A Cup of Cold Water

It always comes as a surprise, the emergence of the 13- or 17-year cicada. We live on the edge of the range and are seeing black-bodied and red-eyed creatures using everything for their vertical climbs. As temperatures rise, the trees are alive with the sounds of insects. It’s a vivid reminder of hot summer days of years long ago.

I remember another hot blazing summer in 1991. While living in Europe as a missionary, I had the amazing opportunity to join a handful of other Christian organizations and enter the atheistic communist nation of Albania. The devastation of that totalitarian regime had been so complete that there were only a few known believers in Jesus within the country. Upon arrival in the capital, Tirana, we hung a huge banner in the square that proclaimed, “God Loves Albania.” It was in preparation for a gospel event planned in the national soccer stadium later that week. It was there that we’d witness the resurrection of the Church of Jesus Christ in the land.

Most memorable for me was sitting among thousands of Albanians on hard concrete seats listening to the gospel of the kingdom of God clearly proclaimed to hungry ears. An elderly man, weeping with head in hands, seemed familiar with the message of Jesus.

Through translation, he shared with me that as a young man, on a dark night, near the ruins of a destroyed church, three glowing men dressed in white appeared, and said to him, “Don’t be afraid, God loves you. Believe in God and in His Son and in time you will understand completely.” Then they vanished. This shocking vision powerfully held him for 30 years. Fear of exposure kept him silent most of that time, trusting only his family and close friends.

Now, years later, passing through the square, he saw the banner, and instantly his heart began to pound like it had the night he had the encounter with the men in white. He gathered his family and came, now hearing the gospel message. Their hearts were already God’s, but now they understood the plan of salvation more clearly. Powerful.

We witnessed many give their lives to Jesus those nights and scores were baptized in a lake nearby; the church was reborn and took root in the rocky soil of Albania. The memory is not easily forgotten.

The view in Albania

Incredibly, 34 years later, I’ve had the chance to visit again, this time with missionary friends who now live there equipping, engaging and encouraging the growing church. The capital city of Tirana is almost unrecognizable from what I remember of those early days, but rooted securely is a growing church in many and various forms.

We spent time in 3 or 4 different communities of faith during our week and were amazed again and again with testimonies of individuals encountering Jesus and in turn offering their entire lives to His service. In this traditionally Muslim land, yet largely irreligious, living for Jesus is not for the faint of heart. I was so grateful for these first-generation believers demonstrating what a life sold out for Jesus can look like. I was perhaps most impressed with the twenty-somethings we met. These Christians were mature beyond their years, red hot evangelists, eager to win their communities to Christ. While many of their peers are looking for ways to exit the country for lack of opportunity, they have a God-given hope and love for their country, one for which God has certainly lit the flame and mirrors His own heart.

The Northstar team in Albania

Ministering in Albania

One afternoon, I had the honor of sharing my story of first entering Albania, and told the story above, emphasizing how God had preemptively prepared people to hear the gospel long before we arrived. Historically speaking, Paul preached, centuries ago, in the regions of Albania, then known as Illyricum (Rom. 15:19) but conquering empires had all but snuffed out the flame.

It was thrilling to see the tear-filled eyes of these young people recognize that they were the living fruit of what God had rebirthed in the 1990s in such miraculous fashion. One young man said, “I was born in 1991,” making note of the connection. “You are who we were thinking of when we came,” I said. We all had a moment, but I felt it most uniquely, I suspect.

Matthew says in his gospel, “…if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones who is my disciple, truly I tell you, that person will certainly not lose their reward.” (Matt.10:42)

The efforts of those remarkable weeks years ago truly felt like offering a cup of cold water. Something so small had taken root and, though under pressure, it had grown. Looking at the passionate witness of Jesus looking back at me that day reminded me that God receives every act of faith motivated by love.

Like the cicadas this year, what had been forgotten is now remembered. I thank God that He is a keeper of the books of remembrance. Given out any cups of cold water lately?