This past Sunday, August 16, I received the heartbreaking news from Jakarta, Indonesia, that my dear friend and disciple, Androv Lavoiser, had suffered a heart attack and passed away. He was only 42.
Androv leaves behind his wife and three young children, ages 8, 4, and 2.
He had been preparing for a new chapter in their lives. His family was planning to move to the island of Sumba, where Androv had inherited farmland. He dreamed of creating a community committed to sustainable practices—a place that would seek harmony with the land rather than exploit it. He had been carefully thinking and planning toward a sustainable model and a simpler, better life, away from the crowded city and closer to the soil.
I met Androv more than 20 years ago. I was immediately touched by his warm smile and caring spirit. He grew up as a Muslim, learned about Isa al-Masih—Jesus the Messiah—and chose to faithfully follow His ways.
That journey was not always easy. Androv faced challenges and misunderstandings that could easily have discouraged him, yet he persevered. There was a quiet faithfulness about his life.
In recent years, he developed a growing interest in teaching and writing. His reflections revealed someone thinking deeply about what it means to live well, faithfully, and responsibly in this world.
Although we lived thousands of miles apart, we remained in regular contact. Just a couple of days before his sudden passing, Androv sent me this reflection:
“The crisis we face today is not merely moral, political, or technological, but epistemic—a crisis in how we understand truth, power, and life itself.
If the reflection feels relevant, it is perhaps because many of us are sensing the same tension: a world filled with knowledge, yet increasingly disconnected from wisdom; a world rich in power, yet poor in care.”
I have read those words differently since learning that Androv is gone.
They sound like the words of a man who was not simply dreaming about a different kind of world, but quietly trying to live toward one.
I will miss my friend—his smile, his thoughtful messages, his questions, and the hope he carried for his family and for Sumba.
Androv’s life ended far sooner than any of us imagined. His dreams remain unfinished. But the seeds he planted—in his children, in his friends, in the people he taught, and in those of us privileged to walk alongside him—remain.
Rest in peace, dear Androv. Until we meet again.
