As we walked to our small church down the narrow and slippery shortcut that was mainly a ditch between houses I looked over the hills of Rwanda that were spotted with the red and blue roofs of the beautiful people who lived in them. I watched as the sunlit haze filled the world with a beauty that cannot be described. Each careful and intentionally placed step brought us closer to our new church and new family. As we rounded the corner onto the actual road a stampede of children raced towards us, each vying for a hand to hold and claim as their own. Eyes of the locals were wide and set in lock position as we walked by – out of place strangers in a country we would call home.
The bass could be heard way before the church was seen and the jibberish of voices blasted from the speakers that stand in the corner. Walking inside meant the safety of your thoughts would be invaded and the whole world would be shut out with the reality that nothing could be heard but the praise team.
Setting my Bible and water bottle down I took off my Chacos and kicked them under my plastic chair. There has always been a special place in my heart for feet that are bare and as I started to step back and forth on the cracked concrete floor I took in the scene around me.
Worship in Africa.
If you have never been here before, chaos seems to be the only descriptive word to use for this situation, but there is so much more to it than that. The air is thick with a sense of crazy and adrenaline, joy is radiating from the brothers and sisters around me who move with more rhythm than I could ever hope to have and despite the amount of sweat dripping from our spastic bodies the air carries the fragrance of heaven.
“…I will celebrate before the Lord. I will become even more undignified than this and I will be humiliated in my own eyes…” – 2 Samuel 6:21-22
Praising the Lord takes on a new meaning as everyone dances to the same beat in a unique and personal way. An organized body of worship continually changes leaders as everyone creates a new move or the Spirit is so thick that all we can do is jump up and down repeatedly. Chairs are carried around the room and towels and blankets are twirled and waved in excitement. A conga line takes on a new meaning as we run, dance, jump, skip and hop around the church in a somewhat organized line – more people jumping in whenever an open spot is seen.
I love what God is teaching me about undignified worship, what He is showing me about pride and humiliation and where I place my identity.
I started this blog with the intention of telling you all about the men here.
Guess you’ll have to wait until the next one…
