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Staff Reports
Reports of recent Trips and Work by Godspeed Missionary Care
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Staff Missionary Reports
Reports and Experiences of the Godspeed Staff
Haiti, October 2004
"...pou m bay moun mon Siyon ki nan lafliksyon yo, ke kontan
nan plas lapenn yo, kontantman nan plan ke sere yo a. M'ap
mete nan bouch yo chante remesiman nan plas chante plenyen."
Ezayi 61:3, Haitian Bible (Creole language)
"...to appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them
beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of
praise for the spirit of heaviness."
Isaiah 61:3, KJV.
The initial ride to church is challenging enough, entering the
center of the city of Cap Haitien on a road more remarkable for
bathtub-size potholes than any useful stretch of pavement.
Hundreds, thousands of people line the streets in an unending
stream of street vendors, ubiquitous lottery booths, and groups
of men clustered around tables, playing cards. I see one old
man (at least he appears ancient; poverty and illness can
accelerate the appearance of age) in tattered clothes twice his
size, trudging along, carrying a sack of potatoes on his head
more than equal his weight; when our eyes meet briefly I catch
a glimpse of the chasm of difference between his world and mine.
Trucks, busses, bicycles, motorcycles, men pushing wheelbarrows
and pulling carts, jaywalking pedestrians all vie for space on
the road, but there is actually less traffic than usual. Diesel
and gas fuel are in short supply, as the road from Port au Prince
is still largely impassable.
The recent hurricane brought torrential rains, and the sea-level
city of Gonaives located south of Cap is still flooded in parts.
Transport trucks cannot get through chest-deep waters that cover
sections of the road from Port to Cap, and families that lost
everything in the flood are still digging belongings and bodies
out of the mud. We turn off the "main" road, and wind our way
toward the banks of an estuary that meanders out of the harbor.
The words "squalor" and "slum" would have already come to mind
and been found wanting, so now what we see begs for deeper, more
powerful or at least more pungent descriptors. Our missionary
host nudges the car through a sea of people and turns into an
alley that I would have never noticed. We go a few blocks
further past one-room cement block homes with bedspreads strung
as doors, the occupants sitting outside to escape the heat. We
arrive at the end of the road, or at least what is the end of
the road for now. Just in front of us is a trash heap that
stretches into the water. Goats, pigs, and children all share
the mound; one little boy who cannot be more than two (perhaps
older; the same stressors that accentuate age can delay the
growth process in a child), naked, wanders off the mound and
comes up and just stares at me.
At the end of this road, just to the right, is a cinderblock
building; we enter and ascend concrete steps. A portable
generator (using precious gasoline) on the ground level is
noisy, but the sound is blocked by other auditory input when
we reach the second floor. A large sanctuary: open block walls
that allow ventilation, a corrugated metal roof on 2 x 4
joists, rows of wooden benches, filled with about 200 people
ranging from the very young to the very old. This is Sunday
School; people sit according to their designated Sunday School
class, all in the same large room, each class with its teacher
standing in front of their respective group lecturing at full
volume, with their students responding at similar level.
"These are the prayers of the saints", I am reminded as I am
overwhelmed with a wave of voices of everyone talking
simultaneously. The pastor then takes the pulpit and one by
one asks each group to stand, to sing the song and recite the
scriptural verse they have learned today, and to answer
questions about the lesson they have just been presented. This
segues into the main worship service, with different groups
coming forward to sing, the congregation singing hymns in
French and Creole, the pastor launching into a prayer that is
part song, part chant; most of the adults in the crowd are
also praying out loud, and again the sounds of many different
voices all praying and praising at the same time fills the
room. A single electrical cord from the downstairs generator
snakes upward to run an amplifier so the pastor can be heard.
There is an electric keyboard for accompaniment, but the pianist
struggles as the norm is for everyone to start singing first,
with his task to then find a matching chord, sometimes
successfully, sometimes not. The pastor's father had just been
buried the day before, so he thanks the church for their caring
and prayers and turns the pulpit over to a visiting pastor who
has had time to prepare a sermon. The text: Micah 6:6, having
to do with sacrifices that the Lord truly desires: justice,
kindness, humility. She exhorts the people to love each other
better, to be more giving, to be less proud. I am astounded
and convicted; these people have almost nothing and their
circumstances are certainly humble, yet the message is to be
more other-focused and encouraging. An announcement is made
concerning the donations of clothing that the congregation is
sending to their sister churches in Gonaives. Out of nothing
of their own, out of their own poverty and lack, they are
giving to others.
But that is just how this church is even here. The ground on
which it stands was once part of the estuary, gradually filled
over months and years with garbage, a spontaneous landfill.
The garbage dump that is only feet away from the front door is
an extension of the same process. On the land where we now stand
and worship, in the past other pigs and goats and naked children
foraged. Over time the small group of Christians who could
never afford land for a church created their own. And now God
has taken the refuse and offal of the past and transformed it
into a foundation for this house of worship. Beauty for ashes.
Oil of gladness for mourning. I am blessed to see this garment
of praise.
Haiti is a country still devastated by political unrest,
grinding poverty, and the effects of repeated storms both
meteorological and spiritual. The missionaries I have come to
see are working in an atmosphere of uncertainty and at times
personal threat. The country needs your prayers, the
missionaries do as well. Yet there is hope, evidenced in the
growth of the number of Christians, in the faithfulness of
those who serve and teach and nurture them, and in the very
existence of a church that arose out of nothing. I am grateful
to each of you who have made it possible for me to be here;
your prayers and notes are incredibly meaningful. I look
forward to hearing from you...
Godspeed,
Barney, for Karen and the Godspeed team
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