The plan for this morning was to visit the mountain community of Kenskoff and a CONASPEH member church there. But the Galloper has developed a wheezing altitude sickness, and refuses to climb much higher than Petionville without steaming and whistling madly. So a change of plans was devised.
Patrick and Francois invited us to their church this Sunday. Jane, Patrick's mom, has been with us over the last week, and this was to be her first Haitian church service. Although a bit disappointed that we couldn't take in a little mountain scenery this weekend, we were very happy to join our friends in their home-community church. Daniel Gordet--a former missionary to CONASPEH--was also in town visiting, so our group was a large and happy one this Sunday.
Walking into the pink-painted cement church tucked in a hilly neighborhood in Port-au-Prince, I was reminded that it was this very church that Patrick and I visited on our very first Sunday in Haiti. The last time I entered through that church door, I was only days into this Haitian experience, overwhelmed, sweating profusely, feeling dumb and mute amidst a foreign language and a little overwhelmed at the adventure at hand. Patrick had been battling his first GI bug that was nearly turned into overdrive when he had the surprise invitation to deliver the sermon unexpectedly.
The memories came flooding back as I walked up the isle, a little more confident and a lot more comfortable than the time before. I remembered being asked to help with communion and serving all the children of the church a gram cracker. I remembered the music and a sermon I couldn't understand. I remembered the little girl who wanted to touch my skin and watch the pink blanch white. Now here we were, a little wizer, a bit more settled, and with so many experiences that have defined the time passed.
It quickly became a very special Sunday for me. First of all, Patrick and Francois entirely lead the worship service. Patrick lead the opening prayers and music, and did so in such a way to completely elevate my spirit. The hymns started slow and melodical. Unlike my first worship there, today I was able to pick out some of the words. The prayers spoke of the misery, the pain, the poverty, the hunger in the lives of the people... the songs echoed the sorry and cried out to God, "Lord, remember me, hear my cry, I'm looking for you, I am searching." Women and men, young and old stood eyes closed, hands raised rocking back and forth, wearing the meaning of the words painted over their faces furrowed in concentration. Together they cried out; the pain of the song nearly brought me to tears.
Little by little, the words of the prayers Patrick sent out carried less pain and more hope. "We are the lucky ones. There are people who want to be here, but they cannot because they are too weak, too sick, too far away. We are blessed to sit with each other and lift up our spirit." The music reflected the hope, the celebration of the opportunity of the moment. Little by little the beat quickened. Thanks was given in song. Alleluliahs followed and were sung with mounting fervor. Before I knew it as the music was building, we all had risen to our feet and were dancing, clapping, and celebrating the sudden joy that replaced the sorrow. I was overcome with emotion. And we danced and sang until smiles covered each face, those wrinkled and hollow with age as well as those smooth and chubby with youth. Nearly half the service was dedicated to this progression of song, this worship through singing and music. Patrick Villier, with his sincerity, through his passion spoke the truth of the harshness of the realities of the lives of his congregants and yet lead them to a place of hope. You could feel the change of energy in the air.
Francois--much to Patrick Bentrott's delight--had been asked to give the sermon. And what a sermon it was. I've often been inspired by Francois's ability to rally the troops, both in the church, in the school and in CONASPEH meetings. Her sermon was smart, it told a story. She spoke of God's commission for us to enter and honor our relationships, and the importance of lifting each other up, of respect. In fact she demanded that we all take a look at how we have treated our relationships, whether we are honoring God's request or sinning against each other with lack of respect. She was firery, yet approachable, challenging and inspiriting. She failed to disappoint.
At the end of the service, the Villiers, true to their endless well of hospitality, honored Jane for her visit, introducing her to the congregation as Patrick's mother, and thanking her for her voyage, for her gift of presence to us and the people of Haiti.
Patrick and I were also able to greet the congregation. Patrick not only thanked them for their spirit, their music, their worship, but commended the church for lifting up its women into positions of leadership and valuing the gifts we all can give. I couldn't help but smile as we greeted the congregation in our new, but ever-developing Creole. The last time i had stood on that pulpit, I was mortified with the surprise of the sudden demand of public speaking. I stumbled to find some semblence of an articulate greeting, but nerves and feeling completely self-conscious got the best of me.
Ah how time teaches, heals and humbles. It also makes us stronger, a little more confident, and if we allow it, opens up new worlds and experiences to us day by day, a little bit at a time.
I left church happy and inspired. Its good to have moments where your progress can be measured.
We finished the day with the Villiers, Daniel Gordet, and our little group of four at a restaurant sharing a meal together, laughing heartily, telling stories, celebrating a day with friends and family. After an amazing Creole meal where we all laughed a little too hard and ate a little too much, we ventured down town to take part in the last day of a 3 day Labor and Agrigulcture Day festival, Blocks of vendors from all over Haiti showed off their art, their craft, their crops and their harvest. We sampled homemade pikliz (a spicey cabbage relish), orange wine and cremas, cracked cashews, and saw every shape, flavor and size of native fruit. The relentless sun overhead kept our time in the huge outdoor festival short, but nonetheless fun.
So now we are home, hot, sweaty, exhausted but happy. Today the spirit was renewed, our progress highlighted, friendships and family celebrated, and the culture explored. I think we all deserve a nap.
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