If you want to hear the Holy Spirit speak, worship in a church that doesn’t speak you language!
At the beginning of this month I had the opportunity to participate in a short-term mission to the Caribbean nation of Haiti. As the poorest country in the northern hemisphere, there is much to be done there. The main purpose of the trip was to break ground on a new multi-use facility for a thriving ministry in the rural village of Maissade. We accomplished the task and laid the groundwork for local workers and missionary teams that will follow us. But God accomplished so much more than that alone.
One of the highlights of the trip was getting the chance to worship at the First Baptist Church of Maissade. On arrival to the church you know you’re entering a very different kind of experience. First, the church isn’t even finished…. and it’s been this way for many years. The rough reinforced concrete structure is fortified by scaffolding and supports throughout the building. The roof covers only a portion of the sanctuary. The platform is covered by a large tarp to shelter the speaker and leaders from the hot tropical sun and frequent rain storms. The seating is simple benches that rock up and down against the unfinished dirt floor. Window frames are empty so rain, breeze, birds, and sounds of the village pass through freely. It’s been said that “the church” is not a building, it’s people. Never has this been more evident.
Empty, the building could be described as rough and unfinished, even a little eerie. But when filled with worshippers it’s glorious! These people know how to worship and it’s obviously a great joy to them to offer God their best. After seeing people on the street the day before, the biggest surprise was that everyone’s dressed-up! The women are in dresses, the men in suits. This in stark contrast to the rest of the week when most people are in clothes that are almost certainly second-hand or worse. Then there’s the singing! Everyone sings, and sings out strong! There’s harmony. There are traditional counter melodies. The music was mostly a cappella with a little help from an accordion. They sang in Creole. I sang along in English when I recognized the melody. There were hands raised, eyes closed, and every voice was raised. This worship was not in the slightest bit showy, but its honesty and heart was overwhelming.
The congregation is seated in groups by age and gender. Before the service begins, each group memorizes a passage of scripture that they recite together. They then rehearse a short song together, often in harmony. At the beginning of the service, each group from youngest to oldest, stands to recite and sing what they’ve learned for the whole assembly. At the conclusion, each group takes an offering. From what I learned, they evidently try to outdo each other in their worship and giving. This proved to be the first of several offerings that were taken, the last of which was the tithe. Seeing these people give was humbling. They did it with joy, reverence, and purpose. These are people who have next to nothing, the cost of food is on the rise, and the average annual family income is around $200. I felt like I was watching the widow of Mark 12. What my fellow Americans and I gave that day probably dwarfed the congregation’s total in monetary value. But I am SURE, their level of sacrifice dwarfed ours. I was taken aback by the significance of what God was showing me.
While in town we also witnessed a congregation worshiping in what sounded like a song service that began at sundown and lasted literally through the night, ending just before sunrise. Bare in mind there’s no electricity after about 9:30 pm, so the service took place in near total darkness. I watched and listened for hours as people filtered in and out of the humble, dark, cinderblock building as the music ebbed and swelled in turn. Soon, rather than a dark building I recognized that it shined with the light of the Holy Spirit. I thought about how hard it is to get people to turn-out to a midweek service that lasts past 9pm in the USA.
After worshiping in Maissade I was struck by how little of the service I understood in language, but how much it spoke to me in spirit. In some cases, particularly communion, I recognized the form and therefore could follow along. The sermon, all in Creole, was lost on me. But the exuberance of the people was obvious and moving, especially in their “amens!” The spirit of worship in the music was powerful and transcended all language barriers. These were people who actually felt truly dependent upon God. They have no wealth. Most have no steady employment, it’s not available. Their government has failed them for generations. The prevailing “faith” is Voodoo, sewing distrust and fear in their midst. But God is their rock! He is their ever-present help in times of trouble (Psalm 46:1). His church is their support structure, their community.
As Americans we have a tendency to think we have it all together in comparison to the rest of the world, and we have been greatly blessed materially. But we have no monopoly on faith, hope, and love. In fact, our wealth often masks our need for God. Even as believers, we fall prey to this as easily as anyone else. The result is that while we pay lip service to trust in God, in our hearts we don’t feel we need Him. While I’m sure this grieves God, it’s perilous to us. Most of us have lived like this all our lives. Like so many other things, without a point of reference, the difference is almost imperceptible. The worshipers in Haiti provided me with a point of reference. I left there with a strong sense that, in this way, I have a lot to learn from them.
At the beginning of this month I had the opportunity to participate in a short-term mission to the Caribbean nation of Haiti. As the poorest country in the northern hemisphere, there is much to be done there. The main purpose of the trip was to break ground on a new multi-use facility for a thriving ministry in the rural village of Maissade. We accomplished the task and laid the groundwork for local workers and missionary teams that will follow us. But God accomplished so much more than that alone.
One of the highlights of the trip was getting the chance to worship at the First Baptist Church of Maissade. On arrival to the church you know you’re entering a very different kind of experience. First, the church isn’t even finished…. and it’s been this way for many years. The rough reinforced concrete structure is fortified by scaffolding and supports throughout the building. The roof covers only a portion of the sanctuary. The platform is covered by a large tarp to shelter the speaker and leaders from the hot tropical sun and frequent rain storms. The seating is simple benches that rock up and down against the unfinished dirt floor. Window frames are empty so rain, breeze, birds, and sounds of the village pass through freely. It’s been said that “the church” is not a building, it’s people. Never has this been more evident.
Empty, the building could be described as rough and unfinished, even a little eerie. But when filled with worshippers it’s glorious! These people know how to worship and it’s obviously a great joy to them to offer God their best. After seeing people on the street the day before, the biggest surprise was that everyone’s dressed-up! The women are in dresses, the men in suits. This in stark contrast to the rest of the week when most people are in clothes that are almost certainly second-hand or worse. Then there’s the singing! Everyone sings, and sings out strong! There’s harmony. There are traditional counter melodies. The music was mostly a cappella with a little help from an accordion. They sang in Creole. I sang along in English when I recognized the melody. There were hands raised, eyes closed, and every voice was raised. This worship was not in the slightest bit showy, but its honesty and heart was overwhelming.
The congregation is seated in groups by age and gender. Before the service begins, each group memorizes a passage of scripture that they recite together. They then rehearse a short song together, often in harmony. At the beginning of the service, each group from youngest to oldest, stands to recite and sing what they’ve learned for the whole assembly. At the conclusion, each group takes an offering. From what I learned, they evidently try to outdo each other in their worship and giving. This proved to be the first of several offerings that were taken, the last of which was the tithe. Seeing these people give was humbling. They did it with joy, reverence, and purpose. These are people who have next to nothing, the cost of food is on the rise, and the average annual family income is around $200. I felt like I was watching the widow of Mark 12. What my fellow Americans and I gave that day probably dwarfed the congregation’s total in monetary value. But I am SURE, their level of sacrifice dwarfed ours. I was taken aback by the significance of what God was showing me.
While in town we also witnessed a congregation worshiping in what sounded like a song service that began at sundown and lasted literally through the night, ending just before sunrise. Bare in mind there’s no electricity after about 9:30 pm, so the service took place in near total darkness. I watched and listened for hours as people filtered in and out of the humble, dark, cinderblock building as the music ebbed and swelled in turn. Soon, rather than a dark building I recognized that it shined with the light of the Holy Spirit. I thought about how hard it is to get people to turn-out to a midweek service that lasts past 9pm in the USA.
After worshiping in Maissade I was struck by how little of the service I understood in language, but how much it spoke to me in spirit. In some cases, particularly communion, I recognized the form and therefore could follow along. The sermon, all in Creole, was lost on me. But the exuberance of the people was obvious and moving, especially in their “amens!” The spirit of worship in the music was powerful and transcended all language barriers. These were people who actually felt truly dependent upon God. They have no wealth. Most have no steady employment, it’s not available. Their government has failed them for generations. The prevailing “faith” is Voodoo, sewing distrust and fear in their midst. But God is their rock! He is their ever-present help in times of trouble (Psalm 46:1). His church is their support structure, their community.
As Americans we have a tendency to think we have it all together in comparison to the rest of the world, and we have been greatly blessed materially. But we have no monopoly on faith, hope, and love. In fact, our wealth often masks our need for God. Even as believers, we fall prey to this as easily as anyone else. The result is that while we pay lip service to trust in God, in our hearts we don’t feel we need Him. While I’m sure this grieves God, it’s perilous to us. Most of us have lived like this all our lives. Like so many other things, without a point of reference, the difference is almost imperceptible. The worshipers in Haiti provided me with a point of reference. I left there with a strong sense that, in this way, I have a lot to learn from them.
