The Roma people are more commonly known as “gypsies,” although, as I understand it, the latter term is slang and shows a lack of respect. They originated from India and were invited to Eastern Europe as artisans and as bodyguards for political officials. When Communism took over, they were assigned jobs such as sweeping streets.

Communism fell in 1989. At that time, millions of people lost their jobs. The people that remained employed were, of course, the most well-educated. The Roma did not qualify. Tragically, unemployment is a huge issue even today. In one Roma ghetto, for instance, the unemployment rate among men is nearly 100%. Alcoholism and incest run rampant. So does garbage, disease, and the rat population. Hopelessness abounds apart from Jesus Christ.

Church at Lunik IX, a massive Roma ghetto in Slovakia

I’ve visited Eastern Europe’s largest Roma ghetto twice. In that midst of that hopelessness, a group of believers meets to worship twice/week, shepherded by a converted Roma man and his wife. I had the privilege of meeting the couple and interviewing them for a Power for Living article about three years ago. Two years ago, I enjoyed the opportunity to attend their Sunday service. This congregation shines as a bright light in the darkness of Lunik IX.

Last weekend I worshiped with a different Roma congregation. It, too, shines in the midst of the darkness and hopelessness of a ghetto setting. When I sat down, a Roma woman dressed in her Sunday best—a dark skirt and a shimmery silver jacket—immediately sat next to me. She greeted me in her language and shook my hand. I gave her the traditional kiss on each cheek. I “introduced” her to my husband using simple English words and sign language. She understood and shook his hand, too. Then she returned to her original seat.

The service proceeded with music, an offering, the sermon, and lastly, an invitation for anyone who wanted prayer to come to the front of the sanctuary. The pastor and three others positioned themselves at the front, and within moments, men and women of all ages filled the center aisle. The worship team played and sang quietly as, one by one, these folks stepped forward for prayer.

The lady in the silver jacket was one of the four standing at the front. Each time she finished praying for someone, she’d turn toward the center aisle and smile at the next person in line. She’d motion for him/her to come and gently touch the person on the arm as he/she approached. Sometimes she’d put her arm around the person’s waist. She’d listen intently as the person explained her reason for wanting prayer, and then she’d set to work.

Her facial expression said it all. If I could sum up her expression in one word, I would choose earnest. Eyes closed, brows creased, face turned heavenward, she called on God to answer the cries of her neighbors and relatives. Knowing that they all live in the ghetto located mere yards from the church, I could scarcely imagine the scope of their hardships and the depth of their pain.

The scene moved me deeply. When the service ended, she approached me again. Without a word, we embraced in a heartfelt hug and exchanged two more light kisses. “What is your name?” I asked.

“Viera,” she said. Then, with a translator’s help, she added, “I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

“You are my sister in Christ, and I feel the same way,” I said. “I want to tell you something. When I watched you pray, I could see care and compassion on your face. I thought, This woman is a ministry leader.”

Viera’s face registered shock. “Me?” she said. Then she smiled. “Thank you, thank you.” And then she asked the question so many in Eastern Europe ask us: “Will we meet again?”

“Yes, someday,” I said. “If not on earth, then in heaven. And when we meet there, we’ll be able to speak without a translator.”

Viera nodded. “Yes,” she said. “That will be wonderful.”

Before we parted ways, she introduced me to her daughter, granddaughter, and 3-week-old great-granddaughter. She told me that she has nearly 30 grandchildren and at least that many great-grandchildren. Her son—the baby’s grandfather—is only 36. Do the math. Great-grandma Viera is probably younger than me.

I climbed into the van with a new dream in my heart. What is it? Someday, if God wills, I’d love to partner with Viera to do a women’s conference in her church. Why not? The women in her neighborhood desperately need healing and hope. Jesus provides both. Maybe He’d allow me the honor of participating in sharing the Good News. And who knows? Maybe some of you could be involved, too.

I’m reading the book The Backward Life by Jarrod Jones. He writes, “In the original Greek language of the Bible, compassion means ‘a wrenching in the guts.’” He mentions the story of the blind men who cried to Jesus for mercy (Matthew 20). He says that Jesus was intensely moved, saddened, and brokenhearted over the despair of these men. He healed them not because He felt obligated, but because His heart was broken by their desperation and hopelessness.

Today I read Luke 7:11-15, the account of the widow whose only child died. When Jesus saw her sorrow, He was moved to compassion and raised the boy from the dead. In other words, Jesus’ heart was broken by the woman’s desperate situation.

So what do these passages mean to me? Well, I’m challenged to evaluate my attitude towards others who are in desperate situations. For instance, this morning as our train rolled out of Kosice, Slovakia, it rumbled past a smattering of Roma (gypsy) shacks along the tracks. I’ve seen mind-boggling poverty in New Delhi, and this situation in Eastern Europe seems very similar in severity.

What was my initial response? “Oh my goodness, look at those houses. How can people actually live like that?” Within moments, my thoughts turned elsewhere. I was not moved by compassion. My heart was not broken. Shocked or appalled, maybe, but not broken.

What prevents our hearts from being moved by compassion as Christ’s was? My hunch is this – true compassion might require something of us. We might have to get our hands dirty. We might have to sacrifice comfort, or the privilege of living near family. We may have to give financial aid. We might have to re-examine priorities or undergo change, and change doesn’t always feel good.

Wow – this really challenges me. I realize that I can’t rush out and solve the world’s poverty, but I can invite the Holy Spirit to change me from within so He can use me to bring healing to the desperate and hopeless to whom He directs me. And so I pray as World Vision founder Bob Pierce prayed, “God, break my heart over what breaks Yours.”

I invite you to pray that prayer, too. Imagine what our world might look like if believers everywhere were actually moved by compassion as Jesus was.

I also got to do our laundry using a washing machine – yahoooo! I’m not being sarcastic here, honest.

While traveling across Eastern Europe, we often wash our clothes in a sink, wring them out, and hang them to dry on a rack or on a window sill – whatever’s available. It’s a real treat to load laundry in a machine, add soap, and push the “start” button.

Who needs an electric dryer, anyway?

Most homes don’t have electric dryers, probably due to the expense of buying one and then paying the subsequent electricity bills. Because this is the case in the guesthouse, I draped socks, underwear, T-shirts, and blue jeans over wall-mounted heaters and a towel warmer. Presto! Even the jeans dried in a few hours.

At 6 o’clock a women’s meeting began at a large evangelical church, and I was the guest speaker. Karla had arranged the meeting, but she had no idea how many ladies might show up because this was the first-ever of this type of event in this church. We were delighted when about 50 women arrived.

I spoke to them from Philippians 4:6,7, and walked them through the directives for facing the future with confidence. Later, several individuals came to me with questions or concerns, and I was able to pray with them. What a joy! These women are so precious!

A new IM team member arrived from the States today. Her name is Anna, and she’s here to study historical architecture (that’s her speciality) with the hope of developing a program that will provide Roma (gyspy) men with the skills necessary to renovate/restore historical buildings. The unemployment rate among these men runs at about 98% and the poverty level is almost unimaginable, so a program of this nature would help provide jobs for those who want to work.

After the women’s meeting ended, Karla took Anna, myself, Kristin (another IM team member), and my evening’s translator, Milka, out for pizza. 

Girls' night out in Kosice

Sweet dreams in the Vienna airport

Journal entry for Tuesday, February 3, 2009

After catching a couple hours of sleep last night, we boarded a flight from Vancouver to Toronto to Vienna (for yet another infamous 5-hour layover), and finally to Kosice, Slovakia. I must have been more tired than I realized in Vienna, for I stretched out on a padded bench in a public waiting room and promptly fell asleep for an hour. That’s the first time in my life I’ve slept in transit!

One of our IM missionary couples met us at the airport and delivered us to the apartment where we stayed with an IM single gal. A quick shower and a short nap refreshed us before joining yet another IM couple for dinner at an authentic Slovakian restaurant.

Ordering from menus is much different there than in Canada. Over there, one page might contain the meat dishes. A second page might contain vegetables, salads or potatoes cooked in various ways. You decide what items you want and then you order each one separately. They arrive on one plate.

Sometimes the menus are written in Slovakian only, sometimes they contain an English translation. Even if they’re translated, they might not mean what you think they mean. I ordered a chicken breast from one page, and then “rice and vegetables” from another. I thought I’d receive chicken plus a single serving of cooked rice and a cooked vegetable – the day’s special, perhaps. I received a chicken breast grilled to perfection and four ice-cream scoop-sized servings of white rice mixed with cooked peas and carrots.

We had a great time visiting with this IM couple – Brad and Karla Thiessen. They have an amazing work happening with the Roma people (Gypsies) in Kosice, teaching woodworking skills to the men and sewing to the women. Besides that, Karla leads a weekly women’s Bible study and Brad has a language school that offers tutoring for more than 30 languages. They’ve worked here for about 17 years. I recently wrote an article about them for Power for Living – I’ll post the text on my new website under the link to “International Messengers” after it appears in the paper on March 22.