And the Wall Came Tumbling Down

This morning after church Nari and I were walking to join Natacha for sandwiches down by the river. Natacha was in charge of an information display for Mozaik at an all-city garage sale wherein students were invited to participate. To the point, on the way Nari and I passed by an entry to a cyber cafe next to UTC that I pass all the time. Today, however, I heard loud “hallelujahs” and worship echoing out into the street from within. Nari kept walking, on the phone with Natacha and not having heard the praises. “Nari!” I called, “listen.” She came running back and then we just turned to one another, quickly forgetting our sandwiches and waiting Natacha, “Tu veux voir?” [do you want to see] A simultaneous, “Yes.”

It was a gathering of no more than 10-15 adults and children in what would be labeled a small ethnic church. A handful of the women were dressed in traditional African wear, which we later found out was more specifically Congolese. We were welcomed in and took our places at the plastic porch chairs, standing and praising. As the pastor powerfully began speak of the Father God, in whom we have victory, and by whom the disobedient devil was banished from heaven, and because of whom we have hope and joy because of the death and LIFE of Jesus Christ, I began to cry then weep. The pastor was loud and powerful, then at other moments tender and inviting, and I realized. I realized I have forgotten what a powerful God we serve. I wept profusely as Nari laid her hand on my back then I, mine on hers, and I saw Xue. I saw the walls of Jericho. I saw crumbling unbelief. And I saw a God who is capable. Who is powerful. Who has the victory and it is my great sin to not believe and follow obediently in the great conviction that he is tearing down walls. As worship continued, we were invited to take the hand of our neighbor or place our hand on the person in front of us, something I haven’t done in church since I left America. A member of the church prayed and again, more profuse weeping as I heard so much of God’s joy and love in his prayer to a God who is glorious, worthy, powerful. Forgive me, for I have sinned and forgotten.

I love church. And even though I’ve gone through rough spells, I always have and will need church in a way I can’t explain. Today I was reminded of the place wherein God has established the Church in the living out of Christian faith, of identifying with a people and learning of a God corporately. Church affects ministry. In its timidity, church teaches us as well timidity. In its carefulness, it teaches us to be careful. In its boldness, it teaches us proclamation. In its teaching emphases, be it stoic intellectual recitations, inspired and informed textual exegesis, proclamations of Gospel through spoken and sung word, it teaches something about the person of God beyond what is simply stated. Through the implicit curriculum of form and function and method of Sunday mornings, or Saturday nights or Friday evenings or whatever, we as members of a church and ministers of the Gospel are equipped, or ill-equipped, to know how to go about our weeks of living with others in his name.

While my job here is to support and not criticize, this morning I realized the French church has as many walls up to a powerful and liberating God as the culture. God is moving in the church, there is no doubt. Nonetheless, values and identities such as homogeneity in form, fear, safety, carefulness, not thinking outside the box, are just as much at work in churches here as they are in the culture. And both church and culture are bound here in a way that saddens and teaches me how to direct my prayers and encouragements. I am not basing this realization off of one morning’s experience in an ethnic church, for there are other instances, and one this week at Passion has led me to see God’s hand in placing these pieces of comprehension before me. Knowing Americans as I do, knowing the energy-expectations of Passion as I do, I realized this by reading the body language and encouragements of the Passion stage—France was and is a tough crowd, even the passionate Christians. Because of so many national wounds, they have learned to play it safe. And sadly, I think, this life becomes best lived with a safe God.

This morning, as Nari and I walked out of this small little church gathering, jaws to the ground with how awesome God’s presence was there, I told her, “I forgot that we serve a powerful God who can tear down walls.” And in further reflection I am reminded of the oft-quoted because it’s SO true line of C.S. Lewis in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe concerning Aslan, the lion who symbolizes in this series Jesus. “Safe? Of course [Aslan] isn’t safe. But he’s good.” I serve a good God, who is not safe, who is not timid, who demands that I shout and pray that walls come down.

Note: It is a known fact amongst French national Christians, mission workers, and ethnic Christians (in France this normally means of African origin) that ethnic churches may at times not always have the clearest theologies, namely that there can be incorporated into their beliefs and practices remnants of spiritism and animism. Another visit will help me in discerning, but this morning I heard three in one preached--Father, Son, and Spirit--and did not hear nor discern worship, praise, or pastoral direction that would place me ill-at-ease. Several points in fact confirmed a sincerity and Spirit-led gathering.