What's A Sunday Look Like?

I heard Church bells ringing yesterday morning. They mingle for a moment with the clopping of horses’ hoofs on the street outside. I am getting dressed to go to church. I have on my dress (mandatory), and realize I’ve forgotten to put a scarf on my head. Being married, this is a must. Out comes a versatile bandana. Ron uses it as a hankie, and after it comes from the wash it goes on my hair.

We enter the church and I pull my coat tighter. There are just a few oil space heaters in the cement building. I’m not freezing, but know the cement blocks are competing for my body heat.

Ron and Matt sit on one side of the room, and the girls and I place ourselves on the other. Everyone greets us with a handshake, a smile, and sounds that must be words.

The songs begin. I’m shocked by the volume and richness of these 25 people. Some tunes are familiar, and some seem to cry with a Russian undertone, dark, yet somehow laced with The Hope.

The first speaker is from the congregation. For forty minutes he talks. We then pray. All of us stand as various men talk to God. With some unspoken cue, the women know it's their turn. Some of their voices waiver as they make appeals. Jumbled voices dance around me and I pray too.

We are sitting again as the Pastor starts his part of the service. Heather and Pavel bring up the youth group and sing three songs. It is not the timid singing of a youth group at home. One young man closes his eyes and sings for His King. The pastor asks for any special messages or gifts for God. A man reads a Psalm. Ron (my husband!) gets up and talks about revival. Pavel translates. I wonder what the Romanians think about Ron’s message. I wonder what they think about us. A 1 year old toddles up and down the isle, circling the pulpit and laughing with joy. Oblivious, a man reads his poem. That unknown cue comes and the women begin. One lone gorgeous voice sings a song. With the second stanza others join in. The toddler continues to play.

The Pastor now has his chance to preach. He stands, gestures and talks. He seems a good preacher, but soon I settle into God’s word and soak. I can’t understand the words from the pulpit, but I hear HIS voice. I am among God’s people, and there is joy surrounding my space.

Two hours are gone. We rise, and greet each other again. Pace they say and I say it back.
Peace.