In the 10 weeks I have been on my race, “going to church” has transformed into something new and beautiful for me. I’ve been to church in beautiful chapels, dirt alleys between houses that reeked of urine and had naked babies running around, and floating in the lake on a paddle board. Sometimes church sounds like people raising their voices in a language I don’t understand, and at the same time being moved to tears by the complete abandon I see people worshiping with. I’ve worshiped alongside people who are dancing their hearts out, others who are sitting still next to me translating to English, and then others who are sweating through their clothes because they jumped up and down for the entire singing part of the service.
Church in Bahir Dar, Ethiopia
Praying over the children in Bahir Dar
Lake Kivu, Gisenyi, Rwanda
Calvary Chapel, Kampala, Uganda
ADEPR Church in Gisenyi, Rwanda
Although it may look and sound different almost every time, I have found that church comes down to one thing…people coming together to meet The Lord. I was reminded of this universal act that surpasses language barriers this morning in church, as I watched the simplest but most powerfully moving moment.
A little boy, probably 4 or 5 years old walked into the church as we were standing and singing. At his height, I’m sure we all looked like giants standing in a row. As he walked closer, I could see that his little cheeks were covered in tears and snot was running out of his nose. He wasn’t holding any hurt part of his body or wailing in pain…but you could tell that he was hurting. As he walked down the aisle, he looked up and checked each of the faces of the adults standing above him…bravely holding in his pain. The boy had to walk all the way to the front of the church, where he finally found his familiar face…his father. The dad took one look at him, scooped him up in his arms, and cradled him into his embrace. I watched as the boy relaxed in his father’s lap, and buried his face into his daddy’s choir robe. I watched as the dad wiped off the boy’s face, and lifted the boy’s chin so that they could talk face to face. After being reassured and calmed by his father, the boy hopped down and he was ready to head back outside…to whatever it was that hurt him out there. But this time, he had his dad’s hand…the boy wanted his dad to walk with him.
Such a simple but profound picture of “church.” We walk around carrying hurt throughout the week, and perhaps after trying to find comfort somewhere else, we finally bring it to our Father where we can receive our real comfort and true peace. We spend some time talking with Him and in His Presence, and then we feel better and ready to go back out and face the world…but this time, taking our Father with us. Church for you might mean going into a beautiful chapel or sitting in rows, but I have learned that you can have church anywhere, any time, and any day…all you need is to call on the Holy Spirit and He will meet you where you are.
Love y’all.
