Contagious Christ

We arrived at the church in the village, and the pastor warmly welcomed us by shaking our hands and ushering us to the very front of the building. When I say “front”, I do not mean the front row, but rather the front wall of the building where our chairs were directly behind the pulpit. It is a place of honor for special guests, and although it was awkward at first, I soon realized that we had the best seats in the house.  

From our seats, we could watch the people as they sang, prayed, listened to the lesson, and worshipped. I loved watching them sway and even dance with the music, close their eyes and move their lips as they pray, and lean in to hear the Word of God spoken.

The building was a simple square with cement floors, concrete walls, a couple of open doors and windows, and some hand-crafted wooden benches. The place was packed out, and people stood in the doors and windows to participate or just watch. It was very hot, and Barto’s sweat dripped down my guitar as he led worship and belted out praise to Jesus.  

Afterwards, the pastor invited us to eat with him, which turned into a two-hour time of more worship and fellowship. You cannot take the guitar out of Barto’s hands. I think he even ate with a spoon in one hand and the guitar in the other. We took turns singing worship songs in English and in Moore (their tribal tongue), talking and laughing in between.  

At one point, Barto led a song called “Yasoma”. The words translate: “He’s good, He’s good. Jesus is so good.” He sang a couple of verses and then made one of his own. “Please, Please, sing Jesus is so good.” He then went around the room, putting each person’s name in the verse, inviting us to take turns singing. He got to me, “Please, Ashli, sing Jesus is so good.” And then he continued the chord sequence as I sang “Jesus is so good” with my own little flare.  

Next Barto sang a song that he wrote about the accident. As I have written earlier, Barto was in a tragic car accident that took the hearing in one of his ears, the vision in one of his eyes, and the life of his very best friend. In the first verse, he sang about rolling around in the van and waking up on the concrete. He said the only one not crying was the one who was dead. He then sang the second verse about waking up in the hospital and not knowing where he was. He just knew that he was bleeding all over his clothes and the bed, and he had IVs in his arms. As soon as he finished these words, he transitioned right into another song: “Yasoma, Yasoma, Jesi Yasoma.” He’s good. He’s good. Jesus is so good.  

One moment he is singing about bleeding in a hospital bed. The next moment, he is singing about how good Jesus is.  

The final verse said something like this: “God does not promise that we will not suffer or hurt. He promises that when we endure, he will give us a crown.” 

When it was time to go, a man brought the guitar case to Barto. “Oh thank you,” he said with a huge smile on his face. “But I think I might like to keep playing as we walk if that is okay.” And so he did. We walked thirty minutes back to the orphanage in the blazing noonday sun, and Barto played and sang as we walked.  

Not long after we arrived at the orphanage, another visitor arrived. He was a pastor from another church, and he loves to sing and play guitar. So guess what we did for the next hour or so? We kept taking turns, passing the guitar around between several of us as we led more worship songs in English and Moore.  

Before the pastor left, I gave him and Barto a bunch of my guitar picks from the variety pack I have. Their faces lit up like they were absolutely astounded. They could not believe it. The pastor held the picks in his open hand and immediately closed his eyes and began to pray passionately. It kind of took me off guard. What is he doing? I wondered. He was thanking God for me and the gift of the picks. He was absolutely overwhelmed. The pastor viewed such a simple gift as the furthering of his ministry of worship, and he gave glory to whom it was due.  

“I just loved today,” I wrote in my journal. “I can’t put my finger on it exactly, except that I love worshipping and we did that all day! I want to be like these people: contagiously joyful about living life for Jesus. I love their enthusiasm for Christ and how it radiates on their faces. Thank you, Jesus, for Burkina, the Burkinabe people, Yako, the orphanage, and all my brothers and sisters in Christ around the world. “