Greece is considered the neediest mission field in Europe, including the former Eastern bloc countries and Albania.
Evangelicals only number 20,000 (which is 0.18% of the population).
(
Hellenic Ministries)
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It was overcast and a bit cooler than I had expected. I pulled on my sweater and began the walk up the cobblestone pathway. It was a little after 9:30am, later than I had wanted to leave, so I quickened my pace to the kiosk where bus tickets were sold.
"θα ήθελα δύο εισιτήρια, παρακαλώ."
"Tee-kets?" the man asked. I nodded, embarrassed that he had switched to English.
"For student?"
"Yes, thank you. Ευχαριστώ."
There were a few others on the bus, some wearing nice clothes. Perhaps they, too, were going to church. I thought about asking the woman next to me where she was going. "Πού πας;" I formed the question in my head. But what would the formal be? I’d look it up when I got home.
The bus stopped outside of the Στ. Νομισματοκαπείο metro station. From there I took the subway to Παλλήνη where I got off. This was the tricky part. There should be a bus from here to Παλαιοπαναγίας, the 304 maybe. Or 321. Neither was listed on the sign by the bus stop. I walked along the street for a couple hundred yards, looking for a street name.
This part of town was not very populated. There were a few stores along the road--all closed for Sunday--and a few dozen cars speeding along the highway. After walking up and down the street a few times, I saw a woman and a little girl waiting outside the station, and decided to ask them for directions.
"Ξέρετε πού είναι λεόφορος Μιλήσης;" The woman looked confused. "η Σπάτων;"
She rattled off a few sentences in Greek, looking a bit anxious. A man drove up, and the little girl got in the car. Perhaps this was the girl's father, and he was picking her up for the day. I turned to go, but the woman held up her index finger, signaling me to wait. The man ducked his head down and looked through the passenger window.
"What are you looking for?" He was obviously Greek, but spoke English well enough.
"The intersection of Milesis and Spaton."
"Ah yes. But what are you looking for?"
"A church."
"Νέα Ζωή? I know the place." He paused, wrinkling his brow. "Who told you to get off here? It is very far." I looked down at the ground, then glanced at the bus stop with the wrong numbers.
"Well never mind. How about I take you there?" The woman and the little girl were sitting in the back seat. He had known the name of the tiny evangelical church before I told him. I got in the car and he held out his hand, "Stephanos." I shook it. "I go to Abundant Life Church, it is not far from where you are going."
We pulled up to a gas station. Next door there was a shabby looking building with a door guarded by iron bars. Above the door frame was an orange sign with a Greek Bible verse.
"No one is here yet. It is still early," Stephanos told me. I thanked him and got out of the car. He drove away and I wondered why I hadn't just gone to church with him. After all, I knew nothing about this place. Or at least, I knew none of the people. I had found the church online and had spent the past week reading the website over and over again. "Who We Are." "Our Vision." "Our Beliefs." It was hard to believe there were other Christians in this country. They seemed so terribly distant. I paced up and down the street, waiting for 11 o'clock when the service should start.
A blue minivan pulled into the gas station. An older couple got out and walked to the iron gate, unlocking it. I approached them.
"Καλημέρα."
"Καλημέρα." The woman answered, and smiled. We walked inside, up the white marble steps and into a small room filled with black chairs. At the front was a podium, and behind that a keyboard and a drumset.
The woman asked where I was from, how I had come to be in Greece. She spoke slowly and was very patient. After a few minutes of Greek and English, the words common between us had been spent, and we stood in silence.
A young man walked in, and the older man directed him towards me.
"Hi. I'm Jonathan."
"Deborah." We shook hands.
He was from North Carolina originally, but had spent the past 2 1/2 years in Greece as a missionary. He asked how I had found the church, so I told him about Stephanos.
He shook his head. "I'm not sure you realize what a miracle that is. Born again people are a tiny fraction of the population here. They're extremely hard to come by."
I nodded, holding back tears.
Others began to show up. Greeks, Americans, a man from Nicaragua. We began to sing worship songs. The tunes were familiar; the words were in Greek, though not too hard to understand.
