I’m writing this on Saturday night, in a small Romanian
church. I would love to capture the spirit of this room and send it to you.
Pictures or video wouldn’t do it justice. The walls are plain except for
letters painted on the front wall: “Isus Hristos este Domnul.� My translation:
“Jesus Christ is Lord.� The room is hot, even with all the windows open on the
wall to the right. You might be able to fit a few more people in here on the
floor, but the chairs are filled. Right now, there’s a guy playing the piano as
the speaker continues in Romanian. We have a translator, but he’s a row back
and I’m right underneath the speaker. So now just to sit and marvel.
If I could have chosen a few seconds to teleport you to the
spot next to me, it would have been the moments of singing “Open up your gates,
let your rain fall down over Romania.� As the seven of us on Team Jubilee have
talked and prayed about our way of preparation and acting as watchmen, this has
been our cry. How can I explain the joy and power to join in that prayer with
about a hundred Romanians?
Maybe it’s just being out of the US for a whole week and a
half, but these people don’t look any different from Americans. It’s a young
group. In front of me kneels a young girl, mid to late twenties. Dark jeans and
a black long-sleeved shirt. Short brown hair. On her knees, she holds her right
hand to her heart, her left hand up in the air, surrendering. She smiles as if
she’s in mid-conversation, eyes closed. The speaker continues. She’s in her a
world with her daddy now. Our daddy.
So I don’t have pictures to share with you. It wasn’t a time
for cameras while entering into worship with brothers and sisters I’ve never
met. It was a time to smile, sing, shout. It was a time of joy, celebration,
desperation. I’m so thankful I’ve found myself in this place.