Day 16: Sunday Service

All week I’ve been reminding a local volunteer, Jean Kendy, not forget to come find me Sunday morning. I have been waiting with great anticipation to attend church with him. Sure enough at 8 am he was there and ready with two other international volunteers. We walked the 15 minutes through a part of town I had not yet seen to attend a service that would last four hours (technically we were only there for 3.5 hours because we arrived late.) I’m not sure if you read that correctly … FOUR hours. Luckily I had not planned on it lasting that long, so the expectancy that it might end any minute got me through the last hour. Four hours is a long time in a jam-packed church with hardly any circulation, in hot weather, without understanding the language.

That said - it was beautiful. The first hour only housed about 20 people. The pastor spoke mainly from the Bible and there was a lot of repeating of phrases. And then at 9am the crowd shuffled in without an empty seat to be found. At this point a younger man, who I was informed was not the Pastor, got up and led songs for a good hour or so. The music and singing was exceptionally beautiful and moving. Voices rose above the rafters without reservation, hands waved freely in the air, and “Alleluia’s” formed a beautiful backdrop to the entire morning. It was impossible to be in that church without swaying to the music. It was impossible to be among these people without feeling the strength of their faith. It had been 2 weeks since I attended a church service; today’s service reminded me how much I’ve been missing it.

After about an hour, the women rose to sit on the right side of the church while the men moved to the left. I had attended service with only men, which meant I would have to move to the other side by myself. Quite truthfully, I’ve been in more awkward situations and I had no qualms about grabbing my things to move. Several of the men in front and behind us very kindly waved their hands, informing me that it was OK to stay where I was - I wasn’t the only woman who wasn’t moving sides.

We continued with the singing intermingled with prayers. During one very heartfelt, emotional, and long song the electricity went out. (I forgot to mention that the church had a few lights, a couple fans, and speakers for the microphone the leaders used. I was amazed at how much electricity to which they had access. This was very telling of their community that one of the few places with electricity and fans was their communal place of worship.) The speakers stopped projecting music, the fans went silent, and the lights immediately were dark. But, you would never have known. Not one person in that church missed a beat. The man leading the song dropped the microphone on the pulpit as if he had never been using it. With or without electricity their voices still rose. Such an example of Haiti and Haitians’ power of perseverance through struggle. Nothing would stop them from singing.

After this incredible song, there was an extended prayer, followed by an interlude of soloist. Several women came forward one at a time to sing in front of the entire congregation. I was amazed at how well none of them sang. I’m not trying to be rude (I’m quite certain I have to the worst voice known to man…well, except for maybe my mom - sorry mom.) I actually was amazed and impressed by these bold women. It’s always people with extraordinary voices who brave the spotlight. Rarely would someone who can’t sing rise to the front in the US. But here, they welcomed each woman as if she was the most beautiful singer to ever grace their presence. I was a bit confused at what the purpose of this part of the service was and how one was chosen to be the next soloist, but I was awed all the same.

Towards the end, anyone who was new to the church was asked to come to the front and introduce himself/herself. The three of us volunteers stood in front of the congregation as the only non-Haitian attendees while Jean Kendy translated. I’m not certain they were used to seeing blans in their church. They looked on with surprise and wonder, and of course with complete welcome.

Right before the last hour the church played musical chairs again. At first I was completely bewildered by the movement of seats for the second time. Then the Pastor returned to the front to say a few prayers and hand out communion. Only the first few rows, less than half the church, received Communion. I questioned Jean Kendy why not a single person in the back of the church took Communion. He informed me that only people who were baptized could receive Communion, which is why so many people changed seats. Those that were baptized moved to the front, and those who hadn’t been baptized moved to the back.

At noon we left the church but not without an accompaniment from half a dozen children hanging from our arms and holding our hands. One little girl no more than 8 years old lived across from our base. She walked the 15-20 minute walk to church every Sunday by herself. Today she walked home hand-in-hand with a blan. We didn’t talk much. We just strolled together down the dirty streets as if this happened everyday.