Mission to Montenegro newsletter

To Him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you before His glorious presence without fault and with great joy— to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore! Amen.

Grace and peace to you in the name of God our Father!

As our summer busyness winds down, the comings and goings of people ramp up because August is *the* vacation month for many Europeans.  

Due to an ever-changing congregation in August, Stan is holding off on beginning of new series in the morning services.   Instead, he is preaching from portions of Scripture that he's not tackled (yet) as a book.  These past two weeks he's brought forth important truths about God, about us, about the world from Isaiah 6 and Isaiah 1.

In the evening, Stan finished chapter 19 in Revelation, where we see Jesus, the mighty warrior, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, establishing His final kingdom free of all evil and evildoers.

We joyfully note that we still continue to have a visitor or two (some local, some foreigners) every Sunday.  Please pray for these visitors to come to faith, to commit to a local church, to commit to following Christ wherever He leads.
 

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As noted above, August is Vacation Time with a capital V.   About half the church has been away on much deserved vacays (post Camp season), but our Sunday morning services have been more crowded than ever with all the foreign vacationers--some old friends or brethren who've moved away and are back visiting, but mostly foreigners wanting to go to a Sunday service.  When they search to join for Sunday worship, our church usually pops up at the top.  

It is always a delight to meet brethren from all over, but we've been especially blessed to meet and worship with large numbers of Dutch young people this past month!  While no one knows Montenegrin, they almost all know English quite well (impressively so!).  We have several people skilled in simultaneous translation, so we are able to have good fellowship together despite the fallout from the Tower of Babel. 

Please pray that we would continue in joyful hospitality *and* that the Lord would add to our numbers such that there will be a time when the locals outnumber the foreigners even in August!

Beginning Sept. 8th, the church will be presenting a five-week evangelistic series on Sunday evenings.  This is an ambitious project for us as it involves teaching, testimonies, food, and discussion group activities. Please pray for Stan and Peter as they continue to work out details and for all members of the church to actively invite a friend, neighbor, or relative.

Please pray that God would open the eyes, ears, and hearts of those who come, that they might receive the truth and everlasting life.  
 

Stan and Vicki Surbatovich

Seeing the Henegar family resolutely tackling language learning, I’ve been reminded of my own early days of formal instruction.  Since Stan grew up speaking Montenegrin and kids are natural language learners, I was the only one taking classes.  Except, at that time with virtually no foreigners in Nikšić, there weren’t any classes being offered to learn the local language.  Thus, we had to use our connections (it’s the Balkan Way!) to try and find someone willing to teach me.

We met Milijan Simunović through Vera Kandić (the woman who introduced us to much of Nikšić society and has been mentioned in several previous snapshots).  She taught at the same local university where Milijan was an instructor in English.  Vera connected us to see if we could work something out.  Partly because the money would be a help, but mainly because he was a kind-hearted man, Milijan agreed to be my language tutor despite being pressed for time.

We met once or twice a week in the early morning at his place, a little flat on the top floor of a small apartment building, a 5-minute walk from our house.  I’d troop up several flights of stairs, greet his wife who'd promptly disappear into the next room along with their four daughters, and then I’d haul out my textbook and lessons would begin.

One day as part of our lesson time, Milijan suggested we share a favorite memory from childhood, first me (to bolster speaking skills) and then him (to improve my listening skills.)

Hmmmm. I mentally walked myself back through the ages and landed in mid-60's Southern California, where I lived during my early elementary school years.  Every winter and summer my grandfather would spend a number of weeks with us to escape the cold (winter) and mugginess (summer) of western Pennsylvania.

I fondly recalled the fun and excitement of the ice cream truck coming around, hearing the jingle long before it came into sight.   And how sometimes, sometimes, we never knew when, Grandfather would offer to buy us, my brothers and I a treat, and not only us, but also our friends. (Side note: Our whole neighborhood loved our grandpa!) 

The best part was that we weren’t limited to 5-cent fudgsicles and orangesicles.  Nope! We could splurge and get the coveted 25-cent, tri-colored, red-white-and-blue Rocket Bombs!  

Oh, those bygone days, the jingling music getting closer,  the anxious pleading of “Hurry, hurry Grandfather! We’ll miss the ice cream man!”  The relief when we didn’t.  The anticipation of ordering, hopping from one foot to another.  The rippppping of the wrapper. That first bite of icy sweetness on a hot sunny day. Happy sigh. All is right in my world.

I shared all this with Milijan, to the best of my ability, in Montenegrin.

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Now it was his turn.  Milijan went time-traveling in his mind and, when a smile spread across his face, I knew he’d found his moment to share, which was also from the mid-60s.  He grew up in a tiny mountain village, in a tiny 2-room house built into the hillside, with the animals housed on the first floor as stable, the family on the second.  And one of the best moments of his young life was trudging home from school, up steep mountain paths on a cold, blustery day and coming across one of the ewes who had recently lambed.  With a quick grab to catch her, Milijan got down on the ground, flat on his back, and squirted her warm milk into his cold body.   With eyes lit up, Milijan finished his story and sat back, warm and content just as he had been so long ago.

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I heard this and I was …. silenced.  I strained to fathom a life where squirting ewe milk while lying in the field was a highlight.  Hearing his story made me feel so alone, and lonely, too.  For though Milijan and I were born at roughly the same time, following a life pattern that on the surface looked the same: growing up, going to school, getting married, having kids; our actual experience of reality in the 20th century was so utterly different, almost as if we were from different planets.

It shook me at the time and made me wonder how Stan and I, aliens that we were, could connect with the Montenegrin people.  Cross-cultural missionary work is not for the faint of heart.  Only God can help us build those bridges, and thankfully, He does. Soli Deo Glory!