Siete

        I hadn’t been to a Church service in 2 years; for several reasons.  The first and main reason was because of my job.  Almost every Sunday morning for the past 2 years was spent behind the till at the local Dollarama beside my house.  I never complained because, well, I loved making money and didn’t mind sacrificing my Sunday worship to earn a few bucks.  Also, as Christians go, I wasn’t hardcore religious and had spent the majority of my high school years doubting my beliefs.  Sure, I believed in God and most of the lessons written in the bible, however I had always had a small feeling squirming in the depths of me that despised religion and the controversy it caused.  This thought boiled in my brain as the large beige El Hogar stamped van pulled into the small parking lot across from the quaint powder white Episcopal church located approximately 20 minutes from the orphanage. A large gate enclosed the building, along with another which, like El Hogar, was covered in colourful murals that shawn with bright pictures of rainbows, suns and religious figures. I remembered one of the ladies in our group mentioning the Church was joined with an elementary school. 

    After entering the building of worship, I noticed we were in a one roomed sanctuary wrapped in creamy yellow painted walls. Glossy wooden pews lined the floor leading up to the alter where an exquisite chestnut cross emanated from the wall behind. Upon the pulpit, a blue robed man and woman chatted silently while the congregation filed in. I noticed nearly all of the women were wearing jeans, as apposed to a fancier apparel I had previously been told was appropriate for Church.  Scrunching up the sides of my hideous beige skirt, I glared at Maddie who also looked bewildered by their attire. As we took our seats on the glossy pews, I couldn’t help but think to myself that if I were to ever come back to El Hogar, I certainly would not be caught dead wearing a silly old skirt to Church again, that much was clear. 

                    The service began and I immediately drifted off into dreamland. Not by choice, of course, because I certainly would have enjoyed listening to all that religious mumbo jumbo. I’m sure it would have been very entertaining to learn about Jesus and how amazing he was, and how much God loves us yadda, yadda, yadda. The problem was, however, that I could not understand a word of it. Now, considering the fact that we were in a Spanish speaking country and I really should have been prepared for a service completely in the foreign language, I completely blanked out when the Minister began preaching to the congregation. My thoughts drifted to the gorgeous Josué who I was dying to see again when we returned to El Hogar. I couldn’t keep the memory of his gaze out of my head, his perfect chocolate brown eyes...

            “Ouch!” A sudden pain stabbed my side and I turned my head only see Maddie’s sharp green eyes glaring at me. “What was that for?” I silently whined as I clutched my side where she had elbowed me.

           “We need to kneel!” She whispered urgently. Gazing around the church I noticed that we were the only two people in the congregation not kneeling. 

           “Oh,” I puffed stupidly as I plopped down on to the padded pew. 

     The rest of the service was a repetition of my day dreaming about Josué, followed by an elbow in the side by Maddie telling me that it was time to kneel/stand/sing etc... The only time when this repetition came to a halt was when the passing of the peace began. Unlike the Churches in Canada where you would just whisper to your neighbor, the Church in Honduras obviously made a larger deal out of the tradition. Joyous latin music played and everyone cheerfully stood up and skipped around the church, grasping hands with each other while repeating what must have been “Peace be with you” in Spanish. Maddie and I joined the crowed along with the rest of the volunteers.  We danced around the church shaking hands with almost each member of the congregation, who smiled back at us with warm, dark eyes. These Hondurans had a liveliness to them that I couldn’t fully understand. They embraced the music, and the tradition with their entire bodies. I knew Honduras was a very religious country, but before that day I never would have predicted they would show their worship in such a animated form. The music floated around me and I felt my body spark with elation. For the first time that entire Church service, I felt illuminated, like maybe- jut maybe I was in the presence of something, or someone grander than myself.

        More than halfway through the Church service the children from Sunday school came marching through the isle. Now, even though I hadn’t been to Church in two years, I certainly remembered the size of our children’s program back home. We had approximately 10 kids at each service join the activity. Having said this, I was completely dumbfounded when the children here just kept piling in, barely leaving any room at the front of the church for the Ministers. There must have been at least 25 of them. I was also surprised that some of the kids were not kids at all, but teenagers. I was shocked because back at home, the kids stopped going to Sunday School when they were 10, because to be cliché, they were “too cool for school.” However, apparently in Honduras, it wasn’t embarrassing at all to be in your Church’s children’s program till you’re 16.  

          Amongst the sea of young faces, I did recognize a few. 5 girls and boys from El Hogar joyfully grinned from the front of the room. These were the children who excelled in their studies and their behavior during the past week. They were treated with the opportunity to attend Church, and go out for lunch with the volunteers. (I personally think they were only excited for the lunch afterwards.) The children performed a badly rehearsed skit (that I, of course, didn’t understand, but thought it was adorable regardless) and took their seats that were reserved for them at the side of the room. 

          Following a couple final hyms and some last minute preaching from the ministers, the service was over. After piling out of the church and posing for some pictures, our gang marched to the vans and took off to find the spot where we would fine dine Honduran style.