This morning the 18th of January, I woke to the sounds of the North Highway cars going by as all of the windows in the apartment were open. It was actually quite cold in our room. I had retrieved my Vandy zip up hoodie a couple of hours earlier as there are no blankets, just the leopard sheets I brought with me. I went to the bathroom and spit in the sink only to discover my saliva had turned ink black. I stuck my tongue out and to my dismay, it appeared as if I had been sucking on a charcoal briquette all night. Thinking I had contracted the pl age of Belize, I somewhat panicked and ran to Zac for advice. He didn't know what was wrong with me either but found out later that if you take Pepto pills just before bed, they turn your tongue black. So, I wasn't suffering from any mysterious South American plague after all.
We left for church and i was absolutely uncertain of what we would find or even what church looked like in Belize. As we drove past the droves of dilapidated houses, I couldn't help but think how very different this Sunday was from every other I had ever experienced. At home, I would wake up and decide whether or not I really wanted to go to church that particular morning. If I decided I should, the I would make the long trek to the bathroom twenty feet from the comfort of my California King bed to the hot, clean shower. I'd pick and dress from an assortment of items in my walk in closet, grab a quick snack if I felt like taking the time to search the fully stocked cupboard, and hop into my car to hopefully make it to church somewhat on time. As we pulled up to the concrete building via a grass covered path, I realized this was like no church I had ever attended before.
The mega church I went to in high school had shuttles to take us from the mammoth parking lot filled with shiny new cars. We would then be dropped in front of the escalator that would then deliver us to the front door and into the lobby. Instead of a shuttle this day, we had our feet following a crude path through an overgrown field. In place of an escalator, burnt trash piles and a single pured concrete step greeted us. The service was already in progress when we arrived. The congregation of about 15 or so sat in roughly built pews facing a Belizean pastor speaking from a tile laden pulpit behind a plain wooden podium. He was speaking Spanish and as we sat down, he acknowledged our presence and welcomed us in English. He led the church in Spanish hymns accompanied by synthesized music from a CD player hooked to speakers. I later learned those speakers were donated by an American church in Nashville, TN. I did my best to keep up, reading the hymn words off of a photocopied sheet that had the words written in both English and Spanish. I now understand how those first reading the Rosetta Stone must have felt.
The pastor then informed us in English that this was the part of the service where they greeted each other and asked one of us to stand up and introduce the group. Charles, a freshman at the University of Tennessee who had already made a few trips to the church in years past, took the honors and listed off our names for the congregation. Some music began to play and I was swarmed and formally greeted with a smile, a handshake, and a broken English "welcome" from every person in the building. We then broke up and went to another part of the building that had two flights of very steep pured concrete stairs leading to a second floor with nothing but concrete walls, windows with steel louvered blinds and no glass, and a stack of plastic chairs. The feel of the room was that of a building still in construction when all that had been constructed was the foundation and concrete block walls.
We joined one of the two groups that had begun to gather in adjacent rooms. This group was constructed of 10-18 year olds and the other of preschool to third grade. They let us attend this group because the main congregation's Sunday school class would be entirely in Spanish. One of the Belizeans taught a lesson, mostly in Spanish, and then we all memorized a Bible verse in both English and Spanish. Genesis 1:2, "Man was created in the image of God, in the image of God He created them, Male and Female he created them." While this was going on, I could hear the younger children in the room next to us singing a familiar tune. The words were in Spanish but I recognized the song as "All in All" . I got goosebumps listening to them and it made me realize something I had been trying to understand but had been unable to up to this point in the U.S. Every Christian worships the same God across the world, and no one person's method is more recognized or blessed than others. This thought forced me to think and confront my own ideas about others in my own society. How we in the United States have a tendency to look down at illegal immigrants from Mexico or others who aren't American. Even if it is subconsciously, it is still there. How it must feel for the section of "English as a second language" who aren't quite like the rest of the 2000 plus congregation around them. Well here I was, role reversed, and I was welcomed openly and more readily than in most of the churches I had attended growing up. I was convicted. We returned to the main church building and stood by groups, one by one in front of the rest of the church and shared what we had learned in our Sunday school class. The pastor said a finally prayer in Spanish, and we were dismissed. I will never forget the kindness and genuine acceptance I felt from the people around me during that church service. This was truly an example of how Christ's love and acceptance is meant to be.
We left for church and i was absolutely uncertain of what we would find or even what church looked like in Belize. As we drove past the droves of dilapidated houses, I couldn't help but think how very different this Sunday was from every other I had ever experienced. At home, I would wake up and decide whether or not I really wanted to go to church that particular morning. If I decided I should, the I would make the long trek to the bathroom twenty feet from the comfort of my California King bed to the hot, clean shower. I'd pick and dress from an assortment of items in my walk in closet, grab a quick snack if I felt like taking the time to search the fully stocked cupboard, and hop into my car to hopefully make it to church somewhat on time. As we pulled up to the concrete building via a grass covered path, I realized this was like no church I had ever attended before.
The mega church I went to in high school had shuttles to take us from the mammoth parking lot filled with shiny new cars. We would then be dropped in front of the escalator that would then deliver us to the front door and into the lobby. Instead of a shuttle this day, we had our feet following a crude path through an overgrown field. In place of an escalator, burnt trash piles and a single pured concrete step greeted us. The service was already in progress when we arrived. The congregation of about 15 or so sat in roughly built pews facing a Belizean pastor speaking from a tile laden pulpit behind a plain wooden podium. He was speaking Spanish and as we sat down, he acknowledged our presence and welcomed us in English. He led the church in Spanish hymns accompanied by synthesized music from a CD player hooked to speakers. I later learned those speakers were donated by an American church in Nashville, TN. I did my best to keep up, reading the hymn words off of a photocopied sheet that had the words written in both English and Spanish. I now understand how those first reading the Rosetta Stone must have felt.
The pastor then informed us in English that this was the part of the service where they greeted each other and asked one of us to stand up and introduce the group. Charles, a freshman at the University of Tennessee who had already made a few trips to the church in years past, took the honors and listed off our names for the congregation. Some music began to play and I was swarmed and formally greeted with a smile, a handshake, and a broken English "welcome" from every person in the building. We then broke up and went to another part of the building that had two flights of very steep pured concrete stairs leading to a second floor with nothing but concrete walls, windows with steel louvered blinds and no glass, and a stack of plastic chairs. The feel of the room was that of a building still in construction when all that had been constructed was the foundation and concrete block walls.
We joined one of the two groups that had begun to gather in adjacent rooms. This group was constructed of 10-18 year olds and the other of preschool to third grade. They let us attend this group because the main congregation's Sunday school class would be entirely in Spanish. One of the Belizeans taught a lesson, mostly in Spanish, and then we all memorized a Bible verse in both English and Spanish. Genesis 1:2, "Man was created in the image of God, in the image of God He created them, Male and Female he created them." While this was going on, I could hear the younger children in the room next to us singing a familiar tune. The words were in Spanish but I recognized the song as "All in All" . I got goosebumps listening to them and it made me realize something I had been trying to understand but had been unable to up to this point in the U.S. Every Christian worships the same God across the world, and no one person's method is more recognized or blessed than others. This thought forced me to think and confront my own ideas about others in my own society. How we in the United States have a tendency to look down at illegal immigrants from Mexico or others who aren't American. Even if it is subconsciously, it is still there. How it must feel for the section of "English as a second language" who aren't quite like the rest of the 2000 plus congregation around them. Well here I was, role reversed, and I was welcomed openly and more readily than in most of the churches I had attended growing up. I was convicted. We returned to the main church building and stood by groups, one by one in front of the rest of the church and shared what we had learned in our Sunday school class. The pastor said a finally prayer in Spanish, and we were dismissed. I will never forget the kindness and genuine acceptance I felt from the people around me during that church service. This was truly an example of how Christ's love and acceptance is meant to be.
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