A World of Worship

Yesterday morning I joined in the worship at the First Chinese Baptist Church on the hill in Chinatown, San Francisco. Sitting in the historic brick building we sang "In Christ alone my hope is found." --words so true for me. It is dear that we can find believers we scarcely know, and join in worship of the same savior. So on the ride home that afternoon straight down the 5 to So Cal, I had time to remember worship in other places with other believers.

The year we lived in Costa Rica, each Sunday morning Larry and I would carry two small boys on to the crowded bus for a 45 minute ride south, then walk a kilometer into the village of San Lorenzo. The worship in the tin roofed church there was loud if not harmonious-- but always heartfelt. That was where Larry used his fledgling Spanish to teach the high school kids. And every Tuesday I followed behind Dona Esperanza delivering packets of food to families without.

Easter morning 2008 found Larry, Ani, Laurel and I sitting in the worship service at Redeemer Presbyterian--in the east side of Manhattan. I was heartened to see an auditorium brimming with bright, young, thoughtful people. Tim Keller talked to believers and skeptics alike about the power of the resurrection. And the classical pieces and grand hymns led by the well trained orchestra were an magnificently moving This church couldn't have been more removed from our small Costa Rican congregation-- but the spirit was the same.

In Deyang, China this summer, I sat side by side in the narrow pews, with tiny, gray haired the ladies. They passed their hymn books down the row to include us in the singing. So we would mumble along as best we could to the Chinese hymns, but were able to join in wholeheartedly now and then when "Allelujah" was part of the lyric! It was so precious to sit among these believers in a place where so few people know God. After the service, the ladies gathered around me. One took my hands and started to talk. After a few moments, she realized I didn't understand a word-- and we all had a good laugh together.

One Sunday in a small church south of Paris, Larry preached the sermon while a friend translated it into French. I loved that we sang "Holy, Holy, Holy" even though the language was not mine. We had song that same Spanish song in our church in Seville, and I grew up singing it in California. Perhaps in heaven, people of all countries will sing that "Holy, Holy, Holy" before the One who is holy!

People say that you worship "best" in your own heart language--the one you grew up speaking. But some of the most glorious worship for me has been in the church in Utrera, Spain-- the thumping & strumming of the guitar, the staccato claps to choruses with Andalucian melodies lift my soul to God. I'm hoping that when we get to heaven Jose Maria will be leading the "Coro de Utrera" for all of us to join along.

One last stop. Sitting in the sanctuary at grand All Souls Church in London seems a little taste of heaven. The light streams in through golden stained windows and brightens the gold marble columns and white walls. The magnificent organ plays from the back balcony and hymns are sung. But the thing that reminded me of heaven, is that the pews were filled with people from nations all over the world. We Americans, visiting from Spain, were behind a group from Guatemala. One day we all will worship together before our Lord in all these glorious ways with people of every nation!! Praise be to God.