The Church

Our team with Pastor Frederico and some of his family

“You cannot care for Me, with no regard for her / If you love Me, you will love the Church.” With this poignant line, singer Derek Webb ends his first solo album. The album is “She Must and Shall Go Free” and the song is titled simply “The Church”—and every time I’m traveling overseas and visit a local church body, I experience this truth in a new way.

After a solid night’s sleep and a decent breakfast, we all felt a new perspective on life in EG. Daylight helped as well. (Did I mention that when we got into the guesthouse we were staying at in Bata, there was no electric? That’s great fun at nearly midnight in the Developing World during rainy season…) We headed to meet Pastor Frederico. We pulled up, greeted him, and were invited into his living room to sit down. After a bit he came in and we talked about his church, the land down the street on which they hoped to someday build, and his personal journey as a pastor.

Soon, it was time for the church gathering. We went in and sat down in a predictably steamy, open-air patio off the back of Pastor Frederico’s house. It was certainly nothing exciting—about 30 chairs, a makeshift altar (coffee table covered with a sheet) and a podium inside of which the family’s cat was sleeping. With our delegation, the place was full, but certainly not overflowing. However, it was certainly the church: an elderly couple to my left, a few somewhat large, colorful and joyous women in front of me, a young single man in his 20’s behind me, a few teens with attitudes in the back, and some children wandering around behind the chairs. Sounds like church to me.

The clear indication that it was time for the service to start: one of the colorful women in the front rose, started to shake a kind of maraca and sing in Fang, the tribal tongue spoken by about 80% of Equatorial Guineans. The rest of the church rose immediately after her, and it was on. This tiny group (our delegation, of course, didn’t know the song) sang so loudly that I felt like the tin roof above us might be in trouble. As they did, all who were participating in the service paraded through the center: Pastor Frederico, his assistant Oscar, Pastor Mario, who was preaching that morning, Pastor Guy Roget from Gabon, and our very own Steve Straw. Pastor Frederico spoke a bit, they sang some more, some introductions, more singing, Pastor Mario preaching a killer sermon complete with translation into Fang, and then a few closing prayers and an offering. Sounds like church to me.

We then moved from the back of the house to the front porch, and a majority of those present that morning also made up the “leadership team” that met over cold beverages. We talked about church politics, buildings, organizational structures, and when pressed, got back to values, prayer, and the transformation of people’s hearts. There were some tense moments; there was loud laughter and even some applause following one particularly spirited comment/speech. Our time ended with Pastor Mario and I praying blessing and anointing over Pastor Frederico and Pastor Simone, who is starting a church in Malabo, the political capital of EG. Definitely sounds like the church to me.

As I was walking of the front porch, the woman from the elderly couple in the church grabbed my hand. Her hand was shaking as she held mine over the stone railing which separated us. She spoke a few words that I would have had difficulty understanding had they been in English—that they were spoken in Fang made them clearly impossible. The young man beside me told me that she only speaks Fang, and since he didn’t, he couldn’t interpret.

It was then the magic happened. She looked at me, one eye seemingly clouded with a cataract, and this woman who was likely well into her 80’s began to sing over me. Of course I have absolutely no idea what she sang, but it was beautiful. Her voice rasped a bit, but her words seemed to shoot directly to heaven. For the next two or three minutes, she just looked in my eyes and sang.

I was once told that the word “Hallelujah” is the only word that is the same in every language on earth. I don’t know if that’s true, but it’s the same in Fang as it is in English. That was how her song ended: with a string of “Hallelujahs” that shot straight over my head to the ear of her Savior.

To anyone else, it would look exceedingly odd. Here’s a very old African woman grabbing the hands of bald, sweaty white man and singing to him. Unless you’re on a stage performing “The Sound of Music”, that’s just a bit weird. (As though the “Sound of Music” isn’t.) But it was incredible. My spirit soared with her words as she sang them. That is most certainly the church.

Later that night, we had the opportunity to pray over this woman. It was explained to us that she was very ill and dying, and she told us that although God hadn’t healed her yet, she’d like us to pray that He would. Then she told us that she had peace, that everything that needed to happen had happened, she was old, and that she was ready to die and be with Jesus if this was the time. I, for one, was not at all surprised. We prayed God’s mercy and healing over her, and when we were finished, she spoke two phrases through the translator: “As you prayed, I felt a strange warmth inside of me.” And then: “That’s why I need a drink of water.” And she waited for us to oblige.

The Church. It’s sometimes odd, always broken, often hypocritical, a bit dysfunctional… and beautiful. The radiant bride of Christ, in all of its mess. I’m still not sure exactly how we’ll be connected to the work in Equatorial Guinea, but I do know that the Church is here.

And I was thrilled to meet her.