I have been waiting the whole Race to experience an African
church service, and today was the day. The morning started off with a preacher,
whom I have never met, picking us up from the orphanage in a truck. We piled
in, traveled on sand roads, and ended up in the middle of a village named
Ceramica. It was very quaint, with it’s mud huts, people cooking on open
flames, and half dressed children running through the streets.
Because the truck could not hold all of us, two trips were required.
I was in the first group and, upon reaching the mud church building with it’s
thatch roof, we waited in the shade for the rest of the team to arrive. Once we
realized that the rest of the team was probably going to be another hour, we
entered the building.
Two men played drums in the front right hand corner. Children,
ranging in many ages, danced near the front. A couple of men seemed to be
leading the songs as they danced back and forth, flailing their arms to and
fro. A number of older ladies, with their hair wrapped up in colorful pieces of
cloth, sat on the skinny benches, waiting for the service to begin.
I was immediately overwhelmed with the environment. With each
group of children piling into the room to preform a rehearsed dance, more tears
filled my eyes. I kept thinking about Heaven: Every tribe and every tongue will
worship before the Lord one day. Maybe in different languages, maybe with
different songs and different dances, and maybe even with different clothing. I
felt like I was getting a sneak preview of some sort. I danced along, looking
like a goon I’m sure, but let nothing hold me back. I soaked it in and thought
about how I would do this again… Maybe on earth, but certainly in Heaven.
The pastor shortened the length of the service in order for my
team and I to have the time we needed to bring them some Good News (Don’t be
fooled, the service was still 4 hours long). We did two dramas, sang four
songs, heard one testimony, and I preached for the first time. I asked the Lord
what to say to His people. He told me to tell them of how I was healed, how the
lady in Romania was healed, and how Jesus is the only one who heals today. I
challenged the church to have heart knowledge instead of head knowledge, which
is to have faith, and not only truth (which one should have as well). I then
made it clear that the same Spirit which lives inside of Jesus lives in me, and
the same Spirit which lives in me, lives in them (they may assume that the
“Americans” have special healing power. But really it is simply the Spirit who
heals). I asked people to come forward to receive prayer for healing and
invited the other members of the church to come and pray for their brother and
sisters as well.
After service, we ate a great meal of rice, beans, and chicken;
All of which we ate with our fingers due to the lack of silverware. Five hours
later, we piled back into the same truck, bound for our home in the trees with
the orphans of Mozambique… Today was a day I’ll never forget. Praise the one
who has allowed me to taste a bit of Heaven before I pass.
*Favorite moment of the day: I played my first game of “sermon
telephone” today. I spoke in English, a man translated that to Portuguese, and
then another man translated that to the local language… If what I was saying
made it accurately to them, I am impressed!
