God was really present at the Église amour de dieu, despite the shortcomings of its pastor
The deacons of the church, three young men, were sent by Pastor André to find a hostel for him which happened to be the same hostel as the one I was staying in. Will Smith believed our room was his lucky room and so they brought him to us!
The saying God is love lies at the core of this churches' activities. But Will Smith was brought to the hostel in the most dirty state imaginable. His feet were infected with athlete's foot, his shoes smelled like vomit, he had no clean clothes, no towel, no pajama, no shampoo, nothing. They picked him from the street and brought him in the most disgusting state to our hostel in the middle of the night!
Although we, the other guests at the hostel, did everything we can to make the situation livable, still the bad smell stayed and Will had no clean clothes or shoes. All Will had was a bed, a towel and a pajama that was mine.
In retrospect I think we made the wrong decision by not complaining to the hostel. We were driven by love, but our own self-respect was greatly damaged; our vacation and our sleep was deprived, because of the awful smell we tolerated to sleep in. Even love needs to keep its feet firmly on the ground. And I learned that this can only happen with just and firm limits.
Will Smith and I became friends. He even invited me to go to his church with him: the Eglise Amour de Dieu, the church of the love of God.
The church was situated in a peaceful part of Paris where a lot of West-Africans lived. There was a nice garden next to the church where I was welcomed by a grey cat that seemed to be the guard of the place. Will Smith was seated on a bench, eating his chips, his bag with his clothes and food was next to him on the ground. Soon other visitors of the church joined us in the garden. The sphere was amicable, we all hugged and greeted each other as if we were all part of one family.
It was time to go inside. Again greetings and kisses followed at the port. A warm motherly African woman made everybody feel at home.
Inside the music already started.
A young pastor in casual clothes did the introductions. Music an dancing followed. "God was love and today God will visit us in the church!"-he exclaimed.
Everybody stood up and started dancing, except Will Smith, who sat next to me on his chair, his hands folded, praying and talking intimately to God, as if he was sitting next to him.
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| Will Smith praying |
THE PASTOR WITH THE RED ROSE
Soon enough Pastor André came to the stage. A tall, dark and handsome young man with piercing eyes and a very strong charisma. He wore what seemed to be, a designer suit with a red rose in his top left pocket. When he talked, everybody listened. The tension in the room was evident. He spoke about real love and how real love was expressed by respect, honor and honesty.
He came to the church although his foot was broken. He explained that he is also a basketball player and plays it on a high level. And being the fragile human being that we all are, even he, the pastor, was not exempted from being broken.
The broken leg would later symbolize much more, but for now the Pastor explained it as a lesson. God gave him the broken leg so that he could emphasize more, with those who have nothing, with those who are broken.
Pastor André talked about love and wanted to do a confession. He wanted to clear the slate, he looked around and asked the people in the church that if anybody in the public was wronged by him, that he should raise his hands, a silence fell.
Me being the Dutch woman that I am, thought he really wanted an honest answer, and remembering the episode in the hostel, raised my hand and said: "yes, me, I was wronged!"
I expected curiosity and humbleness, but I got a reprimand instead. In front of the whole audience he told me I needed to keep my mouth shut in his church, because interrupting his sermon is a sign of no respect. I was in shock. This man talked about respect, but I wasn't experiencing it from my side. What I thought was a sincere question to his audience seemed to just be a part of a show. He was not expecting any answers!
The sermon moved on. More talk about love followed. I was not in the mood for talks about love anymore and felt agitated. Then the Pastor opened up about his personal life. He took us through his childhood, his teens until his adult life. Time and time again tragedy had hit him, the most horrible stories followed. My anger turned into compassion and sadness. I started crying. Will Smith comforted me by placing his hands on my shoulders and another lady gave me napkins to dry my tears. I felt the pastor was talking to me personally. It seemed that the whole audience was silent and watched him talk to me.
He was treated badly by the French, by Arabs, by so many. But he refused to hate, he refused to become a racist. He chose for love. And so he started his own church, one that not only preaches about love, but also practices what it preaches. His church was open to the homeless, the abused, the poor and everybody else. He helps them with everything, because he himself was in their situation.
I was called on stage. I explained to the audience that I came to Paris to see if it truly is the city of love. I wanted to help the girls of Sierra Leone by asking churches, mosks, synagogues and temples for a place to stay. The money I would save on hotel costs would go directly to the girls. After a small silence I confessed that I have seen a lot of love in Paris, but none of the religious leaders had offered me a place to stay, except one, a female beggar outside the Grand Mosquée of Paris. The people from the audience were touched.
After the sermon closed a 'healing' followed.
Anybody with an illness or in need of prayer was called to the stage. The pastor and the deacons started praying while holding the hands of the sick. Some started crying hysterically.
The moment supreme came when the Pastor called me to come to the stage again and started to prophesize about me without asking my permission. The things he 'prophesize about me were not true, but I stayed silent, I respected his sermon and didn't want to interrupt him again, but he was not respecting me, because what he said about me in front of hundreds of people was simply not true.
The sermon ended.
Everybody in the church came to give me a hug. I hugged at least a hundred people that day.
I have to admit, it was very special and I felt part of one very big family.
Some people handed me a generous amount of money for the girls of Sierra Leone.
Then the real spectacle begun. A large line of people was waiting in a narrow hall to talk to the Pastor. It felt like asking for an audience to a king. Instead of giving everybody a handshake in the big hall and meeting the special cases inside, everybody had to wait. It could take hours. Screaming sounds came out of the Pastor's room. A woman was being treated spiritually. The pastor was supposed to heal spirit and body with Gods' love.
I had no time, so I announced that I would leave. Soon enough the lady at the door came to me to tell me I was given priority and would meet the pastor soon. Inside a shy, handsome and kind pastor welcomed me into a small room. His wife poured lemonade for me. I gave him the card I wrote during his sermon. Inside the card I explained that I deeply respected him and my remark in his church was not an offence, but a response to his question. If he wanted me to not respond, then he shouldn't have asked me to answer it in the first place! The pastor read the card with shyness and interest. On top of that he offered me everything I needed for the girls. Food, shelter, money, everything.
His deacons would finish the deal and the pastor and his wife gave me a firm hug at my departure. His last words was that I was his sister.
He was the first and only religious leader to call me his sister. The comparison between this young pastor and the imam I met before were like light and darkness. But even the pastor of the church of God's love wasn't perfect. I never got to call or mail the pastor again. His deacons were not just his helpers, they were also his warders, who made sure the Pastor never gets the chance to talk to the visitors of his church, beyond that short moment after waiting in line for ages after the big show. This made the Pastor more of a showman and less of a normal approachable pastor who truly serves his community in the most sincere way. I did my best to message at least five of his deacons to ask them for the email or phone of the pastor or that he calls or mails me back. None of them wanted to help me. All of them politely refused. If I wanted to talk to him I would have to go to the church on Sunday again.
I realized that this pastor didn't just have a broken foot, there were other things that needed reparation, but still I have to admit that in his church I had felt closest to God, more then in any other church, mosque or synagogue that I have visited here in Paris. It was true, Will Smith's church, was the church of the love of God, but keep your eyes open, because even here the pastors are not yet perfect.
With love from Paris,
Salima el Musalima
Avant-Garde Imam
(avantgardeimam@gmail.com)
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