If You Don't Know What to Say

I went to visit my friend Oriol's church this morning.  He lives in Fontamara 27 which is about a 50-120 minute drive, depending on traffic.  I have to admit, I wasn't real thrilled about going because my first experience at church here was so . . . . empty.  However, it was important to him, so I went.

I am so glad I went.

The building is gorgeous.  Now, it's made only of cement blocks, has no artwork, has no doors, no glass on the windows, and has uncomfortable wooden pews.  But, I loved the service.  I could understand about 1/2 of it whether it was in French or Creole.  I sang a bit (or I just made humming noises).  I felt as if I was worshiping even though I didn't "get" it all.

Balcony View

They do have a part of the service where visitors are expected to stand, introduce themselves, and say a little  bit about who they are.  Oriol asked whether I wanted to do that.  No.  I did not.  He said he would stand with me and help me translate.  I said no.  Everybody already knew I was a visitor.  I kinda stood out.

I wish the church were closer and/or easier to get to because I would love to go back more regularly.  We did make plans for me to return in April on a Saturday when they have activities at the church.  Oriol wants me to meet with the people he teaches English to so that they can practice English and I can practice my Creole.  I am definitely looking forward to that!

Auction items!

After the service they were having an auction to raise money to finish the building.  All the items were set up front.  What I didn't notice at first--but I heard during the service--was that somebody had donated a rooster and two hens to be auctioned off.  Occasionally during the service the rooster would crow!  Never heard that before during church.



I don't know how to explain it, but for some reason I am struck by the disconnect between what churches look like in Haiti and the dress of the people.  I mean, the buildings themselves are barely buildings, and sometimes there is no building!  But the congregation members are always dressed to the nines.   The best of Sunday best.  The children sit quietly (no games, no snacks, no iPods, etc.).  All of the "ecclesiastical impedimenta" (to quote Harper Lee) of the American church is missing, but the faith is strong and the worship is heartfelt.  Not to say that faith isn't strong in America or anything like that.  It's just that the "trappings" and all the stuff doesn't really matter.

Okay.  Another weird coincidence.  I'm sitting off to the side, and I notice this man in an orangish dress shirt looking at me.  He looked familiar, but I couldn't place him.  He kept sorta staring, and I kept looking away because, well, just because I didn't know who he was.  Oriol came back to sit down, so I asked him who the guy was.  It was his friend Sam, who is a doctor.  Then I knew who he was.  He's the doctor who works at the medical clinic near the orphanage and who took care of me my first weeks here when I was sick!  What a small world.  Now that I knew he wasn't a creeper, the next time we made eye contact I smiled and waved to let him know that I recognized him.

To close the service, Oriol sang a song that he wrote:

If you don't know what to say, say God is good.
If you don't know what to say, say God is faithful.
If you don't know what to say, say God is Jehovah, 
     Prince of Peace, Everlasting.