Sunday

Day Ten

Since it was the weekend we got to sleep in a little bit this morning before breakfast, which was nice.  I had a little trouble sleeping because my shoulder seemed to hurt no matter what position I attempted to sleep in.  Note to self: don’t jump off cliffs.

We made it off to breakfast and sat around the tables talking for quite a while.  We had a lot of time to kill this morning because church wasn’t until 10:00.  It was weird to have down time with nothing to do.  All week long we had been on a tight schedule.  Schedules usually don’t mean much in Central America, but Leota kept us on one regardless.

We had decided the night before that we wanted to attend a city church so that, while we were in Honduras, we could experience a country church and a city church.  That meant that we would not be putting on a puppet show or singing any songs or anything, just sitting back and observing like the church we were used to in the states. 

We arrived at the church a little early and had to sit through the ending of the Sunday school hour.  The teacher kept going on and on about who knows what and I was started to get a little bored so I just started reading Deuteronomy.  By the time the service was over I almost finished the entire book.  It reminded me of sitting through sermons in church as a kid.  It made just about as much sense as back then.

At the end of the Sunday school hour a loud school bell sounded and all sorts of people flooded into the sanctuary.  I felt like I was back in high school running towards my second hour class so that I wouldn’t get a tardy.

The place filled up in a hurry.  There were cute little Honduran children everywhere and they were all dressed in their Sunday best.  Unlike the country, these people actually had nice clothes and were very well kept and clean.

This church also had a little worship band which included a keyboard, a bass and drums.  They sang a bunch of songs which I didn’t know.  It wouldn’t have really mattered anyway because the words were in Spanish.  The funny part was that the worship leader would start a song and then end it abruptly because the people weren’t singing with enough enthusiasm.  I’d like to see someone try that in my church at the states.  “You people are lame!  Let’s start it over again…Still terrible!  We’re going to keep doing this until we get it right.”

When a few songs had been completed the senior pastor, whom I recognized from the previous year came up on stage and began giving some announcements.  In the Honduran culture they also recognize any visitors or distinguished guests.  He had our group stand up and the congregation clapped for us.  Then he recognized an old lady who was sitting a few rows back from the front.  He announced to the audience that it was her birthday, and not only was it her birthday, but she was 115 years old.  Rita leaned over and asked, do the Guiness World Records people know about her?

After the announcements a younger Honduran man, who was probably about 19 or so came up and sang a solo.  I couldn’t understand a single word the guy was saying, but he sure sang with passion.  About halfway through the song he started to break down.  As it turns out, he was singing a song about being willing to do whatever Christ was calling him to do.  I found out later that he was about to leave his family, friends, town and country behind to attend some seminary in the states.

After his song there was a commissioning time in which some older men, probably the elders of the church all came up, surrounded the young man, and prayed for him.  I didn’t know it at the time, but I guess the young man who sang is the senior pastor of the church’s son.  Apparently he’s got some clout with this church in the city.  It seems like everywhere we go people know and love Dick. 

After the elders finished praying some old lady wandered up on the stage and decided she was going to sing a song too.  Her little performance wasn’t part of the scheduled program.  She started singing her song before the piano could begin and started in a different key that the piano player was anticipating so there was a little awkwardness.  I won’t lie, it didn’t sound great.  Not too long into her song the old lady broke down and stopped singing altogether.  She moved towards the young man and embraced him, hanging on for dear life.  The whole thing was very sentimental but a little uncomfortable.  The senior pastor took the liberty of snatching the microphone away from the old lady while she was hugging his son.  I guess there are crazies in every church.

After the old lady’s impromptu moment there were a few more songs, which were led by the senior pastor and then we partook of the Lord’s Supper, which was wonderful to participate in.  I kept thinking that although I couldn’t understand these people now, I probably would be able to in the future when God returns things to the way they ought to be.

After the service ended we hung around for quite a while shaking hands with the people of the church.  They were all very friendly and interested in what we were doing in Honduras.  The atmosphere  was open and friendly; the way church ought to be.

After church we drove back to the Seminary for lunch and a little rest and relaxation.  A little later in the afternoon we left the Seminary for a nearby town named Porto Venir, which was known for its pottery.  We ended up at the same place we did last year, which was the home of an older lady who made black pottery.  When we arrived we were surprised to meet Jorge on the porch of her house. 

We found out last year that the black pottery that this lady makes was originally an accident.  As the story goes, her drunken brother placed pine needles in her firing oven to keep warm one night and the smoke from the sap transformed her ordinary red pottery into sleek black pottery.  At first she was infuriated because she had a order to fill, but when the person who placed the order liked the black pottery better than the red she realized that she had something special.  Now she was known all over the region for her beautiful black pottery.

The thing about Jorge is that he is the son of the lady’s drunken brother.  I guess he didn’t do much as far as parenting so she ended up raising Jorge. 

After the pottery place we stopped at the strip mall in Seguatepeque for cappuccinos.  I sat one end of the table with Dick and Jorge and we talked about the ministry to the Lencas.  I asked Jorge, through Dick of course, how long it would take them to finish the church.  He said it would probably take a very long time.  The only people who knew how to lay the adobe blocks were the old guy who refused to zip up his zipper and Jorge.  To be honest I was sort of upset about it.  It bothered me that it was going to take so long to build the church.  I kept thinking of ways I might be able to come back and help.

Then Dick and Jorge talked for a while about Jorge having trouble finding an apartment.  I wondered why he needed an apartment so Dick told me that Jorge was planning on launching a ministry with the Lencas in a few different towns, but he needed a place to live.  These Honduran missionaries are so hardcore about spreading the gospel.

Dick also told me that Jorge wanted to attend the seminary in Guatemala where he could receive more in-depth training.  I was thinking how strange it was that we have about 6 billion seminaries in the Unites Sates and Jorge was going to have to go to another country to get the in-depth training that he felt he needed. 

Jorge also probed me with a few questions.  He wanted to know how many students I had in my ministry.  When I told him he was blown away.  He made this cool whistling noise through is teeth to express his amazement.  I thought it was pretty nifty, but I still haven’t figured out how to make the noise myself.

When we returned to the seminary I showed him a picture of my church from our website and he was shocked.  I sort of felt ashamed that they were scraping all the resources they had together to put up a shabby one roomed adobe block structure for a church building while we had this monstrosity for a building filled with expensive lighting, thousands of dollars in sound equipment, unnecessary stained glass and plush upholstery seating.  I couldn’t help but remember that even after they got their building up they still wouldn’t have any seats.   

Where are our priorities in the states?  Thinking about it now I feel sick.  Why do we spend millions of dollars on bricks, paint, steel and carpet when our brothers and sisters are going without electricity, cars, running water, nice clothing, and adequate food in Honduras so that they can share the gospel with an ethnic group that has been abandoned by everyone else?  I’m tired of empty church.  I want a movement that has significance

I find myself wanting to be more like these Honduran missionaries.  They don’t have much, but they give everything they have for the cause of the gospel.  This guy Jorge, for example, only has shoes because Dick gave him a pair.  He trusts himself to the care of his God, who will not let him down.

After downing our cappuccinos we headed over to a place which has an expansive floral garden filled with exotic species of plants.  We took a few pictures and cleaned the place out of coffee.  Joel and I were hoping to buy about a million pounds of coffee for our new student ministry coffee shop event on Sunday nights so we forced the group go with us to the local grocery store where we bought every bag of high grade coffee beans that they had.  We walked out of the store with fifteen pounds of coffee.  The total price came to 780 limps, which is about 5 bucks or something.  Did I mention that I hate Starbucks and their overpriced coffee?

Finally we returned to the Seminary after what seemed like a ten hour tour of Seguatepeque.  We spent some time resting before our second big date at the Pizza place.  I spent our down time with Jorge showing him pictures of Katie and Keegan on my computer.  After a few minutes Dick showed up with his laptop and showed us some vintage pictures of him and David Brooks, back when they had hair and stuff.  Dick had pictures from everywhere.  I’m pretty sure he has been to about every country in the world.  Seriously, one day I was talking about Rwanda and how my dad is getting ready to launch a clean water project there with Mars Hill Bible Church and Dick responded by saying, “Oh yeah, Rwanda.  They have really dark red clay there.  I was there during the revolutions—pretty wild stuff.”  Who is this guy?

The Pizzeria Venetia was fabulous as always.  We enjoyed good pizza and great conversation.  Jill and I spent quite a while talking about relationships and marriage and all that good stuff, while the boys spilled pop, broke glasses and generally created a hilarious nuisance.  Oh the difference between boys and girls.

We have about the perfect mix in our group.  We have a few guys who always want to make people laugh.  We have a few people who always want to serve others.  We have some who want to talk all the time (like me), and some who want to listen to others tell stories.  We have a few people who are constantly focused on the details and making sure we don’t forget something important, and we have a few leaders who are centered upon just getting stuff done.  I must say the group has meshed together quite nicely.  We have a great assortment of personalities and gifting.  Usually you end up with a lot of conflict between team members on a mission trip, especially with such different people and a trip of this magnitude of difficulty, but this group has been a breeze. 

After dinner we returned to the Seminary to pack up our things and hang out for a while.  We played some games and just hung out at the Snack Shack.  I must say, it feels strange to admit that this trip is nearly over.  It feels like we have been in Honduras together for a lifetime.