Today was quite a day. I visited a community that is located within an active landfil. It is controlled by gangs, filled with garbage, and reeks of sewage. I crossed a river filled with sewage, trash and smelled the sulphur coming up between my feet. I held and fed children at the nutrition center. I also celebrated Christmas - on Halloween, no less, with a "Feliz Navidad" party for the neighborhood children. And then, as an afterthought to my day (or so I so wrongly thought), I climbed innocently into the truck with G.O. Missionary Dianne Miller and her translator to accompany Dianne as she went across town to share with some ladies about prayer.
We raced across Santiago (everyone races everywhere here) and got turned around, missed our turn, and got supremely lost. After many phone calls, and after turning around about ten times, and then jolting and careening across unpaved roads with BIG holes in them, we breathlessly - and with many bruises forming - arrived at the church in the community formally called Santa Lucia, but more commonly called "La Mosca". It is called this because it is beside a live, burning landfill. Smoke fills the air at all times. Many people are ill. And because of the landfill, the air is filled with "mosca", or "flies" in English.
As you might imagine, the church in this community is humble. It has about ten simple wooden benches, and down front was a small Casio keyboard and a simple and aging sound system, for which they are very thankful. The warm, humid air was gently stirred by slowly moving ceiling fans. Women fanned away the heat, and children squirmed in their seats. As we began the service two young teenaged girls led us in worship. Even though I didn't know the songs and couldn't understand all the words, I was touched as I saw the women worship and heard them raise their untrained voices in praise. As I worshiped, I felt overcome by the sweetness of the blessing of worshiping with the Body of Christ. Yes, we look a bit different, and we speak different languages, and we live far apart, but we still are The Body.
At the close of the teaching time, Dianne asked us to hold the hand of someone near us and to pray for someone we love. As I bowed my head, expecting to pray alone because of the language barrier, something happened that is apparently very common here. The lights went out. And it was utterly dark. But there was nothing else we could do, and so we bowed our heads, grabbed a hand near ours, and prayed. Not silently and politely, but out loud, and with all of our hearts. We pled with God on behalf of our children and families, our neighbors, our churches. This room of women stormed the gates of heaven with great urgency there in that dark night. And as the woman that held my hand prayed, I could understand these three words: "Gracias Senor Jesus".
As I sat in that hot little room, surrounded by the babel of a language I can only understand snippets of,so far away from what is "normal" for me, I began to praise God. I began to do what I had taught others to do. I began to praise Him for who He is, for what He's done, for His mighty acts, for His creation, and because He is worthy .I began to thank Him for His love, His mercy, His forgiveness, His joy, His peace. And as I lifted my hand in praise to the God of the entire universe, not just my little world in Madison, Alabama, tears began to stream down my face.
Those moments in the darkness were a holy appointment with God. There was something powerful about sitting in utter darkness and praising God out loud. And as a candle was lit and the darkness was pushed away a bit, I saw that our prayers and praise are like that candle. They literally push back the darkness in this world.
Doesn't that just make you want to get down on your knees for someone? Doesn't that make you want to stand to your feet and praise God?
Go ahead....push back the darkness in this world a little bit more.
Awesome. Thanks for sharing, and for sharing (with the extended body overseas) by serving.
Posted by: Tony Moore | October 31, 2009 at 09:44 PM
i spend some time in santo domingo...mostly in villa mella a few years ago. the lights going out is quite a normal thing. weird to us, yes, but normal to them. i think churches should try turn off the power sometimes...change the dynamic of what church is about.
Posted by: Tyler | October 31, 2009 at 10:01 PM
The symbol of prayer as a light to push back the dark is beautiful and powerful. Thank you for writing. I'm thinking of you.
Posted by: Sara Walters | November 01, 2009 at 05:27 PM