Bolivian Journal 4 August 11, 2005
Welcome friends to Bovlivian Journal 4. In this edition I will report on one special evening.
On Sunday evening, August 7, I accepted an invitation from pastor Antonio to go with him to his church, Shaddai Baptist Church. The journey would take us forty kilometres out of town from where we live. Antonio, a grandfather, has pastored for ten years and is attending and residing at the Seminary. At 7:OO pm we caught a trufi and headed out. A trufi is a van that seats sixteen and sometimes more people and stops whenever and wherever anyone wants to get on or off. As we journeyed along in the darkness (remember it is dark, with little or no twilight, very soon after the sun sets at about 6:OO) Antonio, who speaks Quechua and Spanish but no English, leaned over and told me that I would address the congregation that evening. I think he used the Spanish word to preach but I wouldn´t let myself even consider the possibility. I just shook may head,smiled at him, laughed in unbelief. I secretly persuaded myself that I had the right to remain silent. The further we travelled the poorer in appearance became our surroundings. The trufi stopped in the proverbial "middle of nowhere". I followed Antonio in dark night, up a rough dirt path, over a ditch or two, alongside a field to a couple of buildings. Antonio identified one building as his casita/ small house. The church building, the ground floor of this house, a room approximately 15 feet wide and 45 feet long. Making our way around a couple of children and dogs, we stepped out of the darkness and into the light. The room was full of 35 to 40 people patiently waiting for pastor Antonio to arrive. After a few handshakes and smiles and an offer to sit "upfront", I quietly slipped in to be seated beside a quiet looking man in the second row. The worship leader commenced to lead the congregation in singing. I figured I might recognize some of the songs until I realized that all the singing, complete with hymnbook, would be in Quechua. Thankfully everyone was clapping out the beat and so I was able to blend in, and even hide myself in the group, by clapping along with them. I felt a little more relaxed when I recognized one song as " I have decided to follow Jesus". I sensed the presence of the Lord in this simple, sincere worship. After the music there seemed to be a series of announcements and then a time of open prayer. I guessed the sermon would be next. What else was there? As I listened I understood the worship leader to say that he now called upon pastor Kent (Kint) (me) to come "upfront" and speak to the congregation. Everyone spoke Quechua and everyone spoke Spanish but no one but Kent spoke English. For a moment I thought I could just remain glued to me seat and they would understand my shyness and proceed with the rest of the service. Then I realized the my embarrassment at staying seated and probably being rude would surpass the embarrassment I would feel in trying to speak English to Quechua and Spanish ears, minds and hearts. Before I knew it and apart from my will I was on my feet, upfront, facing an eager, expectant and friendly looking congregation. (aren´t they all?). The next thing I knew and to my astonishment I heard a man speaking in broken Spanish, yet none the less Spanish, saying something like: " It is a good night here.I am from Canada. I live at the Seminary near to brother (every male is a hermano/brother in Bolivia) Antonio. I am a Chistian. My wife is a Christian. My daughter is a Christian. My daughter Anna is thirteen years old. God bless you." Noticing the surprised and somewhat amused faces of the congregation I sat down amazed at the wonders of God. Next Antonio delivered the sermon, based on verses 27-31 in chapter 40 of Isaiah. With the familiar text I was able to catch the drift of the message. Well,I thought, now there is probably a final song and then the benediction. Wonders never cease! Now I heard the worship leader once more saying that pastor Kent would now adress the congregation again, this time in English. I wasn't to be let of the hook so easily. What more did they want from me? I looked pleadingly at Antonio and shook my head from side to side, a gesture that I was sure meant no! in any language. Antonio just looked at me kindly, grinned and gently motioned toward the place beside the pulpit where I had previously stood. I obeyed. This time should have been no problem. After all I had spoken their language, surely now I could speak mine. I hesitated, then opened my mouth and said again in Spanish:"No recuerdo ingles." ( I don´t remember English.), which at this moment was the absolutely true. After this icebreaker I said first in Spanish and then (translating? for whom? myself?) in English something like: "My God is your God. We have the same God, the same Jesus Christ, the same Holy Spirit.God bless you. Many thanks for this night." I sat down again. From whom did those words come from? I now know. The music started up. We sang again and then, you might have guessed it, pastor Kent was to come forward again. This time I was greeted and embraced by every member of the congregation as they sang a bienvenidos hermano/ welcome brother song.
On Sunday evening, August 7, I accepted an invitation from pastor Antonio to go with him to his church, Shaddai Baptist Church. The journey would take us forty kilometres out of town from where we live. Antonio, a grandfather, has pastored for ten years and is attending and residing at the Seminary. At 7:OO pm we caught a trufi and headed out. A trufi is a van that seats sixteen and sometimes more people and stops whenever and wherever anyone wants to get on or off. As we journeyed along in the darkness (remember it is dark, with little or no twilight, very soon after the sun sets at about 6:OO) Antonio, who speaks Quechua and Spanish but no English, leaned over and told me that I would address the congregation that evening. I think he used the Spanish word to preach but I wouldn´t let myself even consider the possibility. I just shook may head,smiled at him, laughed in unbelief. I secretly persuaded myself that I had the right to remain silent. The further we travelled the poorer in appearance became our surroundings. The trufi stopped in the proverbial "middle of nowhere". I followed Antonio in dark night, up a rough dirt path, over a ditch or two, alongside a field to a couple of buildings. Antonio identified one building as his casita/ small house. The church building, the ground floor of this house, a room approximately 15 feet wide and 45 feet long. Making our way around a couple of children and dogs, we stepped out of the darkness and into the light. The room was full of 35 to 40 people patiently waiting for pastor Antonio to arrive. After a few handshakes and smiles and an offer to sit "upfront", I quietly slipped in to be seated beside a quiet looking man in the second row. The worship leader commenced to lead the congregation in singing. I figured I might recognize some of the songs until I realized that all the singing, complete with hymnbook, would be in Quechua. Thankfully everyone was clapping out the beat and so I was able to blend in, and even hide myself in the group, by clapping along with them. I felt a little more relaxed when I recognized one song as " I have decided to follow Jesus". I sensed the presence of the Lord in this simple, sincere worship. After the music there seemed to be a series of announcements and then a time of open prayer. I guessed the sermon would be next. What else was there? As I listened I understood the worship leader to say that he now called upon pastor Kent (Kint) (me) to come "upfront" and speak to the congregation. Everyone spoke Quechua and everyone spoke Spanish but no one but Kent spoke English. For a moment I thought I could just remain glued to me seat and they would understand my shyness and proceed with the rest of the service. Then I realized the my embarrassment at staying seated and probably being rude would surpass the embarrassment I would feel in trying to speak English to Quechua and Spanish ears, minds and hearts. Before I knew it and apart from my will I was on my feet, upfront, facing an eager, expectant and friendly looking congregation. (aren´t they all?). The next thing I knew and to my astonishment I heard a man speaking in broken Spanish, yet none the less Spanish, saying something like: " It is a good night here.I am from Canada. I live at the Seminary near to brother (every male is a hermano/brother in Bolivia) Antonio. I am a Chistian. My wife is a Christian. My daughter is a Christian. My daughter Anna is thirteen years old. God bless you." Noticing the surprised and somewhat amused faces of the congregation I sat down amazed at the wonders of God. Next Antonio delivered the sermon, based on verses 27-31 in chapter 40 of Isaiah. With the familiar text I was able to catch the drift of the message. Well,I thought, now there is probably a final song and then the benediction. Wonders never cease! Now I heard the worship leader once more saying that pastor Kent would now adress the congregation again, this time in English. I wasn't to be let of the hook so easily. What more did they want from me? I looked pleadingly at Antonio and shook my head from side to side, a gesture that I was sure meant no! in any language. Antonio just looked at me kindly, grinned and gently motioned toward the place beside the pulpit where I had previously stood. I obeyed. This time should have been no problem. After all I had spoken their language, surely now I could speak mine. I hesitated, then opened my mouth and said again in Spanish:"No recuerdo ingles." ( I don´t remember English.), which at this moment was the absolutely true. After this icebreaker I said first in Spanish and then (translating? for whom? myself?) in English something like: "My God is your God. We have the same God, the same Jesus Christ, the same Holy Spirit.God bless you. Many thanks for this night." I sat down again. From whom did those words come from? I now know. The music started up. We sang again and then, you might have guessed it, pastor Kent was to come forward again. This time I was greeted and embraced by every member of the congregation as they sang a bienvenidos hermano/ welcome brother song.
Antonio's Grandson on the Seminary grounds
After a time of mixing and mingling in conversation the service has officially come to a close. Antonio led me through the Bolivian night back down the path to the main highway. We soon were on a trufi again and on our way back to the Seminary. As Antonio and I sat in silence, this time I leaned over to him and said "Dios es bueno!" What else could I say? I trust you agree.
Dios les bengiga,
Kent
Dios les bengiga,
Kent
posted by Bibliomaniac | 6:46 a.m.
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