Here is a brief summation of the churches I have attended since January 5th:
-A tent in a dust bowl (Chincha, Peru)
-A dirt-floored, palm frond covered, wooden building (Amazon jungle)
-A dirt-floored, palm frond covered, shelter without walls (Iquitos, Peru)
And then, this last Sunday for Easter, we visited a new church. It was set up by American missionaries and as such was conducted in English with songs I knew and was attended mostly by missionaries. I was disappointed.
For the past three months every church we’ve attended has been
composed of people thirsting for the word of God and for an experience of the
Holy Spirit. This church, however,
seemed like it was composed of people who had simply always had the Holy Spirit
and thus have grown accustomed to his presence.
I really don’t want to sound judgmental, but, man, after all
the zeal I have experienced the last three months, this church left much to be
desired. It was in English, and sang
songs I knew, but there was simply no excitement.
The main question this church left me with was this: should
I be relying on the church to provide the Holy Spirit experience for me or
should I be responsible for that myself?
I know that the Holy Spirit dwells within me and as such I
should be able to foster that time of meeting on my own, right? Church should be the place of fellowship
where we build one another up and should NOT be the only place where we
discover the Holy Spirit, but at the same time, I want that.
I want to walk into church and feel like I am swimming from how thick the presence of the Holy Spirit is. These muddy churches without walls have really shown me how God lives outside of the box.
Maybe they leave the walls off on purpose to allow the greatness of God to remain unconfined?
The most recent church was comfortable. We walked in and were greeted by a few others. There was coffee and tea. A pastry at the end. There were cushy chairs and a stage with mic stands. I immediately noticed how I blended in. I sat down and was absorbed. I then went in to autopilot. And it’s not their fault, it is my own.
In the South American churches we haven’t been able to understand most of the songs, but if you could only have seen the way we carried on and the dance parties we created… We had to re-learn how to worship the Lord. So, we danced. And the Holy Spirit met us there.
Gearing up for church where I know I won’t understand if it’s not translated and the songs are hard to follow requires a serious desire on my part to meet with the Holy Spirit because no one can give it to me or make me sense its’ presence, that rests with me.
I can remember too many times I just went to church and while no one was forcing me, I was just going. Here we are kinda’ gently forced into going, so I have had to change my mind about it. And I am so thankful.
Worship songs in Spanish have become a fun time of reverse karaoke where I sing the notes but say whatever words I want (which is something I need to start practicing in America when I hold back because I don’t know a song). 15 minute clapping sessions turned into dance parties. Muddy floors became an opportunity to keep my shoes clean by simply leaving them at home.
In the end, we still have three more continents (if you count India as a continent) to explore “church” in; and I look forward to seeing what other walls can be erased from my concept of church. It could even be a time for all of us to consider what walls we could take care of in our own perception of church to allow God to dwell with us and still remain as big as He really is.
“Heaven is my throne, and the earth is my footstool.
What kind of house will you build for me?” Acts 7:49
