The Baptists

My first weekend in Ciorescu, I was helping Lilia (mama gaza mea) in the garden and mentioned that I wanted to go to the Baptist church in town. She grabbed the phone and called the neighbor. Then, we walked to the edge of the yard, I met the neighbor, and we made plans for church the following morning (Lilia translated it all to me that is).  Sunday morning, I was eating breakfast after giving myself the time to make something savory when Lilia told me I was supposed to meet up with Lidia (neighbor) half an hour earlier than we had discussed. I sucked down what was remaining of my eggs and toast and rushed to get ready. We met on the corner and walked to the bus stop together. She asked me questions that I didn’t understand and I asked her questions that she didn’t understand. Goodness I need more practice in this language I thought. Thirty minutes into the service, when another member was translating the half Russian half Romanian service into full Russian for her, I realized she only spoke Russian. They call this amalgamation of language “Moldavian”… sometimes I feel like I’m learning three languages all at once.

During the worship part of the service, I sung along as I looked over the shoulder of the woman next to me. She sounded like a mix between the dying rooster outside my bedroom window and an opera singer that specializes in trills (I’ve included a music clip for my readers enjoyment- follow this link https://soundcloud.com/larissa-glover/church-singing).  I didn’t sound any better. When she stopped singing to take a breath or correct her place in the hymnal, everyone stopped with her. In light of all the worship “shows” I’ve witnessed and been a part of in the States, I really appreciated the simplicity and rawness of this group just singing praise together.

After the service, the trill specialist (also my personal translator, she spoke Russian, Romanian, English and some German) told the congregation I was working in the health clinic in town and would be a member of their service. Yikes! I was just visiting. I corrected her (we had just talked about my being an English teacher at the school in town) and politely said I was only visiting but really appreciated them letting me be a part of their congregation that day. The whole experience was a good one, but one I’m anxious to repeat for fear of being committed to the church against my will.