All the believers were together and had everything

in common.  Selling their possessions and goods, they gave

to anyone as he had need... And the Lord added to their

number daily those who were being saved.

(Acts 2:44, 47)

Greetings from Amsterdam!  This city never ceases to amaze me.  Our church has recently been considering all the subcultures in Amsterdam:  everything from Neo-Nazis to Surinamese-immigrants to kite-surfers... There have to be thousands of these "urban tribes" throughout the city, each one with its own codes of conduct, its own linguistic intricacies, its own standards for fashion and diet.  It’s amazing -- and a bit intimidating -- to think of how to bring the gospel to all of these various groups of people throughout the city.

The squatting community is an interesting case in point.  In case you’re not familiar with this subculture, it’s a pragmatic, politically-motivated community based on the "act of occupying an abandoned or unoccupied space or building that the squatter does not own, rent or otherwise have permission to use" (definition drawn from Wikipedia).  Many squatters are avowed anarchists, rejecting ideas of organized government, property ownership, and things like that.  And they’ve basically set up these little islands of anarchy throughout Amsterdam, in abandoned warehouses and apartments.  Surprisingly, loopholes in Dutch law allow this.  I know it sounds a bit crazy (Dutch law doesn’t always make sense to my American way of thinking, either).  Even so, I’ve often wondered if the squatters may be on to something.  They resist materialism -- living largely off of other people’s wasted resources, growing their own food, sharing with those in need.  They are social activists -- devoting a lot of time and energy to issues of fair housing policy, environmentalism, and protecting the marginalized members of society.  They share a refreshing sense of community, living in these counter-cultural colonies.  And in several ways ways, I can see their way of life as more congruent with the New Testament church (as it’s described Acts 2) than the way that most Christians live.

So when a member of our church -- who also happens to be a squatter -- invited me to visit him in his squat, I eagerly embraced the opportunity.  It took me more than an hour to bike out to the western edge of the city, along the heavily-industrialized terrain surrounding the third-largest harbor in the world.  Giant, modern, white windmills spun overhead, and the smell of chocolate filled the air, blown across the water from the world’s largest concentration of cocoa refineries.  At one point I had to stop and call my friend to ask for directions.  Just after hanging up, a young man in a beat-up old car pulled up alongside me and asked if he could borrow my telephone to make a quick call.  I let him make his call, and then I asked if he knew where the ADM squat might be.  It turned out I was standing right outside the entrance to the compound.  The young man asked who I was looking for, and when I told him the name of my friend he shook his head and said, "Nope, I don’t know him.  But then again, there are about 500 people living in there."  As a matter of fact, the ADM is the largest squat in the Netherlands, having been established for over 30 years now.  I proceeded with caution and curiosity.

Rows of tents and campers filled a grassy field in front of an old, rusty security gate.  The gate was guarded by two massive metallic sculptures, made from corroded scrap-metal and old car parts.  I passed through and came to a large warehouse where my friend found me and greeted me and offered a brief tour of the warehouse.  He showed me the laundry room, where several baskets full of earth-toned hippy clothes were waiting to be washed.  He showed me the "café" where free, organic vegetarian meals were served every evening.  He showed me the large commons, where the laundry was left out to dry (and where a few marijuana plants were being cultivated).  After looking through the warehouse, we walked outside to the dry-dock building (prior to being squatted, the ADM had been used as a shipyard); it’s now used for various work projects -- everything from sculpture to painting to mechanics.  The whole place had a sort of post-apocalyptic feel about it, surprisingly neat and orderly, but also a bit grimy and run-down.  After touring the warehouse and the dry-docks, my friend and I walked through the rest of the grounds, filled with derelict campers and tents, interspersed with apple trees and pear trees.  In one section of the grounds, dreadlocked mothers watched their toddlers playing on a make-shift playground, constructed from old plywood and bald tires.  "Whole families with kids live here, too," my friend told me.  Truly, it was a fascinating place.

But as we walked, my friend told me stories about the addictions and afflictions of the squatting community.  Raves and festivals are a part of the squatting culture, thus many squatters are addicted to drugs and alcohol.  While we were there, one man spent 20 minutes talking to us in a heavily-slurred voice, obviously and unashamedly drunk; yet he himself admitted that he was "sick" in his head.  We offered to pray for him, and though he seemed to seriously consider it for awhile, he ultimately ignored the repeated request and walked away.  In addition to substance abuse, arguments and infighting are common in the squatting community.  Another one of the squatters came up to us at one point and questioned us suspiciously for about five minutes.  It turned out that some from the ADM squat had been pressuring my friend to leave, saying that he hadn’t been contributing to the community as much in recent months.  Squatters are especially distrustful of Christians, my friend later explained.  They are perceived as perpetrators of the inquisitions against northern European Paganism and the colonial genocide of Native American populations (both Paganism and Native American cultures being perceived as more holistic ways of life, revered by squatters).  As beautiful as many of the ideals of the squatting population seemed to be, the realities of their lives demonstrated that they had plenty of problems.  They obviously needed Jesus.  But how could seeds of the gospel be sown in such soil?  There was so much potential for God to do something amazing among such a population, just like in the 2nd chapter of Acts... but how could such a fire be ignited?

As my friend and I sat in his old camper, sipping tea brewed from freshly-plucked mint leaves, we asked God these very questions.  We prayed for the Holy Spirit to fill my friend and use him as a "missionary" to the squatters of Amsterdam.  We prayed for connections with maybe one or two other Christian squatters from the city, so that they could form a small Christ-centered community within the squatting community, supporting each other and developing a synergy that could impact others living in such surroundings.  We prayed for God’s redemption of the squatting subculture.  And when I biked back into the city, the cocoa-flavored wind at my back, my mind swirled with the possibilities for the future.

Would you please pray with us for the squatting subculture in Amsterdam?  Would you pray for similar "missionary movements" in other subcultures throughout the city?  Your prayer support in these things is, as always, much appreciated.  We’ll be in touch...

Eric