Watching the Daraja Choir sing, I was captivated by their little faces. Their dark skin glistened as if the stage lights dusted them with glitter. Deep brown eyes shined from the inside, as if that’s where the light came from rather than reflected off of. With each synchronized movement, joy radiated out of every muscle–from the fingers as they swung their arms in time to the music, to their toes stepping out the rhythm. These kids oozed delight in what they were doing. I’ve seen joy before, but it has usually been momentary and unsustainable for long, but these kids had this inexplicable effervescence that kept me spellbound. What was it? And how could I get some of it?

I’ve directed enough musicals with kids to know when they’re performing and when they’re actually enjoying it. The best, of the best, of child performers can appear to enjoy a rehearsal but mostly they’re just really good at acting like they do–their authentic joy comes in a performance. Usually the first performance, occasionally the last, rarely in th the middle of the second week. Believe me a Wednesday night crowd rarely feeds an actors energy.

But even child actors who are there because they have to be, those who don’t enjoy the process or the performance, event they find a moment or two on stage where they enjoy themselves. When it happens, they  can’t hide it. You see it cross their face right after the audience laughs at their joke or when they finally nail that tricky dance step.

None of this was what I was observing in these Kenyan kids. They sang and danced their hearts out as if it was the first time and last time they’d ever do it in front of a live audience. (It was actually their 80th-something performance.) In fact, the audience response didn’t seem to pump up their performance. They were already at a peak energy level and even the crowd’s enthusiasm couldn’t take it any higher.

As I watched Eddy, Kevin, and Moses, the boys who were staying with me, I tried to understand what was happening. We’d only been together for a half a day or so, but I’d already learned a lot about  their personalities and had been a student of their expressions. I thought perhaps by understanding what they were feeling, I could make sense of, or somehow explain the joy I saw onstage.

Eddy was sick so he was mostly quiet and his most frequent expression while he was with us seemed to be the glazed eyes of one who was running a fever and the clenched lips of one whose throat hurt to swallow.

Kevin’s expression at my house varied from a blank slate to a smile that made everyone who saw it involuntarily stretch their own lips in reciprocation.

Moses was the moodiest of the three. His expressions ranged from scrunched up and crying features when he hurt his lip (in a skateboarding accident) to wide-eyed excitement when something intrigued him.

But as I sat in that cushioned chair watching the boys sing and dance I realized that none of these expressions were on their face now. Instead, it was as if their faces were transformed by the very act of singing and dancing. What is going on? I asked myself. Surely they couldn’t have been taught to fake it this well.

Then I remembered the previous night’s dinner. As the boys sat around the table, I tried to make conversation by asking questions.

“Of all the places you’ve performed, which was your favorite?” I asked.

Kevin and Eddy quickly agreed, “BigStuf.”

Of course. BigStuf is an incredible camp for youth held on the beach in some popular Florida destinations–Panama City and Daytona Beach. Jordan had attended for two years and couldn’t wait to return.

“Charlotte,” Moses answered.

“Charlotte?” I asked. I couldn’t possibly imagine what a kid would enjoy about singing in Charlotte.

In his Kenyan accent Moses spoke slowly, clearly articulating each word.  ”I liked it because the pea-pull at the church screamed and clapped.”

“Ohhh,” I said knowingly. “You like it when people scream and clap for you.”

He quickly corrected me, “Not for us. For Gawd.”

I wasn’t sure what to say.  I could feel my cheeks growing hotter. I had assumed it was the attention that he was responding to and I was embarrassed that it hadn’t even crossed my mind  he would like the church’s response for any other reason.

Here’s a kid who lives in a third-world country, who daily experiences a life of poverty that not only will I never experience, I will likely never even comprehend. When he is put on a stage and people respond with enthusiasm for his performance, it doesn’t even occur to him that the accolades may be directed at him. Instead, he interprets it all as a response to worship–their response in his mind could only be directed toward God.

As I focused on Moses on stage his eyes caught mine and he smiled a little bigger as if he knew what I was thinking. And that’s when I understood.

What I was seeing on stage wasn’t a performance, it was an act of worship.

When has a church worship band had the kind of joy and humility in worshipping that these kids did? What would our worship be like if all of us could go where these Kenyans went when they praised God? And when is the last time I worshipped with such joy–using my body, mind, and voice with such abandon that the only thing left on my face was a glittering reflection of God’s light?

As the song ended and I heard the applause around me, I realized that what I had witnessed on the faces of these children was the same thing the people saw on Moses’ face as he came down from the mountain. When you’re in the presence of the Almighty, your face changes and it reflects a joy not found anywhere else on earth. That’s why these kids looked the way they did, they were in the presence of the source of that Joy. They were worshipping with their entire being.

Hearing the applause around me, I wanted to jump up and scream for Moses, for the choir, and especially for the Gawd who had sent them to us. But I was afraid of what people would think.

I didn’t jump up. I stayed seated and politely applauded. And once again, the blood warmed my cheeks–not from the radiance of seeing God–from the shame, because now I knew better and still I did nothing about it.

Have you ever had a chance to worship in a way that was out of your comfort zone? Did you take the opportunity or let it pass you by?

And what would you do the next time that opportunity comes up?

~Jennifer