It's getting harder to keep track of how this week fit together. There were so many significant moments that even limiting posts to those is adding up something fierce. Anyway, one of these special moments was God's song for me. Alisa was in her morning prayer and she received a word for me, which she was instructed to sing over me.
Now, Alisa received healing for singing not terribly long ago, and so the fact that she was asked to sing the message was like an extra confirmation of God's wanting her to sing. As she told me about this being the first time she was asked to sing a message we both laughed at the idea that God was blessing "Two birds with one song". I was instructed to prepare myself with tissues, and I was asked about my preference: song at the beginning or end of our session? I opted for beginning, since fewer people would be there to witness any sobtastic behavior. Just for added context, this word came after my healing and racial (or I should say continental) reconciliation. Here it is.
Fear not, for I am with you;
Be not dismayed, for I am your God;
I will strengthen you, I will help you,
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. Isaiah 41:10
Alisa sang of God's love for me, and on the other side of the paper was a message from her:
You are loved. You are valued. You are His own precious daughter. People may hurt and disappoint you, but never forget who you are! He has made you. He is pleased with you. He brought you here to Kalisz. It is not by chance! You are here for your healing. He is the Balm Gilead. Let Him heal you. He will heal your heart. Pain and wounds be gone in Jesus' name!
In the song God had given her, He told me that he felt every hurt and every blow, and He sang of His love for me. It was beautiful.
We then went on and finished our last worship session, during which another member of our team claimed his healing and sang worship songs, overcoming the mental block he had for singing. Then we went back to the hotel for breakfast.
Showing posts with label tents. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tents. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
European Communion and Reconciliation
It was the end of one of our worship sessions, about the middle of the week, when our team and a few others with whom we had all made friends were gathered together to take communion. One of the fabulously friendly members of one of the German teams had invited us. Having taken communion with my team many times I expected this to be a rather similar experience: the solemnity of pondering what Christ had gone through along with the joy that comes from pondering what He accomplished. Of course, there is also the step of repentance for any sins I am aware of, because communion is serious and as a youth pastor dutifully informed me, we don't want to take God's judgment upon us because we entered into communion with hard hearts. Now, I had taken communion just two hours before with my team so I skipped the self examination and repentance part and just pondered the cross.
I went to place the bread, representing the body of Christ, in my mouth. As soon as the bread touched my tongue I realized that skipping the repentance part might not have been so good an idea after all. I was physically unable to take communion! In a split second I was down on my knees asking for forgiveness.
God had revealed to me that I could not take communion with the greater community of Europe because I had not forgiven the entire continent for their involvement in the slave trade of Africans so many years ago. I had not forgiven Europeans (and people of European descent) for the fact that what heritage I did have would always be hyphenated, as I would always be AFRICAN-American and AFRO-latina. I was tired of being asked what country in Africa I was from after having just said I was American, and I was tired of people touching my hair and asking me awkward questions about my African heritage when any knowledge of it had been purposefully taken away from me.
Most of all, I was tired of being angry.
God had mercifully brought me to a place of repentance and through that, healing. Burning in my heart as I got up from my knees and drank the wine, representing the blood shed for the forgiveness of our sins, was the desire to confess the sin of the hardness of my heart and my lack of forgiveness.
Now, I was the only person of color at this event until someone who looked to be of Latin American descent arrived with one of the teams from England. At any rate I was certainly the only Black person and one of two Americans, the only non-Europeans present. I wasn't exactly thrilled to go up in front of everyone during the morning meeting and be like "Up until yesterday I subconsciously hated all of you, but God revealed that to me and healed me. Forgive and forget?"
I asked to speak with the organizer of our team, who is also the other American. I explained to her what I was going through, and I asked if it made sense to go up and confess. Given the focus on Israel no one was thinking of the enslavement and torture of Africans. Germany was far too busy feeling guilty about the Holocaust and their poor treatment of the Polish people in general, and that's all most anyone else was focused on. Why bring it up, even if to apologize for my lack of forgiveness?
Alisa told me that in my place she might not be so gracious as to go up and apologize, but I felt it was the right thing to do. What use is there holding on to hurt and pain? It just holds you back from entering into the fullness of God's will for you. She agreed with me.
So up I went to apologize, and as I rushed off I heard the scattered "We forgive you!"s.
I had resigned myself to the fact that most likely no one would apologize to me, but it still hurt not to hear it. But then, having a knowledge of the way of the world I know that Black people are generally not much more valued than they were during the slave trade, however enlightened the world may now consider itself to be. I expected no one to feel guilty or compelled to confess to their nation's part in the slave trade, and I had determined to come to my place of forgiveness without receiving someone else's apology.
With the weight of un-forgiveness no longer dragging me down I already felt I had come out a winner.
I went to place the bread, representing the body of Christ, in my mouth. As soon as the bread touched my tongue I realized that skipping the repentance part might not have been so good an idea after all. I was physically unable to take communion! In a split second I was down on my knees asking for forgiveness.
God had revealed to me that I could not take communion with the greater community of Europe because I had not forgiven the entire continent for their involvement in the slave trade of Africans so many years ago. I had not forgiven Europeans (and people of European descent) for the fact that what heritage I did have would always be hyphenated, as I would always be AFRICAN-American and AFRO-latina. I was tired of being asked what country in Africa I was from after having just said I was American, and I was tired of people touching my hair and asking me awkward questions about my African heritage when any knowledge of it had been purposefully taken away from me.
Most of all, I was tired of being angry.
God had mercifully brought me to a place of repentance and through that, healing. Burning in my heart as I got up from my knees and drank the wine, representing the blood shed for the forgiveness of our sins, was the desire to confess the sin of the hardness of my heart and my lack of forgiveness.
Now, I was the only person of color at this event until someone who looked to be of Latin American descent arrived with one of the teams from England. At any rate I was certainly the only Black person and one of two Americans, the only non-Europeans present. I wasn't exactly thrilled to go up in front of everyone during the morning meeting and be like "Up until yesterday I subconsciously hated all of you, but God revealed that to me and healed me. Forgive and forget?"
I asked to speak with the organizer of our team, who is also the other American. I explained to her what I was going through, and I asked if it made sense to go up and confess. Given the focus on Israel no one was thinking of the enslavement and torture of Africans. Germany was far too busy feeling guilty about the Holocaust and their poor treatment of the Polish people in general, and that's all most anyone else was focused on. Why bring it up, even if to apologize for my lack of forgiveness?
Alisa told me that in my place she might not be so gracious as to go up and apologize, but I felt it was the right thing to do. What use is there holding on to hurt and pain? It just holds you back from entering into the fullness of God's will for you. She agreed with me.
So up I went to apologize, and as I rushed off I heard the scattered "We forgive you!"s.
I had resigned myself to the fact that most likely no one would apologize to me, but it still hurt not to hear it. But then, having a knowledge of the way of the world I know that Black people are generally not much more valued than they were during the slave trade, however enlightened the world may now consider itself to be. I expected no one to feel guilty or compelled to confess to their nation's part in the slave trade, and I had determined to come to my place of forgiveness without receiving someone else's apology.
With the weight of un-forgiveness no longer dragging me down I already felt I had come out a winner.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Italian Worship
Without a shadow of a doubt I was meant to have gone to Poland this past week. If I'm going to be honest that trip was the main and possibly only thing I was looking forward to coming back to Milan for, apart from friends of course. My heart quailed at the thought of coming back to a country where I felt more of a foreigner and infringer than I ever thought possible. It was like lazing around in lovely salty sea water and then being told you had to do laps through molasses now. Hence the comment in previous post about my heart for Italy needing to be restored.
Now, what do Poland and Italian worship have to do with each other you ask? Well let me tell you! A lovely church in Kalisz, Poland has a pastor with a heart for Israel, and every year during Sukkot (Feast of Tabernacles) he invites nations from all over Europe to join together in 24 hour worship and prayer for the entire week. A herculean effort, but all made possible through an abundance of Holy Spirit blessing and presence. So, less herculean and more spritulean (that word is totally in Webster's...).
So now the pieces are coming together. But as an American what could I possibly have to do with the Italian team going to Poland for Sukkot? And an African-American at that, I can't even make fanciful claims of distant or otherwise ties to European ancestry. Well, God doesn't care about that. He saw my heart was willing, and so for the entire week I was the main vocalist and secondary guitar player for Team Italy. God is AMAZING. Like, AMAZING. I think anyone who experienced my worship leading throughout college and high school can attest to the fact that I have a heart for international and intercultural worship. This was like a really early Christmas present and birthday present and another Christmas present all wrapped up into one big weeklong 24 hour a day
extravaganza. Only God can come up with a team that an American woman prayed over for two years resulting in: her and our English friend as chorus and intercession, me as lead vocalist and some guitar, a 17 year old Italian on drums, a 19 year old Italian on electric guitar, and a 40 something year old (father of drummer) on bass guitar. God is something special. Really special.
Even the painful bits of the week were good, but this particular post is for the gushing "that was fantabulous" portion. My time in Poland was both one of the most intimate and communal worship experiences I have ever had. My own personal worship of God seemed to have grown exponentially. There was such an air and encouragement of freedom that I felt completely comfortable letting go, and before I knew it I was praying and prophesying and declaring words from God whilst hitting notes I never thought I'd reach vocally during our worship sessions (unfortunately that same anointing didn't fall on my guitar playing... ). Each session was two hours long, but when the end of our sessions came up our team was always surprised with how quickly a session had passed. It was like we were all transported to a place where time had no importance and wasn't really all that noticeable. Our hearts were focused on worshiping God, and all was as it should be.
In that same vein, being continually surrounded by and fellowshipping with people whose hearts were focused on God, well that was wonderful. I met so many people who are now so dear to me and who were instrumental in the work God was doing in my heart and in my life while I was in Kalisz. I know also that God had used me to work in the lives and hearts of other people present as well.
God honored so many prayers, desires, and dreams by bringing us together as a group and it was wonderful to see the ways our dreams came together. It was truly a taste of heaven. Nations together, worshipping in various tongues, all declaring "Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty!"
Now, what do Poland and Italian worship have to do with each other you ask? Well let me tell you! A lovely church in Kalisz, Poland has a pastor with a heart for Israel, and every year during Sukkot (Feast of Tabernacles) he invites nations from all over Europe to join together in 24 hour worship and prayer for the entire week. A herculean effort, but all made possible through an abundance of Holy Spirit blessing and presence. So, less herculean and more spritulean (that word is totally in Webster's...).
So now the pieces are coming together. But as an American what could I possibly have to do with the Italian team going to Poland for Sukkot? And an African-American at that, I can't even make fanciful claims of distant or otherwise ties to European ancestry. Well, God doesn't care about that. He saw my heart was willing, and so for the entire week I was the main vocalist and secondary guitar player for Team Italy. God is AMAZING. Like, AMAZING. I think anyone who experienced my worship leading throughout college and high school can attest to the fact that I have a heart for international and intercultural worship. This was like a really early Christmas present and birthday present and another Christmas present all wrapped up into one big weeklong 24 hour a day
extravaganza. Only God can come up with a team that an American woman prayed over for two years resulting in: her and our English friend as chorus and intercession, me as lead vocalist and some guitar, a 17 year old Italian on drums, a 19 year old Italian on electric guitar, and a 40 something year old (father of drummer) on bass guitar. God is something special. Really special.
Even the painful bits of the week were good, but this particular post is for the gushing "that was fantabulous" portion. My time in Poland was both one of the most intimate and communal worship experiences I have ever had. My own personal worship of God seemed to have grown exponentially. There was such an air and encouragement of freedom that I felt completely comfortable letting go, and before I knew it I was praying and prophesying and declaring words from God whilst hitting notes I never thought I'd reach vocally during our worship sessions (unfortunately that same anointing didn't fall on my guitar playing... ). Each session was two hours long, but when the end of our sessions came up our team was always surprised with how quickly a session had passed. It was like we were all transported to a place where time had no importance and wasn't really all that noticeable. Our hearts were focused on worshiping God, and all was as it should be.
In that same vein, being continually surrounded by and fellowshipping with people whose hearts were focused on God, well that was wonderful. I met so many people who are now so dear to me and who were instrumental in the work God was doing in my heart and in my life while I was in Kalisz. I know also that God had used me to work in the lives and hearts of other people present as well.
God honored so many prayers, desires, and dreams by bringing us together as a group and it was wonderful to see the ways our dreams came together. It was truly a taste of heaven. Nations together, worshipping in various tongues, all declaring "Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty!"
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