We got to Guatemala on a Friday. On Sunday evening we went to a church service at Pastor Edgar’s ‘El Shaddai’ church.
I’ll tell you more in another post about Pastor Edgar and the many wonderful people from this church that helped us with our clinics, and who became fast friends. Suffice it to say, that some of mi amigos from this group threatened to kidnap me just long enough that I would miss my flight back to the USA. What a splendid compliment! Had more than half a notion to let them. I wonder how many of my American friends, who I’ve known for years, would think of doing that?
So we walk into this building, or structure – I’m not sure what exactly to call it. But it was pretty typical for Guatemala.
Concrete floor, with two concrete walls that went up maybe 10 feet. A third wall, the front of the building, was corrugated tin. There was no ceiling, simply pole trusses holding up a corrugated tin roof. I like corrugated anything, so Guatemala was my kinda place when it came to building material. On the left, where a fourth wall might have been, was simply open space. Hey, in a tropical climate, you go with the flow – as in airflow.
Plastic chairs were spread in rows. A simple raised platform served as a stage. Talk about the ultimate in low overhead church buildings. We Americans who weekly pass the collection plate for one building fund after another, could learn from this.
Everybody was chattering and smiling and hugging like old friends, which they were, and they treated us the same way the minute we walked in. There was a sound system in the back of the room (yes, even in Guatemala!); musicians on the stage – percussion, keyboard, electric guitar and bass, drums. There were a bunch of singers.
Oh, and when they cut loose with that music! No four part harmonies from hymnals of 200 year old songs – this was powerful stuff – celestial. The energy was incredible. People singing at the top of their lungs, oblivious to other humans around them. This was dancing, bouncing, hands up praising of God.
Now this is a familiar and welcome form of worship to me; but to some of my rather Baptist brethren, it was way outside the comfort box. 
Since I was in a row behind the rest of the team, the contrast was just short of hilarious – a stationary island of light skinned gringos surrounded by a moving sea of dark skinned celebration.
But I’ve got to say, after a while I saw some of my Baptist buddies cross the line that night – warming to expression – c
lapping, swaying, outlandish raising of their hands to God, laughing right out loud for the sheer joy of the environment. Celestial.
As with other times in the Spirit, I had no sense of the passage of time. We were just being. It seemed that one song flowed into another seamlessly, no introduction or instruction needed. I don’t know if we sang for one hour, or three days, or maybe (like in Narnia) no Earth hours passed at all.
I had one vivid overriding sensation about the people of El Shaddai church: for all of their worldly poverty, they were some of the richest people I knew. Their combined praise was a sweet aroma to our Father, and he was pleased. When they lifted their voices, they were heard, and God was honored.
I couldn’t help but think of the typical American church service, and contrast our societally programmed behavior within the walls of a church building, versus, say when we’re sitting in the stadium watching a football game.
Father God, release our hearts to praise you as the most important thing in our lives – in the universe – regardless of what others may think is proper.
this is the inside of the church!
church building as a clinic
