Moses and the Masses

Sunday began and ended with worship.

We started out at the large Methodist church off the main road in Maua. They have three services - one in English, one in Swahili, and one in the local language Ki-Meru. I was asked to preach one of the services. You would imagine that I would be asked to preach at the English service - and I did preach in English with no translator - but I preached the Swahili service with probably 500 Kenyans. In English. With no translator. And no microphone.

The pastor assured me that 95% of the people would be able to understand me, but I felt really bad for those 5% that couldn't. Oh well. I preached on Philippians 2:1-13 and had an amazing time. I have preached to larger crowds, but it is so difficult to know that my message translates effectively. Fortunately, the gospel is the same in Kenya as in North Carolina and Texas.

Preaching that morning to an almost entirely African population gave me a renewed sense of awe for Moses. Moses is an orphan in our program that I have written about regularly in this blog. He is the one who lives on top of the mountain and is tutoring Robert (whose house I built last summer). Sunday night, he spoke through skype to a camp of Sr. High youth in Bridgeport, TX and to Crosswalk - a worship service of Lovers Lane UMC in Dallas.

Moses spoke to hundreds of people about his life, his farm, his parents who both died from HIV/AIDS and his step-mother who now carries the disease. He was great with the youth at the camp, but I was transformed by his prayer that began worship with Crosswalk.

Moses prayed that they have the rains that they need. From a farmer in Kenya, good rains mean that you have food to eat and sell. It means that you have enough food to to feed your family and enough money to send your family to school. It means that you have life. I hope that they got that in Dallas, just like I hope they understood my sermon in Maua.

I am convinced, though, that even if we were not quite understood because we come from different places, our intent was clear. We are bonded by a common Gospel. From Dallas to Maua, the Holy Spirit can connect. I know that Moses and the masses of Americans who heard him knew that he was pouring his soul into his prayer. Somehow, the Holy Spirit can make us understood in languages and cultures that we never knew. At least, that is what I read in Acts 2.