Wood of the Low: they spring forth

The second the blazing sun hits you, all you can think about is shade, and the group from Cap-Haitian and I quickly headed for a tarp near the church.  A girl of about twenty came out of nowhere and approached me head on, reached out and starting rubbing the tops of my fingers furiously, silently, staring full into my face.

That's not even Haiti-normal, so I just smiled at her and stood there for a minute, waiting to figure out what was going on (a good idea-trick I've learned over the years before reacting).  In a few moments, she moved onto furiously rubbing my arm, not saying a word, and I realized.

She's never seen a white skinned person.  

She's never seen one, so she's staring, and she's wondering if my color comes off, so she's trying, and she's sure foreigners don't speak her language, so she's silent.  

Bonjour, cheri, I say, quietly, and she jumps back as if my blazingly white arm burned her.  Turned and ran down the road.  Full speed.  No joke.

In the same bizarre moment, Hernst came and shuffled us towards the church, pulling open a tarp flap and tucking it back in behind us after we ducked through.  

In a moment the dry, scorched and empty landscape transformed to a vibrant, loud and colorful one.  Sunday school was over and everyone was readjusting for the main service, men, women and children integrating once again on the school style benches haphazardly crowded around a few plastic chairs at the "front".  

The tent was packed out, and though it provided shade, the closed sides had already turned it into a congested oven.  After run-away girl, I was worried my unexpected presence would make everyone turn and flee the tent, but I smiled warmly and kept my head down, climbing over people and benches as I picked my way to a slightly less jammed bench smack in the middle.  Thankfully everyone stayed put.  

Nothing like standing out like a freak when all you want to do is be a little bird quietly observing, unnoticed.  

A few of the women who had come with me joined me, but literally 10 minutes in, abandoned me for the doorway, desperate for a breeze.  As quickly as they left, others filled their spots, and as the service began, I already found myself too closely surrounded to sit if others stood or to stand if others sat.

The congregation was somewhere around 150 people, and everyone was downright thrilled to see Vilmer tuck his head into the tent.  The microphone, sound-system and generator that some random person had stuck in the back of my truck hours ago in St. Raphael had all been hooked up.  Vilmer grabbed the mike and greeted everyone as warmly and passionately as they greeted him, then dove right into a boisterous praise song while everyone jumped to their feet.  

I took a moment to look around.  TONS of children.  Lots of youth.  Then the breast-feeding section, the gray-haired, head-covered old lady section, the toothless-grin old man section, and a surprisingly large number of 25-45 year old young men encircling the back.  

Some were dressed in traditional pure whites and dark skirts and pants.  Others were in ill fitting t-shirts and broken cheap plastic flip-flops.  

Christ in Vilmer is a powerful presence, even in the middle of the dessert.  After a few songs, he started right in on what should have been months worth of pastoral work.  

"Good morning, my family!  I am so glad I am here with you!  Stand up, come here," he commanded, "if you are living with someone else in this room, or outside this tent, and you are NOT married to them."

Seriously?  Right off the bat?  Stand up???  I gulp, not sure if I should stare at my hands or look around.

"Get up!  Common!"

And to my surprise, they do.  First, a few young men, then two friends with babies on their hips, then a few more, even a few people well into their 70's...16 total in the end.

"Do you think this is ok before a Holy God?  Now that we know Him?"

"Noooooooo!" everyone shouts, including those standing.  

"OK!" Vilmer continues, getting excited.  "We're not going to DO that anymore.  Once God has convicted us as something in our lives as being sin, we have to turn from it.  We're getting married!  And not just us here, but anyone.  Anyone in this community who is ready to make a life-commitment before God and man, we're all getting married.  The wedding will be here!  I'm gonna do it.  OK?"

"AMEN!" Everyone shouts, nods, nods, everyone sits.  It is settled.

That was kind of a big thing for the first 15 minutes! I thought.  But Vilmer was just getting started.

He grabs Ernst's hand and pulls him up with him.  Around now a littler girl, about 2, started crying quietly.

"NOW, stand up if you committed last time to praying for this church, for a building!"

A group of about 10 stand throughout the congregation.

"STAND UP if you promised to be praying for these kids, for this school!"

More, waving and smiling.

"GET ON UP if you promised to be praying for water for Bois d'Homme Bas!"

Another group of 8-10.  The little girl's whimpering had turned into piercing sobs by this time.

"ARE you all praying?  Praying with hope?  Praying with conviction?  Praying with faith?  Everyday?"

Most said "Yesssss!" but there were a few sheepish grins as well.

"Has everything been accomplished, for His glory?"

"Nooooooo!" everyone shouts.

"OK!  Then keep on praying!  Let's go!  Right now!"

And so, we did.  Loud praying and singing prayers, all around me, all at the same time, a hundred different prayers, all erupted, hands held high and tears in eyes and on weathered cheeks.

It was 10,000 degrees.  There were SO many people.  We were all stuffed in a praying, packed out tent.  It was intense.

After about 20 minutes, the prayers died down.  The little girl who had been bawling had now entirely LOST it.  She was screaming bloody murder, and yet no one had taken her out, and no one seemed to make any effort at attending to her, all shrugging and making the universal Haitian gesture of slapping one hand on top of the other: "there is nothing I can do."  

I had no idea what the problem was, but everyone else seemed to.  Finally, an old woman stood and passed a half-eaten bag of Chico's (a super cheap version of Cheetos), down the bench.  

The MOMENT the little girl saw the orange puffs coming, she became silent.  With tears still POURING down her cheeks, she stuffed fried orange air into her mouth as fast as she could.  And I didn't even have time to accept the slap of reality that hit me: ALL that crying, and she was just starving.  Real starving.  She's just...

But Vilmer wasn't finished.

"Stand up if you went to school here, and in January, you had to drop out!  You didn't have the money!"

About 2 dozen children stood, all around me.

"Now, sit down if you aren't now back in school, because the Lord didn't provide nor answered your prayers!"

Nobody sat.  Not a child.  They started to jump up and down and cheer,  and I beamed without even realizing it, because I knew the precious secret.  The Lord DID provide, through you-know-who-you-are.  And so through me, and so through Vilmer, and there they were: I was looking into their smiling little faces.  

Still not done.

"You've been hearing about our Jesus for a while now...from me, from Brother Hersnt, from Brother Elie, from each other.  Have you been waiting?  Waiting to ask Him into your life?  Waiting to give you life to Him?  Let's not wait any more.  If you're ready to give your whole heart, your whole life to Jesus, come here, let me pray with you!"

The little church stood still for a moment, and 3...5...8 people came forward. Then we were invited into a very sacred moment in each person's life...just to watch, and listen, as they spoke to the Lord, and asked Him in.  It was powerful, powerful, to get to be a part of that, even from my hot and stuffy backless bench in the crowd.  

It occurred to me that these men and women weren't strangers to each other, as they were to me.  Many of them had lived their lives up on this mountain, believing deeply in Voodoo, as their fathers had before them.  This public declaration was not small thing. This dirt felt holy, suddenly, and sacred. 

Vilmer was almost done.  Almost.

"AND WHO" Vilmer roared into the microphone, as if we needed a microphone to hear Vilmer in this 20x20 tent.  

"WHO wants to be baptized?  Who wants to follow in the footsteps of so many before us, in the command of Scripture, in the way of Christ, and be baptized?  Testify to all around you that God has changed your heart, given you a new life, washed you of your sins, brought you back from the dead?"

By now, it was all I could do not to jump to my feet, and I have BEEN baptized :)

About twenty men, women and children stood, and I knew--because I knew Vilmer--what was next.

"Then LET'S GO!  The Bible tells us to believe and be baptized.  Get up, let's go!  Praise the Lord!"

Suddenly, the spirit of boldness and passion exhibited by the congregation grew still.

Nobody moved.  Those standing sat awkwardly down.  

I didn't understand.  

Vilmer and those who had come with us looked just as confused as I must have.

Pastor Ernst leaned over and said something in Vilmer's ear.

Understanding, embarrassment and compassion dawned on Vilmer's face.  

"OH.  I'm sorry," Vilmer said, now quiet. "I forgot.  There is no water."  

There IS no water.  He told me that.  But...I thought.  Baffled.

Of all the years we've been in Haiti, I've never seen a sprinkling baptism.  Baptism in Haiti means immersion, even here, in the dessert.  This beautiful sacrament, this powerful part of our testimony, this vital commitment for this community of Christ: impossible.

After a few moments of weird silence in which everyone was thinking about what could be done, Vilmer refused to be swayed.

"Where is the closest river?" he asked everyone.

About three hours hike, was the consensus. 

Vilmer was obviously touched.  Three hours.  Three hours these brothers and sisters must go for more than a dribble of water.  You could see the gravity of the situation touch Vilmer's heart, and his passion for serving the people was renewed.

"OOOOO! KKKKKKK!  We will go then!  April 28th, we will meet here, we will hike to the river.  We will be baptized together.  We will return!  And when we get back, we'll have our Sunday service."

Oh my lands.  

That may not have meant a lot to me if I had not just COME from Vilmer's house and KNEW what kind of huge effort and sacrifice Vilmer was talking about.  Right about now, I was exhausted!

PLUS 6 hours of hiking up and down mountains of dust in the blazing dessert sun?  Seriously?

The congregation all nodded deeply together.  Amen, Amen, may it be so.

"Amen, God be praised" Vilmer said, and sat.  

Hersnt grabbed the mike, thanked Vilmer for opening, and the church service began.

tbc...