Church...In a bar? YESSSSS!!!

Recently we had the opportunity to start attending church in a bar in Petionville. It’s called The Irish Embassy. Church in a bar is a fantastic idea.  For the first time in my life I can honestly say that I think I would like to continue to attend this gathering of educated and progressively minded group of people. I like that it is a non-conformist approach to dissecting the testament. I like that it is informal. And I totally dig and respect that it is in an Irish Pub. That kicks the awesome factor up significantly.

Most churches that I’ve attended throughout my life totally freak me out. There is such a wide variety of religion in my family, and most of my experience with religion has been one episode of, “they’re wrong, we’re right” after another. That’s simply just not my style. I will never be one to try to convince someone that what I feel is right and what they feel is wrong. I will never knock on your door and tell you that you should join me in my personal crusade to change how the world thinks about God. Those decisions are completely up to each and every one of us. I try to be a good person. I try to do what I’m set here to do – which in some ways I’m still trying to find out. But mostly, I know that I have plenty. And if someone needs something, and I have the ability to help them, then I should help them. I don’t care what nationality someone is. I don’t care what their shoe size is. I don’t care what they ate for breakfast. I just try to look for the good in humanity. And I try to be some of the good in the world.

There isn’t a huge selection of churches that are for English speakers here in Haiti. So we go where we can. We had previously attended a church at a school in Port au Prince. I liked the school church. Though I didn’t know anyone and wasn’t really familiar with the songs that are sung there, I had a profound experience one morning a few weeks ago. I found myself listening to the beautiful music being sung and let the words reverberate within my thoughts. And it brought me to tears. Some might say this was the holy spirit, the holy ghost, god talking to me, jesus answering questions…or that it was a kinesthetic response to hearing harmony and rhythm and the beautiful sound of collaborative voices pleading for answered prayers. I was completely unfamiliar with the music and composition, but the songs were about pain and feeling pain and living through pain. And it brought me to tears several times. I was rather uncomfortable emoting in a place filled with strangers who comfortably shared something so foreign to me, so I stifled several times. But I kept feeling the urge to lie down in the fetal position on the floor and cry out in pain.

I do feel pain. I feel emotional pain. I feel physical pain. I feel pain deeply in my soul. Is this why I’m here? To feel this? Here? I've been feeling a variety of pain for almost four years now. Most profoundly, the pain I've felt in the last few months has left me emotionally crippled at times. And I find that going through the motions of life here has brought me closer to that pain. It takes a lot of energy to live here. But I try to put a smile on my face and muster up the energy every day and do it. Even though I try to smile through it, this hurts. It is one of the hardest things I have ever done. I've also felt some of the most amazing and beautiful joy a person can through this process. The dichotomy is unparalleled.

But when will our time come? When will we feel the accomplishment and joy that we have watched so many feel? When will we be on that blissful other side? When will we be able to look back and say that we survived this? What will do it? How much is enough pain? How much is enough joy? How much more will we give? How much more will we pay? How much more will we need to do? How much more will we cry?

I'm not sure what the answer is. But under a little tin roof in a room full of strangers, I felt vulnerable. Out of place. And yet right at home. This isn't supposed to be home. It's time to go home. I want my cry to be with the man I love when I see him at the end of the long walk in the airport and I can fall into his arms and know that we did it. We made it through. I don’t want to find myself in a room full of strangers in a ball on the floor rocking myself to comfort the flowing tears.

There are so many more tears that come raging to the surface when I think about how after I accomplish the goal of getting the boys home, I will still only be 2/3 way to the finish line. We still have the whole process to follow with V.

Years from now I know I'll wish that I could do a lot of this all over again. But for now, I'm pretty much done and I want to go home.

I’m thankful for our new little church in a bar. I think it is the first perfect fit for my spiritual needs. The blend of critical analysis along with a methodology for pursuing a deeper meaning behind the words of the text, and in combination with an open platform for independent thought to be shared is a little slice of heaven in the midst of all this chaos. And I didn’t want to cry. Anything that makes me not want to cry right now is a big plus. I just wish that they hadn’t run out of Guiness. That was sadness. I hope the next Sunday I can find a ride to the church at the pub, that they will have a tall glass of Guiness for me.