We went to church in Clairville, a tent city that is just a minute or two walk, a walk that on a sunny, humid morning like Sunday will soak your clothes with sweat before you've made it out of the front gate of home. It is difficult to maintain a look and feeling of freshness. For those of you familiar with my normal appearance you may be thinking that is not a significant difference in my life. The main problem is the hair. I finally just gave up. The curls are free again. Imagine Tuscaloosa, Alabama, on the most hot, humid day of a decade or maybe a century. That's everyday in Port au Prince.

Yet on the way to church, and in church, worshippers walked and worshipped with us. Women in beautiful dresses, not a single hair out of place, moved gracefully down the stony roads and negotiated with grace the network of tent ropes hidden along the path that leads to the tent city church. Men in suits, most in long sleeve shirts and ties, walked along as well, directing others to open seats in the army tent sanctuary, and when the seats were filled, disappearing for a minute and coming back with another chair from somewhere in the maze of tents and lean-to's. The little girls wore frilly fancy dresses with those poofy skirts and lacy socks and black patent shoes. The little boys looked like their fathers.

And they all looked fresh. And cool. And all of them had just got up on Sunday morning and prepared for church in a camping tent.

The church meets in an army tent about the color and size of the tents in M*A*S*H. The side panels of the tent were rolled up to allow air to flow through. Early arrivers filled the chairs under the tent. As others arrived, chairs were placed on the outside end of the lines of chairs, resulting in worshippers sitting outside the tent, but clearly being part of the congregation. A church without walls can welcome anyone and everyone, even if they don't fit under the roof of the church.

I ended up sitting on the back row with the eight to ten year old boys. Some things are universal. We poked and gouged each other during the service. One of the boys sang the songs in a fake high voice, making fun of the lady singing too loudly at the front. All the boys had new Bibles and proudly found the scripture being read by the preacher, but then quickly began to flip through the rest of the book looking for something more interesting.

A church lady came to me and took me by the hand and demanded I move. It was like being back in Sunday School when the teacher had to separate you from your best friends. Anyway, she led me to the front of the sanctuary and had me sit in a chair where the preachers are supposed to sit. Seemed a bit odd, but I could see the service better, and I could not refuse her gracefully, so I sat down.

Then Reginald, a church leader sitting next to me, leaned over and said, "I will translate your message to the congregation."

More later. got to go work. Time is short.