Service in Ruhengeri begins at 9:00. Ed and I had breakfast and were ready for our cab ride to the church at about 8:45. About that time, Faustin and Salome came down and began to have their breakfast. Hey, it's Africa. When we arrived at church around 9:30, worship was in full swing. I recognized many melodies, although the words were all in Kinyarwanda (the language of Rwanda). 'Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus. Great is Thy Faithfulness. Nothing but the Blood. It was a huge blessing to be able to sing along in English a few times. Though the tunes were familiar, the style was altogether different. If the "the frozen chosen" (as Ed calls them) could see their familiar songs sung in this style, they'd thaw out pretty quickly. Either that, or they'd melt and evaporate.
Blessings this morning fell like rain. Huge smiles - drip. Warm welcome - drop. Singing along - cats. Watching them dance - dogs. Ed being able to preach in Faustin's church after Faustin had preached at Granada Heights - torrential downpour. I was soaked in Grace. Probably the biggest blessing for me was hanging out with the children all morning. Like mosquitos around a bug zapper, they swarmed around me. Maybe that's a bad analogy, but I was surrounded. Their fascination didn't cease. At first they were fascinated that there was a white man in their presence. Then they were fascinated with my camera (I took pictures all morning). Then they were fascinated with my sunglasses (I took pictures of them wearing my sunglasses for what seemed like all morning). Of course, worship and preaching are going on all the while. Though my attention was primarily on the kids and on my camera, I don't feel like I missed anything. I probably did. That just goes to show you how packed full of meaning and blessings the service was. To be totally preoccupied the whole time, and yet feel like I had just had a month's worth of church was unreal. When Ed began to preach, many parents came over to pull their kids away. I felt like saying "let the little children come to me", but maybe blaspheming isn't such a good idea. Especially in church.
When the worship service concluded, most of the small congregation left. About a quarter stayed behind for a communion service. I wonder if transubstantiation still works when your elements are broken sugar cookies and fruit juice. Pastor Jean-Baptiste presided over communion. I couldn't understand a word he said, but his heart for the Lord was unmistakable. I found out later that he is "one of the famous men in Ruhengeri." He was a great businessman before the genocide, and came to Christ under Faustin's ministry in the refugee camp. Now he assists at the church. He says, "The happiest time in my life was when I was in the refugee camp with nothing but Jesus." What a statement. I can't imagine the depth of understanding he must have of Paul's ability to rejoice even when beaten and imprisoned. Apparently he was afraid to return to Ruhengeri because he didn't know how to reconcile his business life with his new life in Christ. But the Lord has given him back his business, and he is still able to serve the church with great fervor.
When we left church four hours later, I was drenched - and not with sweat (although it was pretty hot). It's amazing to me how frequently what lies beneath is completely contrary to what is on the surface. Though it's the dry season, it's pouring. Though I was famished, I felt completely satisfied. Though the people here are beggars, they are kings. This principle still applies to us. We American kings. We jacuzzi-soaked, satiated, American kings. We have a lot to learn about what it is to be rich. To worship. To feel the rain.
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