Our land rover stopped at an undecorated concrete doorframe squashed between the buildings on either side. Barefoot, happy children played in the trash-filled gutters along the narrow street. There was a covered area over the gutter big enough to fit three cars tightly parked…the church parking lot.
I had come with a group of Mercy Ships crew including some families from Ghana – good friends of mine. 18 month Esther has adopted me as her “auntie”, and solemnly read my bible during the sermon while trying to push my sunglasses up over her nose with one small brown finger.
The lightbulbs were bare, strung across the ceiling on a bit of wire. The church banner was in crayon, with some tinsel and a few balloons as decoration. We sat in lawn chairs on the pitted concrete and dirt floor. The sermon was in Krio, with an English translation over top.
But the people were warm and welcoming, dressed in their best. The worship was lively and heartfelt, the sermon to the point and challenging, and the presence of God walked among us. Despite the surroundings, this was a church in the truest sense of the word.
I asked Gina (Esther’s mother) later if she had been to that church before. She had, several years ago. “So what was it like before,” I asked. “Does it look about the same?”
“Oh no,” Gina said. “It’s much nicer now. They have walls.”
Last Sunday I rewrote my mental definition of an “upscale” church, a “fancy” building. And if we’re truly honest, how much does the décor matter beyond our own pride and distraction. When God walked into our church service last Sunday did he see the décor and surroundings, or did he look through all of that straight into the souls of the worshippers gathered?
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