being fed, and all the hunger prevented through these plants.
What a gift Week of Compassion gives through helping to fund such projects. I was shown that we are not just in it for the short term, but for the long haul. We are present in true “life-sustaining” work that keeps people alive and helps to put them on their feet for the long term. It was truly an impressive sight to see such amazing work being done in something that I didn’t think would really affect me as much as shells in buildings and destruction of cities. These greenhouses were something to be cherished; a true example of the nurturing spirit of the Week of Compassion.
As we closed the evening by gathering for devotion on a hillside in Sarajevo, I was struck with a distinct thought. God is truly present in everything. When we put money in an envelope, we rarely see where it goes with our own eyes. I had the distinct pleasure of seeing how Mrs. Jones’ $50 gift helped feed hundreds in Bosnia because of our funds flowing into Week of Compassion and subsequently the Foods Resource Bank. It is our job to plant seeds, water and nurture the seeds, and to help those seeds feed others. It is a beautiful job, a necessary job, and a blessed job. I am proud to have seen what I have seen, and even more proud to know the Week of Compassion and to find God in all that surrounds me, even in something as small as a seed.
Day 9 – Andrew Packman
Saturday was our last day of programming, and we wrapped it up in epic style. We started in the morning by meeting with a group called Sarajevo Phoenix. This organization is composed of Bosnian women (Serbs, Muslims, and Croats) who have joined together to make beautiful stoles, communion table runners, Christmas ornaments, and other crafts. The Phoenix, of course, is the legendary bird who rises out of its own ashes to find new life. And while these women are from different faith traditions and ethnicities, their common ground is that they have all resurrected from the ashes of the war in Sarajevo, and in defiance of their circumstances, they choose to create something beautiful.
Each of the women in the group shared their personal stories with us, and the vast majority of them lost husbands, and some husbands and sons, during the Siege of Sarajevo. With no social security safety net and with 45% unemployment throughout the whole country, many of these women are dependent upon the earnings from their crafts for income.
Later that afternoon we got to spend some more time with a truly incredible man, Fra Ivo Markovic. "Fra" indicates that he is a Franciscan, or a Friar. He works and teaches at the Franciscan monastery in Sarajevo, and is a close friend and mentor of Amy Gopp, Executive Director of the Week of Compassion. Amy worked with Fra Ivo during her four years in Croatia and Bosnia in the mid-late nineties. She describes him as a prophet - a man who is extremely well learned and intelligent, but who refuses to cloister himself away from the world in the academy. Instead, he wakes up every day with this guiding thought - "What are the people's needs?" He is a prolific writer (in English, German, and his native Croatian/Bosnian), teaches at the Franciscan Seminary in Sarajevo, and was the founder of Pontanima, an interfaith choir founded in Sarajevo after the war in 1996.
We spent the afternoon at another Franciscan monastery in the town of Fojnica. I was privileged to get to ride with Fra Ivo and Amy on the way to the monastery. Ivo is a man with a thousand stories. One that penetrated my heart was the story he told of visiting his home after the war. His hometown is in Zenica, a central Bosnian city with a good mix of Serbs, Croats, and Muslims. During the war, his family was run out of their home and had to flee to Croatia, where many displaced Catholic Croats were fleeing at the time.
After several months, he was able to make it up to Zenica to check on his family's home. But when he got there, he found that it wasn't empty. As was often the case, another family moved in and was squatting in his family's abandoned property. There was heavy Muslim v. Croat fighting in Zenica, and a family of displaced Muslims had found refuge in his old home.
He went to the door, fully dressed in his friar's habit, and knocked. The father of the house came to the door, and was immediately skeptical. It was clear that Ivo was a Catholic, and many Catholics (and many Franciscans, Ivo tells us) had fully consumed the nationalistic fervor of the time and preached violence and hate against their Muslim neighbors. And if anyone has the right to be angry, it's a man who finds his ancestral house, the home in which he was raised and to which his family still owns the rights, inhabited by squatters. Moreover, these squatters were Muslims – the group that killed 8 of Ivo’s closest male relatives, including his elderly, innocent, civilian father.
But the Muslim man's fears were soon assuaged. Fra Ivo told the man that he was just going around Zenica making sure people had everything they needed. He asked if everyone in the family was alright, and asked if there were any needs that he could meet for the family. He ended up getting them some water and blankets, spent some time visiting with the family and listening to their stories of being uprooted and finding a safe house and refuge in this house. After a while, Fra Ivo blessed the family and conferred upon them his peace, and walked out the door of his own home, leaving it to its new residents.
And as he tells the story, he says that he felt a sense of peace knowing that the home that had given him sanctuary and refuge was still providing that same comfort and peace to a new family.
He's truly an incredible man. He ate lunch with us, met with us to discuss the process of reconciliation in Bosnia and Herzegovina as he sees it, and then we all had the chance to walk around the monastery grounds with Fra Ivo. He told us that sitting around a table is less conducive to good conversation than walking around and "disputing" with one another.
So we walked up an adjacent hill to an old Catholic graveyard. The scenery was incredible, and once we got on top of the mount, it was hard not to see the symbolism of 8 seminarians engaging with a wise old pastor and peacemaker on a mount as he gave a "sermon" of sorts.
His sermon on the mount centered on the ways in which people (politicians, religious leaders, the media) use fear to manipulate people. He spoke of how nationalist elements in his country totally co-opted the religious establishment, and began to use church leaders to stir up fear and hatred amongst the various ethnic groups. He remembers giving an interview in which he harshly criticized some of his fellow Franciscans who were accepting money from nationalist Croat groups to spread their message of fear throughout Bosnian-Croat Catholics. He noted one instance in which a Slovenian Catholic friend of his walked into a church, and as the priest began the mass, he greeted the congregation as "My Dear Croats". The Slovenians got up and left - if this priest was going to begin by drawing a line in the sand like that, he wanted nothing to do with such a church.
Fra Ivo articulated the belief that fear is the opposite of love. That is, hate is not the opposite of love, but fear is. And he says that fear is thus a deep and primal sin, and when fear is invoked, it is always used with the intent to manipulate a people. Fear reduces a person or people's consciousness, and Fra Ivo knows from experience what people do when they are in fear. Fear can be used to induce an existential hatred of the other, that neighbor or colleague who is somehow different than you, and can lead people to do horrendous, ungodly things to those "others". Fear forces individuals to draw lines in the sand to distinguish between people, and forces humans into looking at the world in very black and white terms. At heart, fear causes humans to not act like humans, and it causes us to treat other humans as if they were not human.
Thus, we as Christians are to work to erase this kind of fear from the world. We are to bring people together who have some fear of each other and help them to recognize their humanity and their own face in the other. We as Christians are to speak out and call out those politicians and religious leaders who use fear to manipulate whole populations, who instill fear in people to divide them, conquer them, and dominate them.
Our group couldn't help but think about our own context in the United States. How ironic is it, that we, the most powerful nation in the world by any measure, seem also to be consumed with a divisive and dehumanizing fear of the other? If anyone should not fear, it is the United States who has every resource and power at our disposal. And yet too often we do - we allow politicians and religious extremists in our own country to rile up the caustic nationalistic sentiments deep in our own psyches to control us and force us to see others as inherently dangerous and out-to-get us.
This “sermon on the mount” struck me deeply. Fra Ivo's words were certainly focused on the context of religion and politics in Bosnia, but his message to us as Christians to defiantly refuse to fear the other, and to choose to love the other in a way that might even seem dangerous to us, is one that is universal. How else could a man approach the family who has invaded his own home, bless them, offer them his assistance, and even break bread with them, unless he really believed in a love that can conquer even the deepest fear?
The rest of the night was not so philosophical or deep. In fact, we closed out what was a really challenging and engaging day with some amazing food and fellowship with our new friend Ivo and his fellow Franciscans.
Fra Mirko, a friar at the Fojnica monastery, brought his youth group in to entertain us. This group of high school youth meets with Fra Mirko often to practice their instruments and learn the incredible old folklore songs of Bosnia and Herzegovina. They treated us to a variety of folk songs, and Pepi, Amy's dear friend, director of Pontanima choir, and a member of the Bosnian National Opera, treated us to an incredible show.
After several songs, I decided to put in a request. I asked for them to play Hava Nagila - I figured that they had a pretty good corpus of Slavic tunes, so maybe they'd be able to come through and add a little Jewish flavor to our night.
And I was not disappointed! This band of bards, all Catholic, were happy to indulge me in my request. Enjoy! And what a beautiful image. The words of Hava Nagila, translated into English are something like this:
Let's Rejoice, Let's Rejoice - Let's Rejoice and Be Happy
Let's Sing, Let's Sing - Let's Sing and Be Happy
Awake Brothers, Awake Brothers with a Happy Heart
Awake Brothers, Awake Brothers, With a Happy Heart
As I look back on Bosnia, now that I'm comfortably back in Baton Rouge, I am filled with a happy heart. I am blessed to have met an incredible group of Bosnians (Bosnian Croats, Bosniak Muslims, and Bosnian Serbs) who all have powerful personal stories and who all have found their own ways of working to bring their country back together. I am blessed to have witnessed both the good and the bad. I have walked across the graveyard in Srebrenica and have broken bread with amputee victims of landmines who have lived without their legs since the sixth grade. But I have also witnessed the beauty of a culture that has survived despite a harrowing attempt to see it erased, wiped clean from the face of the Earth. I am blessed to have heard Pepi sing Bosnian folk songs in his proud, Slavic, baritone voice, the same voice that defiantly sang Mozart's Requiem in the rubble of the National Library in Sarajevo after a nearly successful attempt to destroy all the oldest records of Bosnian history. I am blessed to have met people like Teo, Atif, and Nemanja (one Croat, one Muslim, and one Serb) who each in their own way have partnered with our churches, churches in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), who through Week of Compassion, have committed to walking with the people of Bosnia as they pick themselves back up, dust themselves off, and repair the breach that has ripped their land apart.
I also leave Bosnia with a mind and heart full of disgust and pain for what has happened and for what fear and nationalism has wrought in the Balkans. But I can leave Bosnia with a happy heart, because when I was in Bosnia, I found a people who are dancing and singing. I discovered a resilient people who refuse to let that fear and hatred define them, a people who defiantly define themselves through food, music, humor, and a warmth that is unique, rare, and holy. I met people in Bosnia who have endured repressed religion under Communism, nationalistic religion under Milosevic, Izetbegovic and Tudjman, and yet who still love God, and can clearly see the face of God in each other.
In Bosnia, I found a people who are better than their leaders, who are better than the way we see them through the eyes of the media, and who are rejoicing, singing, and dancing on the ground that only 15 years ago, was flailing in the deepest abyss of genocide and ethnic cleansing.
And as these Catholic bards celebrated their own cultural tradition by performing their songs for us that night, they also sang Hava Nagila. In this land that has been framed by ethnic and inter-religious strife, this band of Friars and young Catholics are learning the songs of their Jewish neighbors, just as I am sure they learn those of their Orthodox and Muslim neighbors.
And that evening, in the basement of a remote Franciscan monastery in the Bosnian mountains, they welcomed us to sing along with them too.
I am reminded now of the profound words of the imam I met at the Sufi Mosque in Blagaj, Herzegovina in the middle of the trip:
"Our sheik's sheik, back in the 18th Century, told us that when someone comes to the threshold of your mosque, do not ask them about their faith. If they have a soul from God, offer them bread, pour them a cup of tea, and welcome them."
In these words, I commend to you, the spirit of Jesus, the Christ, which we found to be present, working, and alive in Bosnia.
For more information on Week of Compassion’s work in Bosnia and Herzegovina or to contribute to our ongoing Build a Village program, please contact Amy Gopp, agopp@woc.disciples.org or call 317/713-2450.
