Our first Sunday morning here found us navigating the streets of Haifa with our trusty google maps app, determined and maybe just a little bit desperate to find community. For David and me, a church community has always been a priority and the source of our most intimate relationships, so we started our quest by looking for a church. Earlier research led us to an Anglican church in the Arab part of town that advertised services in Arabic and English. This morning, however, the large metal gates to the empty courtyard were securely locked; it was very clear no service was happening here any time soon. The website must have been out of date or wrong or. . . who knows? We shrugged and went off to do some shopping. We were disappointed but also somewhat relieved not to face the inevitable awkwardness that comes from entering a completely different community.
Our first Sunday evening here found us back with our trusty google maps app, this time navigating the dark alleys of Haifa. We were searching for a nondenominational Arab church. Up and down the alley we went, puzzled because our app said the church should be right at the location of a decrepit and slightly scary looking parking garage. Tired of walking around the alleys, we walked into the garage – and suddenly, we could hear faint singing above our heads. Looking around the garage, we saw no doorway or stairway – or any other way – that would enable us to get to the singing emanating from the ceiling. We were almost ready to give up when a kind passerby pointed us to a door on the side of the building that we had not seen before and told us in good English that the church was on the second floor.
Up the stairs we went and through another door that took us straight into the middle of a worship service entirely in Arabic. We pretended to be inconspicuous as we quickly scuttled across the room and found seats in the back. Not understanding a word of the songs being sung, we could only listen – and listen we did, with rapt attention. It was the most beautiful worship music I’ve ever heard. It was Arabic in style, performed by very gifted musicians and amplified by the whole-hearted singing of the entire congregation, all 35 of them. When it came time for the sermon, we were kindly handed headphones through which we heard an English translation. A few people greeted us after the service, but we had the sense they didn’t really know what to do with us, and communication was very difficult.
Our first Monday evening here found us once again navigating the streets of Haifa with our trusty google maps app, this time in search of what was basically a small house church that met in the pastor’s apartment. That evening, we were two of five congregants sitting in his living room while 5 or 6 more zoomed in from around the world.
After some pleasantries, the worship service started. About 30 seconds into it, I started to feel uncomfortable. I developed a very strong desire to either run away from the room as fast as possible or start laughing hysterically. I dared not look at David’s face. I said a quick prayer and held it together. This worship was completely different from anything David or I had ever experienced before. Its substance was American Christian music videos played on a large TV screen, some dating back to the 1980s, my guess, or the 1950s, David’s guess. Some had nice natures scenes, some had fuzzy nature scenes. Some had fuzzy images of women with flowing hair and long gowns gliding over fuzzy nature scenes. No one in the room knew the words to the songs. The pastor was not singing either and instead quietly hummed behind his lectern with his eyes closed, out of tune. Bless his nonmusical heart. Later I learned that David started having what he called “a Hotel California experience”, mentally strategizing how to get to the door, thinking that we might have stumbled upon a cult. It must have been the work of the Holy Spirit that kept us in our seats. As it turns out, we were completely wrong about this community. It is not perfect, but it has become one of the two communities where we’ve decided to plug in.
The next Saturday morning, we were off on our quest again. This time, we made our way to the top of Mt. Carmel to visit a Messianic Synagogue. We were cheerfully greeted at the door by a woman with whiskers painted on her face and enormous yellow tiger feet. Unfazed because we were learning to expect the unexpected, we listened to her brief explanation that this was the Saturday before Purim, so everyone was in costume. Ah! When we stepped inside the sanctuary, I sensed an energy amongst the costumed multitude that was almost palpable; this worship service was alive! Everyone was singing Hebrew songs and clapping with gusto while a growing line of dancers jubilantly made its way around the entire sanctuary. Shofar blowing punctuated songs at random intervals. Things quieted down somewhat for the sermon, given in English by a British Israeli pastor and translated into Hebrew. However, since this was Purim, the congregation couldn’t remain completely quiet and passive; the story of Esther was read with the enthusiastic help of noisemakers, shofars, and loud boos at every mention of the bad guy Haman. This was the liveliest service I had ever been to!
Bringing us full circle, the last church we visited was actually the first church we tried to visit, the Arab Anglican church. Unbeknownst to us, it meets at a different location than the one stated on the website. Our friend Elaine from the Monday evening house church happens to be their organist and invited us to visit. We managed to arrive a little early that morning, and she introduced us to the rector before settling us in seats right next to her – at the front of the church. Now, the disadvantage of being a visitor who doesn’t know the language (everything was in Arabic) and is seated in the very front row of a church is that not only are you unable to understand verbal instructions, you also can’t see and follow what everyone else is doing. Not surprisingly, at one point in the service, someone gently tapped David on the shoulder and kindly said that we could sit down. We turned around and realized that we were the only two people in the entire congregation still standing up.
After the service, we were warmly greeted and invited to join everyone for coffee and sweets to celebrate Mother’s Day, which we learned is March 20 in the Arabic speaking world. Along with all the other mothers, they gave me a plaque and a rose. Then, they invited us to join them on a tour of Jerusalem the following Saturday. We ended up saying “yes”, and that will be the topic of another post.
We have learned many things from our quest for Christian community here in Haifa, mainly about our own preconceived notions and expectations of what Christian community looks like. We’ve also learned how uncomfortable it is to be out of the know, the norm for many people. With each succeeding church we have visited in Haifa, our notions, categories, and expectations have been deconstructed. No church here remotely resembles what we were used to in the US. No church here fully
embraces our flavor of nuanced theologies that have developed over the years in the US. Yet, we are not disappointed. Quite the contrary – we’re finding ourselves encouraged as the layers of American Christianity are being peeled away from us, and we’re being brought back to the basics of our faith. In this country where there aren’t many Christians, we’ve found what is truly important – people who love Jesus and love other people. We’ve found people who ask about each other’s lives and pray for one another. We’ve found people who have trusted us with life stories that are rough and painful but also amazingly beautiful. We have found Christian community!
In case you’re curious which church we’ve decided to attend, we have been attending the Monday evening house church, now sans Hotel California vibes. We will probably also attend the Arabic speaking Anglican church.