The music is loud, and slightly off-key. The notes coming from the lone keyboard and blasting from the loudspeaker bounce off the walls of the worship school and pound against my ears. Forty young men surround me in the tiny room, some on their knees with hands raised, some on their faces. The sound of their raised voices almost drowns out the sound of the keyboard. I can’t help but look around in wonder at this spectacle of worship that is bringing heaven to earth.
Sweat pours down my face and my back. The room is between 80 and 90 degrees even with fans circulating overhead, but no one seems to mind. My heart swells with the music as I listen to these men pour out their hearts to God in Telugu. I have forgotten about my hunger, my dirty feet, my damp clothes; I am caught up in the atmosphere of love and desperation. Tears begin to fall as look around the room and realize I can never worship hard enough, sing loud enough or compose a song beautiful enough to match the wonder of what is happening right now in a tiny, inner city worship center in the heart of India.
Just five minutes ago the room was jumping as Pablo, gripping a sweat-greased microphone, led the group in a lively rendition of “Free to run”. I stood next to him pounding out the chords on my guitar as fast as I could to keep up as I watched these dark-skinned, black haired people holding hands, jumping, spinning, dancing, high-fiving and shouting at the top of their lungs along with us. Never have I seen such a wild display of joy and celebration. Never have I seen such FREEDOM.
In this moment as I kneel down in the middle of room, unnoticed by the worshipers beside me, I am able to see something in these brothers that I have never known. I sense recklessness, I see abandon. I feel an unspoken focus; an agreement that there is only one thing that matters tonight – that we exhaust ourselves in worshiping our Lord.
I can taste something that I desire. But over the last few weeks I have had the growing feeling that there is something I carry that these brothers desire from me.
This was never more clear to me than when one of them approached me after the service.
“Akka, (sister) thank you. We will never forget your worship.”
“No, brother” I said. “I will never forget YOUR worship. In America, we are too worried about what people think of us to dance and sing like this. You show so much freedom when you worship Jesus. It inspires us to be free!”
“But, Akka,” He said almost wistfully, “America is Christian! You have so much more freedom than us. Jesus is with America.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but words failed me. I was suddenly washed with guilt for the all the freedoms I have that I take for granted. Freedom to worship God as I choose, freedom to speak about Him openly where I live and work, freedom to proclaim what He has done for me without fear of punishment. I thought of so many times at home when I was moved to dance or shout, but I wouldn’t for fear of looking a fool.
Here was a man who was so in love with Jesus that he was willing to spend every ounce of energy he had in worship day after day, waking at five every morning to do it all over again. Here was a man who was so desperate to reach his friends and family for Christ that he was willing to be beaten for the privilege of sharing the gospel. And he was looking at me with wonder in his eyes, wanting just a taste of the Jesus I know.
What can I say to that? What can I possibly have to give him that he doesn’t already have?
The truth is, I actually DO have something to give.
Now, I don’t think these believers need a lesson on why women don’t have to cover their ankles or why its not I biblical requirement to wear a scarf on your head in church. They don’t need my cultural influence or my superior way of doing things. I’m talking about allowing what God has done in my life and the revelation of His word He has given to me to rise to the surface in order to give God glory.
I have allowed experiencing the hardships that believers go through around the globe make me think that western Christianity is empty, materialistic and inferior to the rest of the world who suffers for the gospel’s sake. And it is just NOT TRUE!
Don’t get me wrong. We have our issues. We are comfortable, indulgent and whiny. I can say this because I am this. But the fact is God has entrusted US in AMERICA with pieces of the gospel, like little gems, just as He has entrusted India with different pieces of that same gospel.
1 Corinthians 4:1 calls us “stewards of the mysteries of God”. No one people or group or country has it all right. But neither does any group have it all wrong.
As I am inclined to see the strength in my Indian brothers, they also see strength in me, and they have no shame in asking me to share it. I see them eagerly soaking up the word as Corey delves into Paul’s letter to the Corinthian church. I see them asking to be taught English, a new song, another strum pattern, anything! I see them asking me over and over again: share your testimony, pray for me, bless me, encourage me.
I am not proposing that we take up the cause of advancing the “western gospel”.
Nor do I propose that we become ashamed of our country, our excesses and failings.
I do propose, however that you see her for what she is: broken, yes, but stunningly beautiful in the Lord’s eyes, and worthy of the calling that He has placed on her. He has entrusted you, me and the rest of the American church with a very unique revelation of the gospel of Jesus Christ that was ALWAYS meant to be shared with the rest of the world. When we fulfill that purpose, we will find that the world is blessed through us, at the same time that we are blessed by them as they share what the Lord has given THEM.
What has God given YOU that he wants you to share with those around you?
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