Journal from this morning:
So I am currently sitting in a really old Romanian Reformed church in the small village outside of Targu Mures we are staying and it feelings like really old times in Europe. A village that last night I walked alone to buy four liters of milk that was warm and came straight from the cow only an hour before for about $2.50 USD. Church bells rang throughout the countryside village and now men and women sit on opposite sides of the church (a first time experience for me) and as you walk in the front door you go left for women and right for men. Making your way to the lime green pews that have little room to squeeze through, and in the middle on my right sitting down is where the young lady leader leads our service. The main pastor, Naomi, is gone for a wedding and so this young lady who looks mid-20’s, light brunette hair and blue eyes leads us in songs from hymnbooks dating to 1920’s in my hands that are slow and somber sound with prayers filling the gaps in between before her message to us. Currently she is preaching as I sit here and a huge pump organ from ages back is above me on the balcony as the only source of instrument where it takes two people to play it; one to hit the keys and the other to pump air on the side. There is a good crowd of elderly people, the faithful fifteen youth, plus the middle ages throughout.
She speaks with passion upon a high podium proclaiming the message with a strange red, white, and green light fixture above her head and a cloth around the podium referencing Janos:17:14, with flowers surrounding. And even though some things seem ritual, old books and songs may seem slow; I cannot say we’re dead here for I haven’t seen the eyes of any of these members leave the speaker and they look with a sincerity and hunger like it’s all new.
There are other Racers with their bibles and journals open, not aware of all that’s being said in all the Hungarian being spoken; this is expected. But just one month ago I sat in Africa in their worship decor and dances to songs, three weeks ago it was 400 World Racers singing loud in English in Ireland dancing, and here I am in Romania in a completely different type of service feeling so at peace in this place.
What does it really mean for a church to be alive? This is what God just asked me right now in this moment. Maybe we complain about God being in a box we put Him in thinking of “rituals” or “silence” but don’t we go to another extreme and assume that you should be loud and hands up and all of a sudden we’ve come to put Him in another one; which I can become afraid of. Sometimes we use the word “freedom” like a cheap card for whatever we feel and say it like nothing comes attached with it; but how do you really picture what freedom is?
It is standing on top of a chair yelling that you are “the” generation, or is it an 80 year old Romanian farmer man who lost his wife a few years back, but still comes faithfully to sing these songs and hear his 1,000th message but every time walks away like it was the burning bush experience. That no matter how slow a song may be in this service, he can look back through all the years of continual faithfulness and provision from God and be thankful from the heart. “Amazing Grace”, yeah I remember when I was unworthy and God saved me, and it breaks me everytime.
There’s a danger to judge passion, freedom, and life on the outside. To assume that even the NEW is IT (maybe our Western mindset) but I see the faithfulness and heart of generations here that have had peace in a village. Thank you Lord, for opening my eyes around this, that You are bigger than the NEW of what I think. So I sit here in peace and comfort of this place. It’s all perspective. I could stand and sit without knowing what was said and judge on the outside that this is dead, smirk at what may not be normal to me, and not think about this church being a beacon of hope for generations past, present, and future. And I guess in all of this God is saying, “freedom comes from within, not from without and the manifestation will look different to everyone.
But I’m at peace here. Soon Rachael and I will sing “In Christ Alone” and “Amazing Grace” with our guitars; songs of his real faithfulness in our lives. And this old church, old books and hymns are a symbol of freedom proclaimed in the hearts of these Europeans. Freedom; it’s not cheap and with it comes obedience in Christ who loved me in God’s grace.
And so this Sunday many people will go to their local families and worship in the way they know all over the world in different forms. Yes, some will go and be dead in the heart as a door nail, but will stand on a pew waving a flag. Then there will be those who bow in reverence and silence in prayer from years of weariness on the body, listening, meditating about how they really have been through the storms and came out strong in Him; but the fire that burns within can’t be snuffed.
Peace is what I felt today and the old man right in front of me, I’ll never know his name as he opens that old ragged hymnbook to #400 and sings a language I don’t know, but I see in his eyes a hunger still for his Creator. Thank you sir, thank you older generations, to know that God is there in all the years to come and maybe the only freedom I can show isn’t standing on a chair yelling; it’s to be still and know that He is God; real peace in real FREEDOM.
