Palauan Easter

Koror Evangelical Church is tucked back from the road, two turns off of the main street. If it weren’t for the stream of cars pulling into the tiny parking lot, I never would have found it. The white building is wide at its base and has a peaked roof with a cross at the apex. Rows of windows on the upper façade are filled with colorful curtains. I assume they must have been bold rainbow colors upon installation, but now they have faded to mild pastel shades. It is just before 9 am, and people are streaming into the open doors on the main floor.

The music has already begun by the time we enter. Maikani choses a wooden bench in a back row of the sanctuary, and we take our seats. I don’t know if it’s because everybody knows Maikani, or if it’s because I’m the only white person in the whole giant room, or if people at this church are just that friendly, but one congregant after another comes up to say good morning. I reply in Palauan, paying attention to use the shortened, informal version of the greeting and mimicking Maikani’s pronunciation: “tutau.” This goes on for several minutes, and when the pastor announces that we should all greet one another, the frequency of handshakes intensifies. Eventually, the activity subsides, and everyone settles in for the service.

It’s exactly like a non-denominational church in the U.S. Guitar, keyboard, and trained singers lead the worship from the front row. Lyrics are projected onto the white wall behind the altar. Some of the meanings are obvious to me – Jesu Christ, Alleluia. Others are more opaque; after all, my knowledge of the Palauan language is restricted to approximately 4 phrases. I recognize a few of the melodies and hum along.

A performance by the choir is followed by a sermon. I can tell immediately what’s happening. The pastor, a man in his early 50s with a Hawaiian shirt and a microphone headset, steps up to the pulpit, and everyone sits down. He speaks in Palauan, but when words in the local language are not available to convey his meaning, he substitutes English phrases. A passage from the book of Job is projected on the wall, and I hear a lot of “…Friday…Sunday…Friday…Sunday.” He must be talking about the contrast between Jesus’ suffering on Good Friday and the victory of Easter Sunday. Toward the end, I pick up the phrase “mission field.” Yes, it is our job to spread the good news to the world.

The service ends an hour and a half after it started with another worship song and people milling about. There are a few more handshakes and “tutau’s,” and I wait patiently while Maikani touches base with her best friend.

As we leave the cavernous, white, fan-cooled sanctuary and step into the Palauan sun, I look up to find a bright blue sky. I feel lighter, relaxed, whole – that after-church feeling that I know so well. I don’t have to understand the language to be spiritually refreshed. God is the same everywhere.