Seniors Land Across the Ocean and Face-to-Face with the Hardest Questions of Faith on Day 2 In Tirana
How can God be loving if there is so much suffering?
I want to be a Christian—but do I really have to live it?
Why can’t there be many gods… or many ways to heaven?
What is the Trinity, actually?
These weren’t questions tucked into a classroom lecture or scribbled at the bottom of a worksheet. They came fast, face-to-face, from students in Tirana—asked with honesty, curiosity, and a kind of quiet urgency that made it clear: these aren’t abstract ideas here. These are the questions shaping lives. And on day two in Albania, Hillcrest’s Seniors found themselves standing right in the middle of them.
There was no easing into the day. No slow build. Within hours of arriving at an art school in the city, conversations had already moved beyond introductions and into worldview. One Hillcrest senior sat across from a student immersed in scenography, the craft of designing movie sets, creating worlds that feel real. The conversation began with art, with creativity, with a shared appreciation for beauty. But it didn’t stay there long. The Albanian student spoke openly: he loved nature, he admired beauty, and he prayed to many gods. And in that moment, everything the Hillcrest student had spent years learning came into focus. This wasn’t about winning an argument; it was about seeing a person clearly and responding with truth that could be understood. So he answered simply, but with weight: there is one God. These students shared boldly of God who doesn’t divide His power or compete for attention, but who is whole, personal, and present. A God who doesn’t just inspire beauty but creates it, gives it, and uses it to draw people toward Himself.
The conversation didn’t end there. It opened something.
By the afternoon, the setting shifted, but the questions didn’t slow. On a set of volleyball courts, after a shared meal at a local Greek restaurant, clusters of students gathered again, this time with even more directness. Conversations turned quickly to Islam, to Christianity, to belief itself. And again, the same questions surfaced, clear, unfiltered, and deeply human.
How can a loving God allow suffering?
Is belief enough, or does it require something more?
Why is Christianity exclusive?
How can three be one in the Trinity?
These are not light questions. They are the fault lines of faith where doubt presses hardest and where truth must stand with clarity. And this is why the Comets are in Albania.
For more than four years, these students have been formed, not just academically, but spiritually and intellectually. They have been taught how to think, how to discern and hold truth with both confidence and compassion. They have engaged Scripture deeply. They have wrestled with apologetics. They have worked through resources like I Don’t Have Enough Faith to Be an Atheist, not as theory, but as preparation. And now, in Tirana, that preparation is no longer confined to a desk. It is alive, in real conversations, with real people, asking real questions.
What’s striking is not just their ability to respond, but the way these students respond. There is no arrogance. No rush to dominate the conversation. Instead, there is a steadiness. A willingness to listen. A readiness to meet questions with both truth and care. They are opening space for something deeper than debate: a relationship. Day two of this trip made something unmistakably clear: this is not a break from education. This is its fulfillment. Because what is the purpose of learning, if not to step into moments like this?
Moments where belief is tested. Where truth is spoken out loud. Where another person’s question becomes an invitation, not a threat. This is what day two revealed. Not just that the Comets came prepared, but that the world is ready for what they’ve been given. And as the questions continue, so does the mission, steady, relational, and alive.