What I'm learning about the church ...

The church is truly an amazing concept.

Think about it.

Last weekend, we flew to a place in rural, isolated Angola that would have taken 10-14 hours by car. Five hours on paved road, and five hours on “dirt road” (a loose term, considering the roads are barely passable).

The middle of nowhere Angola.

And yet, there were people there (quite a lot, really), and a thriving church. What?!

It’s truly amazing that God’s church extends to almost every people and culture in the world (though the work is still far from finished), even though we are so different.

I mean, these people in rural Angola—Cavango to be exact—don’t have cell phone service. Many have probably never been to a city in Angola, and probably have no concept of where Canada is. They have their land, their families, and their mud huts. That’s about it. No cars. No Internet. No stores.

I’m learning a lot about the church living away from North America.

Growing up, the church I knew was populated by white, middle-to-upper class, generally older people. To me, it was a beautiful, enjoyable, old familiar place.

Then, as I grew up, my eyes were opened to what many people really thought of the church. It’s boring. It’s dying. It’s judgmental and old-fashioned. It’s fake and unwilling to change. White, bible-thumping, judgmental, upper class, conservative Americans.

The weird thing is … that’s only a very, very small part of the grand picture of the church.

Technically, the average Christian today is a poor, African or South American woman. Not rich. Not white. And not American. And probably not even remotely aware of the issues of the Western church, like whether or not Christians should make bouquets or wedding cakes for same-sex weddings, or whether Christians should protest abortion or support Trump. For most, their issues are a little closer to home: Will God bring rain to grow the crops? Will God care for me now that my husband has left me? Will God provide another child, now that my first two have died from malaria?

Moving to Angola has opened my eyes to this new type of church—a church that perhaps is much closer to the original church. A church that isn’t overwhelmed by programs and big church buildings and flashy worship. A church that is overwhelmed with the poor, and needy, and hungry, and weary, and sick.

Let me paint you a picture of some of the churches we’ve seen:

Simple, mud or concrete building. Benches. No window panes and glass. No lights or power. A few elders and a pastor. Many, many children and women. Offerings of grain and corn, and maybe a few coins and bills. Dirt floors.

So … what am I learning? Humility. That’s for sure. What I thought was the right way to “do church” is certainly not the only way. Just one way. And maybe, MAYBE not even the right way.

Simplicity. Along the same lines, maybe being a Christian is a lot simpler than I allow it to be.  

I’m learning to check my judgment at the door. Learning that poor, uneducated Christians can still teach me a lot. That they matter. That they are equal before God. That their different style of worship or teaching isn’t necessarily wrong. Just … different.

I’m learning to love the church. Sure, it’s not perfect. It’s diverse, and messy, and at times, totally difficult to love. It’s full of problems, and controversy, and pain. But it’s also part of God’s plan. 

And finally, I’m learning to love God more. The same God that I know and worship in Canada is at work in Angola, Afghanistan, the Philippines, and China.