Guatemalans go to church a lot. If I had to guess why, I’d say it’s because there’s not a lot else going on, at least not in La Libertad. That, or perhaps the cultural practices of Roman Catholic churches (daily mass) have rubbed off on the evangelicals. Either way, they go a lot and they schedule their going at times odd to us.
Church is a daily thang
Our crew was invited to several services, all in the evening. I recognized several American Christian hymns sung in Spanish (fun to try to follow), and a few that may have been indigenous. The services followed a recognizable pattern: four songs, offering, mini-sermon, special offering, another mini-sermon, more singing, main sermon, more songs, hugs. In one case, they were raising money for the school so we had a third offering (don’t hate, this is how they do church in another country).
Hugs? Yay-uh! The Guatemalan church folk love to hug, and the kids, ladies, and a couple of the guys will even kiss your cheek. Awesome. I must not have gotten enough hugs as a kid (no offense mom, I’m just speculating), because I like ‘em.
Anyway, Sundays are a little different schedule. Church is so good, they go twice! They have a morning service then they come back for Sunday School from 2:00-4:30 in the afternoon. Uh. Yeah. I was expecting some culture shock, but when I was asked to deliver the Bible lesson between two and nap-thirty, I got a little nervous. I envisioned the rare privilege of putting people to sleep in two tongues, a task usually reserved for my Pentecostal brothers.
When our group heard of this spectacular opportunity (Jack is giving the Sunday School lesson – whoop!!), 60% decided to go climb a mountain instead. 11,000 foot vertical with no path, no guide, no water, no shoes, snow, 80 pound packs, stalked by man-eating burros. OK, the packs were only eight pounds. They said they’d leave at 5:00am and be back in time for the message (wink, wink). Didn’t fool me.
Didn’t fool Brian either. But he, Trina, and Donna all had injuries that prevented them going up the hill to the place where locals claim the devil tempted Jesus. Wait, what?
I feigned concern over teaching for 2-1/2 hours. Really? Cake. I can teach all day, kids. Start in Genesis, work toward maps. Gladly I asked the second most important question a speaker can ask, “How long do I need to entertain these people?”
45 minutes.
It turned out that Sunday School follows the regular format of songs, pre-pre sermon, more songs, pre-sermon, several offerings, main teaching, hugs. Glory! I can handle a 45 in my sleep, or in their sleep for that matter.
Then I remembered I’d have a guy translating everything into Espanol, so that cuts it in half. Good thing I dropped that Rosetta Stone training, huh? This was, actually, a problem.
Anyone that ever met a preacher plying his trade knows that we are experts at dragging things out. If airline pilots were preachers, the crash rate would go up faster than Lady Gaga’s knickers — few of us can land the plane in the allotted time. Most preachers cannot make a sensible point (this is why people avoid church like a shirtless guy yelling at himself walking down the middle of the street, which we saw immediately before the service began). In reality, yakking for 2.5 hours is easy for a preacher. What’s tough is speaking for 20 minutes.
Twenty minutes only allows one, crystal-clear point. One dagger to the heart of a matter.
I chose love as the matter, and I chose to hit the target in fifteen minutes to allow ten minutes for questions. “Let’s delight our guests,” yes ma’am that was in my head.
Love as a topic seemed fairly natural in this church because they are lovey. The hug part, remember? So I taught on love, and I expected hugs.
Specifically, I taught on the meaning of John 13:34-35: A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another. ~Jesus
Jesus giving a new command? So, is this the 11th commandment? Yes it is. He had a hand in writing the first ten, so giving us a new one is well within his range. So, we have 11 Commandments to memorize? Not exactly.
Matthew, Mark, and Luke all remembered Jesus reducing the Ten Commandments to two (see Matt 22): Love God, and love your neighbor as you love yourself. The second one makes you (or me) the measure of how we love others. In the new commandment, Jesus makes himself the measure, “As I have loved you, so you must love one another.”
Jesus changed the game. He moved the standard from neighborly to sacrificial. Sacrificial love is tough. It costs me something. It’s painful because I have to share your pain, and you may reject me. I have to listen to your junk and try to understand, and I have to love people in spite of their sin, corruption and my eager desire to judge them and smugly think I’m better, which I’m not. I’m just not. I can’t do sacrificial love, the new standard is too high.
And that’s exactly why Jesus raised the bar. He raised it to a level we cannot hit — a level where we need him to give us a boost.
In later chapters, Jesus tells us we can do nothing without him (John 15:5). He adds that the world will misunderstand and hate us for being so loving. Then he tells us how to do it all. He says that he will send the Holy Spirit to help us. Help us what? Help us love each other as he loved us.
Next time you meet a mean, judgmental Christian, tell her to read the new commandment. Then smile, try to give her a hug. She probably needs it.
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