Haiti Reflections #3

We were informed that we were going to a Thursday night church service after a long day of clinics, teaching and children’s programs. We climbed back into our very hot van and drove through some of the poorest areas I had seen yet. As we drove through some of the area, a few disparaging remarks were yelled at us, but many others were simply curious and children would point, smile and wave. It was apparently a strange site to see a van of Canadians bouncing through the ruts and rough terrain. After an hour or so of bouncing we turned onto this “road”, it reminded me more of tractor paths on the farm when I was a kid. On our return trip candlelight dotted the road side as small vendors, selling pretty much anything you can imagine that would fit in large weaved basket. We finally arrived and piled out of the vehicle and were greeted by the church leaders who were waiting for us. If your French is passable, you can communicate okay. My French is not anywhere close to passable. I’ve got a few phrases that I remember from the high school french classes I didn’t skip; Ca va? Bien – my other phrase is “La chien manage la poulet” – surprisingly, I did find a situation where the phrase was appropriate.
When entered the church it was still light, but when 6 pm comes, the light disappears very fast. It wasn't long till all was dark because the small generator had not yet arrived. There was a small gathering of mostly children – and they singing began. No instruments only voices – no books, completely by memory they sang hymn after hymn. The Pastor would quote a psalm, which the congregation joined in with, most by memory. As the evening wore on, the generator finally arrived and was fired up. It lit two light bulbs that dangled precariously from the stick rafters. They were having trouble keeping the generator running so the light came and went – along with the roar of the little engine.
The lights would go out, and then in a few minutes would come back on. Each time they cycled more people filled the room. Soon the little cement block church was filled to capacity with people standing outside the door. The few plastic chairs and rickety benches were packed. Their voices in beautiful Creole harmonies – I recognized most of the tunes so I knew what was being sung. Hands upraised, face toward heaven, children, women and men singing with all their being. The young worship leader leading as if he had a full orchestra.
Our Haitian leader had told us that this community was one of the poorest. Very few here had any kind of a job. Electricity didn’t reach here, and the people lived largely in makeshift living quarters – life was hard – and death a regular visitor and no respecter of age. Just a day earlier, a young boy had fallen and cracked his head open. They had no money for medical care. There was great concern about what was going to happen to this boy. And yet the people sang, and praised and called out to God.
I had to sit down and just let it all wash over me. I was truly ‘in church’. Simple, unpretentious, primitive – church. I waded in the conviction I felt. Our North American churches, my church – we want “need” good seating, professional sound, attractive surroundings – all the programs for our kids, teens – ourselves – we want to be ‘comfortable’ in church physically, emotionally and spiritually. As a Pastor in a church I struggle because people at times come into our church and will leave for another because we do not have ‘what they are looking for’. It is hard not to fall into the temptation of providing all the bells and whistles that people are looking for, so we can keep them. It’s easy to say “just let them go”, but it’s just not that simple – I don’t think.
But as I stood in the midst of this (and many others) basic, struggling congregation – I knew I was in the church. The church of God’s heart. I don’t mean to romanticize this church. It has really dark issues. The people here struggle with the pull and syncretism of Voodoo. It has a strangle hold on many and even many Christians are highly superstitious and find it hard to break free of its effects. But the church was a light – it was one of the most beautiful cathedrals I have ever entered. God was here – I could feel His presence.
I believe that my thoughts and ideas of church need to undergo a revolution – and they are. Honestly, I don’t know where this will lead me. In some respects I’m afraid – afraid of what it will demand of me. I will be honest. I’m struggling with an internal dissatisfaction, both of myself and of Western Christianity. Here we are one of the wealthiest nations on earth, and even in our economic downturn – we have – abundance. We must be careful that this fear for our economy does not force us not to be generous and faithful in giving. I wonder if I should find a little cement block building here in K/W area, with only a light bulb dangling from the ceiling (and a furnace – we do need that!) – and be the church – I wonder if anyone would come. However, I know this – God would.

Anyway I was just thinking

Neil

Post Script: the Canadian team collected an offering for the young boy. Our information is that he was able to access medical treatment as a result. We are unsure of the outcome at this point.