We’ve noticed them noticing us. The bearded men cluster in groups of three or four along the road in the shopping area. As we walk by, their heads turn as they watch us. When our eyes meet, their gaze bores into us. They seem to suspect why we are here.

Before coming to Albania, I never thought about the fact that Muslims send missionaries, too. Albania has more foreign Muslim missionaries per capita than any other country on earth. These missionaries seek to draw the 70 percent of Albanians with Muslim heritage into more active faith. Some Albanians resent them and label them fanatics.

We have no animosity toward our Muslim brothers. We pray that God will lead them toward the light of His truth. Sometimes He chooses to do this to do this in delightfully surprising ways.
Shortly after the Shupe family arrived in Albania, they began to look for a home to rent. The one they decided on was in a neighborhood our Albanian friends did not recommend. Yet the Shupes felt this was where God had led them, so we accepted that God must have a purpose for them being there. Ben and Amanda quickly developed a friendship with their Muslim next-door neighbors, Zaku and his wife Elli, and also with Zaku’s father, Ramadan, and mother, Sabira. This friendship grew deeper with time. When the Shupes returned to the States, it was very hard for them to leave this family. We promised to take care of their friends in their absence. Sean began spending mornings with Zaku, helping him set up their small shop at the bazaar as Ben had done. We shared meals together and spent time with them until they became our good friends, too.

One morning, Zaku’s son came running to the shop bearing the bad news that Ramadan had collapsed at home and had been taken to the hospital. He had had a stroke and was completely paralyzed. Zaku left Sean in charge of the shop for a couple of hours until Elli came to take over, then Sean joined Zaku at his father’s bedside. It was difficult to see Ramadan lying there with open, unmoving eyes, not able to respond in any way. Sean asked permission to pray for Ramadan. Zaku agreed and seemed moved by the gesture. Zaku later told us that shortly after Sean left the hospital, Ramadan uttered his only words after his collapse: “No doctor, no hospital,” so his family brought him home to die. Healthcare is free here, but it is poor, and patients usually aren’t treated well. Ramadan was in his eighties and had suffered heart problems for years, so the family didn’t expect him to live much longer.

We visited Ramadan and the family in their home one evening and noticed that Ramadan was struggling to breathe. Each breath was loud and gurgling. His family had lovingly propped him up with cushions to make him more comfortable. They said they expected him to die that night or the next day. Sean again asked if he could pray. Zaku and his older brother consented. Sean held Ramadan’s hand, looked into his staring eyes, and spoke to him briefly before praying for him. As soon as the prayer ended, we couldn’t hear Ramadan’s breathing. For a moment, we feared that he had died during the prayer. Then he coughed, and his sons rushed to his side. He was breathing normally now and seemed comfortable. The next day, Zaku told his friends and extended family that, for the next three hours after the prayer, Ramadan rested comfortably. Zaku and the rest of the family were so grateful that he had received some relief from his suffering.

Ramadan died the following evening. When the hoxha (imam) came to prepare the body, Zaku told him about the effect of the Christian prayer. The hoxha dismissed the idea. “No, no, that did not happen.”

Zaku became a little angry. “I saw it with my own eyes! And so did my brother and others. I say it did happen!”

Ramadan’s funeral took place the next day. As we walked up the walled, rocky path toward Zaku’s home where the funeral would take place, we hadn’t yet heard of Zaku’s disagreement with the hoxha about Sean’s prayer. As we approached the house, we noticed many Muslim leaders standing outside the door. Some were foreign missionaries. All of them seemed uncomfortable with our presence. One of them pointed at Sean and said “You. Go up there.” He pointed to an outside staircase leading to an upper apartment. Then he looked at me “Woman, you go inside.” That was the last I saw of Sean until hours later after the funeral. The men and woman were kept separate. No women were allowed at the burial, not even Ramadan’s wife, Sabira. This was unusual in Albania even for a Muslim funeral. Later, I found out why this funeral was different and why so many people—well over 300—attended.
As I entered the house, Elli kissed my cheeks in greeting. Then I was ushered into a room and invited to sit in one of the chairs lining the walls. Everyone wore black. The room was dark and gloomy. I didn’t know the other guests. I heard women wailing out a song in the next room, but I couldn’t make out the words. I heard women talking about me as though I wasn’t there. “Oh, that’s the American who lives in Liliana the tailor’s house by the river. I’ve heard she had two daughters . . .” and so on. It was rather strange to have all those woman looking at me and talking about me but not to me. After I had been there for about an hour, Elli took pity on me and sent her niece, Ramadan’s granddaughter, to escort me to the dinner and keep me company. After an introduction, the young woman asked where I had been born. “Florida,” I replied.

Her eyes widened, and she put her hand on my arm. “My name is Florida! Ramadan chose this name. Nobody knows why.” She seemed startled at the coincidence. It didn’t seem very important to me, but she seemed to think it was some sort of sign. Albanians are very much into signs and omens.
Later, at a local restaurant, I was invited to sit at the table reserved for the family of the deceased. I was amazed to find they had arranged a vegetarian meal for me. There were about 200 women packed into one side of the restaurant. The other side was set for the men who would come in later after the women left.

At the table, Florida began to question me intently about my faith. “You are a Christian but not Orthodox? What is the difference between Orthodox, Catholic, and Protestant?” Wow! What a mealtime conversation. I gave her a very brief explanation about the reformation and so forth. She wanted to know more, but her mother said we had better eat quickly because we had to finish before the men arrived.

“Ramadan used to be a hoxha,” Florida told me as we ate. “When he was younger, he sang the call to prayer. He retired from most of his duties when he became ill.”

I was surprised at this revelation, but it explained a lot of things—like this grand Muslim funeral, for one. I reflected for a moment. So Sean had prayed over an imam! Last summer, Amanda Shupe had prayed for Ramadan when he had had heart problems, and he had said she was like a daughter to him. Incredible!

Meanwhile, Sean was at the burial site with the men. When they came to the restaurant, he found that Zaku had reserved him the seat of honor beside him. One of the men asked about Sean, and Zaku announced in a booming voice, “This is my good friend Davidi (Sean’s Albanianised first name). He’s a Christian missionary, and he is going to start a church in this city.”

It became very quiet for a moment, then everyone returned to their meals. Sean was even more stunned than the rest of the guests. We had never told Zaku we were missionaries, and we certainly wouldn’t have announced it so brashly at a large Muslim funeral! It was as though Zaku wanted to make a bold statement to the Muslim community. But what was he trying to say? And how would it affect our work here?

While the Shupes were still here, Zaku told them he wanted them to train his daughter in the Christian faith. Later, he extended the same invitation to us. Now, after his father’s death, he seems to be taking steps away from his father’s faith. We are thankful for Zaku’s friendship and his courage, and we pray that God’s wisdom will guide him. Neither we nor the Shupes could have imagined or orchestrated these events. The Shupes simply planted seeds of kindness and compassion which have begun to sprout.

Pray that God will give Zaku and Elli what they need to draw nearer to Him day by day. Pray that we will be able to water and nurture these tender shoots of faith until they
produce fruit.

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