My feet hit the pavement hard as I jumped from the guagua (truck). I was a few yards from becoming a part of a living mob of dark skinned people that was flooding the streets faster than a broken levy, and I could not wait to be a part of it. I grabbed the hand of the nearest little boy I recognized and counted all my duckies (my team mates) and started pounding the pavement.
I had never seen anything like this. Subwoofers stacked on top of little cars blasted music, families all crammed onto one motorcycle, hundreds held up hand crafted signs, and every face had a bright smile plastered on it as the river continued to roll on increasing in volume and strength.
What was all this mass chaos about? What was this impromptu parade for that was pouring onto the streets? Why were these people so happy and why were they smiling so big?
One word, a Name: Jesus
Yes folks, I was running in a Jesus street parade. It was Mardi Gras, minus the beads, beer and boobs, for JESUS!
Let me lay some ground work for you. My current country, The Dominican Republic, is the only country in the world that has the bible on its flag. The whole month of September is La Mes de La Biblia (the month of the bible). And the 27th is the national day of the Bible, that’s right folks, these sweet Dominican brothers and sisters have a whole day dedicated to the word of God. It’s about time! Instead of graffiti darkening the streets with brandings of gang territories, much of the street graffiti declares the Lordship of Jesus Christ over the city. It’s pretty wild. The common greeting if passing a stranger or meeting a new friend here is God bless you, with a response of Amen. So now you can see why a Jesus parade would not be unheard of here.
Now back to the revival river. This wasn’t any kind of parade any American had ever seen. There were no impressive floats, but there were big bushels of bananas getting passed from shoulder to shoulder. There was no order or formation apart from the instinctual thoughts of protect small children from being trampled by putting them on your shoulders, keeping your feet clear of morotcycle tires (especially the ones with more than three people on them), and avoiding the steaming piles of dog yuck that fill the streets. And instead of lifting beers to solute the occasion, hundreds of hands big and small fist pumped Bibles towards the heavens as the river flowed on.
And I swam that river. I breathed deep as I panted to keep up. I smiled and I danced and I lifted my hands towards heaven. People stood along the road watching, many smiling and holding their Bibles. And then there were others who looked annoyed and pissed off that we would disturb their day with our Jesus jubilation. There will always be gawkers when it comes to Jesus. Even His own people rejected Him. It was disturbing when our parade ran through a portion of town and you could feel the objection of our presence in the air. And then we turned the corner and I saw a whole family with witchcraft amulets dangling from their necks, black shriveled skulls. But even then, the river of life and light flowed on. And heaven broke out in spite of the darkness and joy poured into every open window and door.
At one point I watched a man hobble to his door holding his catheter bag in hand as his wrinkly wife held a closed fist in triumph.
There is a river that never stops flowing. A river that is deep and wide and filled with joy and laughter. A river that gives freedom and life wherever it flows. You can dance in the river, you can sing, you can twirl and shout. It washes away all disease, pain, stains and darkness. It cannot be stopped or staunched. It flows from the throne room of heaven down to thirsty hearts below.
I am reminded of a song I sang as a little girl:
The river is calling. You can stand on the shore, stick your toes in or jump. The choice is yours.
