What is Normal?

There's always something to talk about in Haiti, insomuch that its a regular thing that a news-worthy event takes place, but does it always make the news? Are the Haitian people just used to these strange things happening?

There is still a sense of war on the streets here in Arcahaie. Last week the group of rebels blocked the road (normal) near our home. A news reporter showed up to video tape the action, but she must have forgotten that they would not appreciate there photo being taken. The camera was confiscated and the reporter executed. Earlier this week, the president of Haiti drove through on his way up north, on his way back threw Arcahaie, the rebels were waiting. They riddled the convoy with bullets and soon a shootout proceeded, The shooting could be heard clearly from our home. The president finally made it out, but is not happy. He has sent many secret police to our town trying to round up the culprits, and many innocent people have been arrested in the process.

We've had a couple of groups visit us recently; Barry's sister and her husband from Kansas, and John Lengacher and his children, from Utica, Ohio.  During the downtime from working on the house, the weeks have been filled with preaching and Bible studies again.

 One of the services on the schedule was at seven in the evening, when the sun has already set over Barbancourt, and the occasional solar powered light is all that breaks up the blackness. We crossed the blacktop and ventured a ten minute drive down the rocky dirt road that runs eastward into the countryside. We weren't headed for a church building, but rather found the congregation gathered practically on the road. They had left a break in the seating large enough for vehicles to pass through, which we did in order to find a place to park the truck. A make-shift stage with a tarp roof actually looked quite professional in the dim lighting.  Pastor Bazalet was there waiting for us. The speakers blared the strums of the electric guitar, the melody of the piano, and the enthusiastic praises by the pastor leading the singing.  All the men, women, and children were dancing, shaking, and chanting along with the repetitious lines of the song. We couldn't help but notice the two women in the back who were so engulfed in the rhythm that they seem to forget they were holding little baby bundles, wrapped tightly in thick blankets in the "chilly" night air.  After a half hour or so of this festival, the pastor opened the mic to anyone who had a testimony to share. A middle aged man quickly came to the front and began relaying a dream he had in full detail. Our translator tried to interpret, but couldn't really make out what the man was saying and soon gave up. It wasn't long before everyone was lost on the story, so the pastor thanked the man and kindly cut him off. 

Barry has preached to this particular group several times. They typically seem receptive and the pastor is thankful for the message, reiterating in his follow-up what Barry shares during the sermon. It was the same the same this time. The music fired back up after the message, and included a Creole rendition of "Power in the Blood." At the end of the service, about half of the people gathered there climbed into the back of a large tap-tap to head to their own neighborhood.

Another stand-out service was two Sundays ago, when, thankfully, the Lord struck me with a reminder.    We were thirty minutes north of home in the town of Mouri, where we had been in February as well.  The tightly packed, unfinished church was bursting at its seams again, and we squeezed to find a sturdy bench to sit on. The drums banged. The people danced. It was a real party, and I was struggling to watch it.  Just when I had started to "get used to" church being this way and was learning to sit through it. Can we ever become comfortable sitting through vain worship? As soon as the music ended and the pastor got up to mediate the service, everyone lost interest. The young people chatted and giggled, the old people leaned their heads and started falling asleep. When he was finished and the pastor returned to the pulpit, I had a squirmy, hungry baby to tend to, and I finally decided it was time to find a place to take care of her.  As I was about to exit, a young man stretched his arm across the doorway, and surprising me with his English, asked, "Where are you going?"

After a brief explanation of my need to tend to the baby, he reluctantly let me pass. I found a small, homemade chair inside a charcoal-dusted cooking shack that's used by the church's orphanage. When Bethany wasn't quite half-finished, the young man came out to where I sat and boldly declared, "Excuse me, but, your time is up. You are only allowed five minutes and that time is up."

"Excuse me?" I asked more than once, confused. He repeated himself twice. I got up and hurried back inside to ask Barry what was going on and why this boy was telling me I can't be outside.  Apparently, people are so "squirmy" at this church that they have patrols at every doorway to keep people inside during the service. When "Pastor Barry" told the boy to let me go, I was able to go back out and finish what I had intended to do. I had to fight back tears while I sat back down on the little homemade chair. The whole morning worship service had already been a struggle watching the way people behave, and a young boy telling me I can't be outside while I tried to feed my baby was almost too much.  

While this particular Sunday morning was a challenge at the time, I'm thankful for the Lord's reminder.  What is normal?  I am so certain that God is pleased when we can truly worship in Him in sincerity without the emotional highs that come with the blaring instruments and rhythmic drum beats.  I also don't plan to ever have a comfy rocker to sit on in an air-conditioned nursery while we're here, but maybe someday soon I'll figure out just how to modestly tend to a baby without stepping on the natives' toes while I do things our way. I pray that God gives Barry patience as he travels, preaching in these environments throughout the week!

Anyone's welcome, but nobody's leavin'

This past Sunday service was perhaps a little more uplifting. Pastor Oscar invited us down the road to his church again, and Barry is always very willing and thankful for the invitation. This large church in Barbancourt is where most of the people in our village go, so it's always a chance to preach to lots of friends and neighbors together.   They usually like to give us the comfortable chairs with the choir at the front of the building, a few feet from the speakers that can be heard a half-mile away. For the sake of the children's hearing, we thankfully declined and asked to stay on the benches toward the back.  We soon found out why they like to give us those nice chairs. At the start of the service, Katie and I and our three children shared the bench with just one older lady, and had plenty of room. Over the first fifteen minutes of the service, more and more people kept packing into the benches. The children were all on laps, and we were squeezed leg to leg with other women and their children.  On a warm day in Haiti, it doesn't take long for 200 people, most of them dancing and waving their arms, to really bring the temperature up in a building. Most people bring a rag to church to keep the sweat from dripping. Regardless of the heat, I thought it was nice to sit back with our neighbors and be "regular" people at church.

When Barry posed the question, "Do you REALLY believe in Jesus?" to the congregation and explained what that meant, it was well-received. Pastor Oscar, who sometimes disagrees with the Anabaptist vision, followed up with total agreement. He even told them, "the ax is already at the root of the tree, and every tree that doesn't produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire."

Inside Pastor Oscar's church, with not room for one more person on the benches.

Bethany making friends with Frido, our close neighbor and a deacon at the church.

May God keep working in this village, and in this whole country!