Youth Led Worship

Jillian Tijerina
Tarrytown United Methodist Church

February 18, 2006

I am trying to convey a sentiment that is unfathomable. Imagine if someone politely requested that you explain to them how chocolate tastes. Imagine if someone sitting next to you turned to you and asked you to define the word ‘the.' It's impossible in a sense, and no matter how valiant your attempt, the conversation may end before you have the chance to fully explain yourself. And this is my current predicament, because this type of immeasurable and indescribable experience is precisely what occurred for me three weeks ago in Honduras.

I know that many of you have been to Honduras with this church, and many more of you have heard the stories, seen the pictures, and attended the No-Talent Talent Show in support of the trip. I know that many of you who have not been to Honduras have been on other mission trips and are familiar with that mission-trip feeling, that God-high, that elatedness that sadly seems to last for only a few days or weeks after you return home for your trip.

I had been on about seven or so mission trips with this church when I left for Honduras. To be honest, my expectations of it weren't that high. I barely knew most of the people going, I had a mountain of make-up work from school waiting for me at home, and my enthusiasm was just plainly nonexistent.

This emotion, or lack thereof, was destroyed promptly upon my arrival at El Rancho Paraíso, or the Paradise Ranch. I remember that the only thing running through my mind on the bus ride to the ranch, and throughout my first days there, was that if God had to pick a place on earth to live, to build His house, to vacation, to relax, to enjoy…it would be this ranch. An inescapable irony followed me throughout my days there: in our faith, we differentiate so clearly and so adamantly between seeing and believing, that the former is not a requisite of the latter. But in Honduras, seeing is believing. It is virtually unfeasible to look at what is around you, the sky, the grass, the mountains, and not believe in God. It is pure instinct to pray, to thank God, to close your eyes and delight in everything that is God.

More importantly than the scenery are the people. There is something evasive that the people of the Agalta Valley possess; it is not something that can be defined or pinpointed. It is a sheer compassion and joy that I have never witnessed before, but it cannot be ignored. Smiles are more genuine there. People do not say thank you to be polite, they say thank you because they are undoubtedly grateful. The life that many of these people lead, by the standards and logic of our world, should not allow them to be as exuberant and happy as they are. Yet they relish in the simple pleasures of their lives, they love without question; they worship God unceasingly, and it reads on their faces.

This is what the people of Honduras gave me, what the land of Honduras gave me, what God gave me through the trip. Endless joy. Boundless appreciation. Limitless gratitude. Infinite love. I used to perform an obligatory prayer at night before I went to sleep, accompanied by the occasional please-God-please-let-me-pass-this-test-that-I-absolutely-did-not-study-for. Although we may not be keen to admit it, many of us have sunken into this compulsory stupor, praying only because we know it is good to do so.

We are commanded to do otherwise. “Rejoice always,” Paul writes in his letter to the Thessalonians. “Pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances.” So do so. It is difficult to buy into the mentality of enjoying the simple things in life when we are surrounded with so many annoyances, burdens, difficulties, the seemingly never-ending to-do list and the similarly perpetual list of things to worry about. But it's not about enjoying the simple things, necessarily, it is more about taking pleasure in everything.

It's about giving thanks when the sun is at a certain angle and the lakes seem to sparkle magically.

It's about giving thanks for this weather, because uncomfortable as it may be, you have one last chance to wear your cute winter clothes before they are unusable for nine months out of the year.

It's about giving thanks for green lights, for hitting the snooze button, for spell check, for Americans winning gold medals, for valentines from your children, for the Sunday comics, for Sunday brunch with your family. It's about giving thanks for not only what God has given you, but for what God has given all of us, and that is life and all that it encompasses.

Since I returned from Honduras, I have been praying fairly constantly. When I drive home every evening there is a certain street that I turn onto. And when you round this particular corner, you are awarded with the most surprising and dazzling view of Austin, of the lake, of the 360 bridge, of blinking radio towers, of stars, of a twinkling line of cars snaking down the highway in rush-hour traffic. Most people head down this hill pretty quickly, but I always make it a point to stop and roll down my window, no matter how cold it is, and breathe in, and thank God for allowing us to live in such a ridiculously and incomprehensibly beautiful world.

Prayer can be a time of day. Prayer can be a request, prayer can be an expression of thanks, a cry for help, a desperate plea, a hesitant confession. Prayer can be out-loud, prayer can be silent. Prayer can be kneeling next to your bed, prayer can be driving down the highway.

Or it can be more. Prayer can be a lifestyle. Prayer can be constant, it can be purely delightful. It can be a condition that is utterly inexpressible…the height of joy, the pinnacle of thanksgiving, the peak of worship, the zenith of truth, the apex of love. It is what our Father intends us to do and what Paul encouraged us to do. The elatedness I spoke of before does not have to arise from a mission trip and does not have to evaporate upon your homecoming. It does not have to be borne of any one experience and does not have to die with a disheartening one. I am not insinuating that you will never be upset, or angry, or ungrateful. I am merely suggesting that you reevaluate the way you are looking at the life that you are so privileged to have, despite all of your legitimate frustrations and problems. And looking at it the way I am right now is pretty enjoyable indeed. So rejoice, always. Pray without ceasing. Give thanks in all circumstances. For it is indeed the will of God, in Christ Jesus, for all of us.