I stand in church services time and time again with my mind blown. I find it hard to have the words to explain what it is like. Picture this:
You are in an area with dirt floors, a tin roof over your head, and wooden benches. This is church.
There is a band.
There is a choir.
They worship through song.
There is a pastor who gives a sermon.
The people are dressed in their “Sunday best”.
If you look closely you can see so many similarities to that of an American church.
But looks can be deceiving. Because things are way different here.
For these people church isn’t a chore or routine or something you do because it makes you a “good person”. It is a privilege to be there. I stand amazed at how other cultures have it all figured out while so many American churches struggle because they are focused on the production of things. Church isn’t about a big show for these cultures. It is simply about being in the presence of God.
And then there is the obvious factor that the language is completely different. But that doesn’t matter. All that matters is that my Father is being worshipped and praised in Creole and English. It doesn’t matter what language the song is sung in. It doesn’t matter what language the prayers are prayed in. Because my God is so big he hears the church cry out to him no matter the language. It still blows my mind that the same God I worship in America is the same God that people worship all over the world. And I couldn’t be more thankful that my Father loves all and hears us all. There is no discrimination. For that I am so grateful. No matter the place or people, he is constant and always faithful.
