Honor. It’s a tall word anywhere, but here in Albania, it’s everything. A man without honor is nothing; virtually nonexistent. But what is considered honorable in Albania? Has it changed over the years? Is there a counterfeit? How do people try to attain it?

We have been diligently exploring the values of Albanians. One of our techniques is to examine their stories—old and new—to search for what is important to them. This is one way to understand their needs so we can show them how Jesus is the answer to their unidentified longings, the solution to their inexpressible emptiness. Before they will be willing to seek their Savior with all their hearts, they first must see their need for Him.

The old Albanian stories usually have at least two things in common—they are tragedies, and they reveal the honor of the hero. They often revolve around how the hero keeps his word of honor. In one story, a young man dies in battle but temporarily comes back to life in order to keep a promise to his mother that he would bring his faraway sister home when she needed her. Even death, this story asserts, can’t prevent an Albanian from keeping his word of honor.

In another story, as a newly married man goes to battle, he tells his young wife that if he doesn’t come back within nine years, she should consider him dead and marry another. The man is captured by the enemy king and placed in prison. As the ninth year of the man’s imprisonment nears its close, the king leaves on a journey, and the Albanian hero explains his plight to the king’s daughter and convinces her to release him, giving her his word of honor that he will return to the prison by a certain time. The princess is moved to release the Albanian. When the king returns and learns of his daughter’s apparent foolishness, he is furious. He vows to kill the other Albanian prisoners and the princess, too, if the man doesn’t return by the promised time. Of course, the Albanian returns to prison on the day he promised.

A third feature in Albanian stories is the hero’s bravery and self-sacrifice for family, clan, tribe, land or guest. An Albanian hero would gladly die before he would allow any of these to be stolen, harmed or dishonored. The fierceness of their loyalty stands out in these old stories. Many of these are true historical narratives, especially those set in the time of Skanderbeg, the great Albanian hero. He is the Albanian equivalent of William Wallace in the history of Scotland. Skanderbeg united the clashing, rough, rag-tag Albanian tribes for the first time in order to fight the mighty Ottoman army. Much to the surprise of the Turkish sultan, tiny Albania under Skanderbeg somehow managed to hold back the Turks for many years. This gave Albanians a sense of pride and collective honor. Albanians still consider it the pinnacle of their history.
Albanian honor, especially in the past, incorporated the ancient Kanun, or code of honor. Though put into writing only fairly recently, this code has always been an important feature of Albanian history. It was a system of justice to keep order when Albania was just a collection of tribes without a central government. Undoubtedly the best-known and, to outsiders, the most shocking part of the Kanun is the hakmarija or blood feud. If someone killed a person or dishonored him by breaking certain rules, such as harming his guest, the offended family must kill the perpetrator or a male member of his family in order to restore their family honor. Dishonor, remember, is like death to an Albanian. In ancient times, it was considered much worse then death. It still is to some. This blood feud could go back and forth between families and tribes until all the male members were wiped out. In many cases, it went on for generations.

This revenge-killing system was repressed during communism, but it has since returned, especially in the northern part of Albania. Today, more than 2,000 people live their lives locked up in safe houses—effectively prisoners for life because, if they ever ventured out, they would be killed by someone they are “in blood” with. Over 800 children can’t go to school or leave their homes because of the family they were born into.
Frustrated with the perceived lack of justice in the present court systems and the abolishment of the death penalty, people sometimes take matters into their own hands. The only justice, they say—the only way to restore honor—is by spilled blood.

Although extreme from a Western viewpoint, this kind of justice worldview is not unlike that of Bible times. We are studying the possibility of using the Kanun and hakmarija to draw spiritual parallels and help people understand Christ’s sacrifice and what it means for them. It’s the only way man can escape death—the wages of sin. Jesus’ blood is the only way true honor can be restored. The difference is that He, the Righteous One, willingly suffered and died in our place so we could be justified and receive His righteousness. The hakmarija can end forever. The pure blood was spilled; true justice was satisfied.

One of the frustrating things about trying to figure out Albanian values and customs is that, after being frozen in time for so long, things have been changing so fast since the early 1990s that Albanians are bewildered. In any given family, each generation has experienced vastly different circumstances—from Turkish Ottoman oppression to occupation by Nazis and fascists to harsh communist dictatorship to self-indulgent Western materialism. Albanians are left with a serious identity crisis.

Under it all, there seems to be a national sense of inferiority, shame and a deep desire that national honor be restored. These drive people to counterfeit solutions, such as money, power, connections (often through mafia), fashion, fame, citizenship in other countries or rabid nationalism. None of these satisfy their soul hunger.

I’ve heard several Albanians say that Albania is nothing, Albanians are nothing. Honor is everything. We’ve read essays entitled “Who am I?” written by high school students. A surprising number—a majority even—express confusion, undefined heart-longing and a desire to “be somebody.”

The Albanian people are precious in God’s sight, and they need to know it. They are so valuable to Jesus that He gave His life to restore their honor, save their lives and give them heavenly citizenship that no one can take away. They need to know. Let’s tell them, shall we?

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