Church VIII, Home far, far away from home.

I got to go home this week for Easter service. Nothing like going to your home church on Easter Sunday. No GPS to get there, you know which door to go into, and you can freely enter into worship, and understand the heart of the pastor. Like your favorite pair of sweatpants. It got me thinking about my visiting churches and what it takes to make a first time visitor feel those same things. It reminded me of a church that I had visited in the fall but never had an opportunity to post: 

“You should come and visit the church sometime.” Yes, maybe I will. The meeting planner of a Men’s Retreat at work was pleased to hear that my house in Dallas was minutes away from their house of worship. Their invitation was the perfect opportunity to break into a distinctly different church then what I have been visiting. Well this ought to be interesting.

 

I didn’t go without doing some reconnaissance. Their web-site let me know they started at noon, and that the worship and music would be predominantly in Swahili. Time to put my culture cap on! 

I was coming from my home church’s early service, so I knew I would be running a little early. But I figured I would locate the building, do a drive-by, then grab a coffee at a nearby shop so as not to be the first person there.  When I pulled up there was a multitude of cars, so I decided to peek in.  This can’t be it, there was a white priestly figure with what appeared to be an altar boy, and also an altar girl at the front. A rousing version of “Onward Christian Soldier” was being played on a turn of the last century pipe organ.  Well, not what I expected.  They must share this space. I can wait.

 I decided to visit the restroom.  When I closed the door and my eyes readjusted it became immediately apparent that the one room bathroom shared a common wall with a confessional.  Awkward. I think I will just hold it. By the time I exited and walked around the corner back towards the sanctuary they had dismissed. I caught a pleasant lady and asked if she knew about a Kenyan church that met there. She told me this was the place, then she asked if I was from Kenya….uh, nope. 

Noon rolled around and there was only a couple of church leader stragglers left from the previous service taking down the altar adornments and tucking the holy water bowls into the closet. I set in the back row, wondering if maybe they started somewhere else on the church campus. When they cleared   I sat in the empty sanctuary for about 5 minutes thinking I maybe didn’t get the memo. Finally, at about 12:15 a couple guys I recognized from the retreat came in and started setting up for their service.  One of the leaders came over and welcomed me, and was so happy that I had actually come to visit them. He explained that they waited for the previous service to clear out before they could come in, and that he would tell their pastor to try to put as much English as they could in for me.  I told him that would not be necessary, but he was very kind. 

Then the congregation began to arrive. The ladies wore the most beautiful African clothing and headpieces, while others wore very ornate albeit American dresses. Every man wore a tie, with the church leadership were in suits.  They show up for church! A little girl came up and randomly hugged me after I smiled at her, she kept staring at me, and the lady sitting next to me said that their family had just come from Kenya and probably hadn’t seen many white people in her life.

They were not concerned with the timing of the service, and got started closer to 1pm. They music was absolutely beautiful, rhythmic, and impassioned. Clapping and dancing was spontaneous, and a couple songs included going into the aisles and interacting. I was never without a partner and caught on to the songs after a couple of repeats. The spirit of God apparently doesn’t require a translator! The pastor spoke in both Swahili and in English throughout the sermon, for my sole benefit as the only person who only knew English, and publicly welcomed me.

Afterwards, I was invited into the fellowship hall for tea and fellowship time. Perhaps invited is not the best word, fellowship was not a suggested thing, but literally an extension of the service; just like taking the offering, and singing the songs is for some.

BEST. TEA. EVER!!!  How they so spectacularly made me feel at home is beyond remarkable. Many gave me hugs, and didn’t talk visitor talk like weather and the like, but encouraged me in the message. It was a reminder of the beauty and friendship, family and outreach of a home church.