44. Jesus is at the door

It has only been three months since I left Slovakia but the piano has already found its way back into my life. Every single day, Silvia asks me to play for her and I obey because she is yet another woman who has my life in her hands. I am terrified that she may call the au pair agency and find out about the events that led me to come to Georgia. I play the piano for her every afternoon as she sits in her favorite chair, with a smile on her face, muttering to herself, “Thank you, Jesus,” or “Ahhhh….Amen!” My music brings her joy and she tells everyone about it. “Jarka is a music prodigy. She is the best pianist you will ever hear. She belongs to Juilliard!” She gushes about me to random strangers in a store.

“You have a precious gift, Jarka. Your talent was given to you by the Lord. Lord, our Saviour. Use it, you must!” She lifts her hands up and looks up at the ceiling as if God was sitting up there. Maybe He is. Maybe He is the fly on the wall!

Ok, ok, fine. I will be using my gift. If Silvia likes my piano, that means she likes me too. And if she likes me, she won’t put me on the first flight home. So I keep using my God given gift for now. Sigh, I will have to quit it later.

It is the first Sunday after my arrival and I am allowed to attend church with the family. I have my new dress and new shoes on and I am deemed sufficiently dressed to participate in the service. I still haven’t been able to see Peter, even though he is home for the weekend. However, he doesn’t stay with us at all. He sleeps in a little apartment above the furniture store in town. He works during the day on Saturdays and then studies in the apartment. 

“It is not appropriate for unmarried young people to see each other without supervision. Don’t worry, Jarka, you will see Peter at church, ok?”

The church that Tim and Silvia established looks nothing like the massive historical churches I am used to seeing in Europe. It’s just a small ordinary building that could be a warehouse, a shed, a store, anything. But it has a cross above the entrance and that’s what makes it look more like a church.

Silvia, Tim, and I walk in and I finally see Peter! I want to run to him to say hi but I catch Silvia’s watchful eyes on me. I hesitantly pause and let him walk to us instead. He gives Silvia a hug first and then he finally says “Hi, Jarka, so good to see you.”

“You too,” I answer, a little underwhelmed. Can I hug him? Can I kiss him? I am not sure and he doesn’t seem in a hurry to express any kind of affection either. It’s probably safer to hold off.

“So good to see ya’ll!” I hear a voice behind me. I turn around and there is a man with a huge smile on his face.  He introduces himself as Tim and Silvia’s son in law. 

“You must be Jarka! Welcome to the family!” He gives me a hug, which is probably approved since this guy is married. Peter is not so he wasn’t able to hug me at all. 

“You had a long bus ride from Jersey, I reckon…did ya?” I nod as other people approach us as well, everyone wanting to meet me and say hi. They all already heard about the Slovakian girl arriving from New Jersey. Everyone is friendly, welcoming, and smiling. 

The service is about to start and I am allowed to sit next to Peter. There is so much I want to tell him. I open my mouth to unleash the Slovakian in me but he shushes me. 

“Shhhh, I want to listen to this Bible verse.” His face is full of disapproval over my attempt to talk to him. 

Huh, he is acting like a random person who doesn’t even know me. 

I sit back in the pew, not happy. Ok fine, I will watch the service too.

Tim is the owner and the pastor of the church so he begins with a Bible verse and a prayer. Right after he finishes, Silvia plays a hymn on the organ. There are people sitting all around us and within seconds, I start hearing sniffles coming from several directions. Some people are wiping their tears, some are wiping their faces with tissues. First there are muffled sniffles, but then there is also full blown wailing and crying. Why are they crying? I don’t understand.

“Peter…..” I whisper. 

“What?” He looks at me, clearly annoyed.

“Why are they crying?” I need to know.

“This is how they worship. They are fine.” He shakes his head. I don’t understand his attitude. I am new here. He was once new too. How would I know how people worship God in America? As far as I remember, Peter is from Slovakia too. He is a catholic but he did not attend church in Slovakia either.

He turns away from me. I stare at a lady sitting in front of us. She is lifting her hands up in prayer, mumbling something in her pleading voice. She is getting increasingly louder and I am getting increasingly uncomfortable. There are people coming over to her now and putting their hands on her shoulder, all praying loudly, almost in a trance. Peter walks over to her and puts his hands on her shoulder too. Why is he doing this? 

All of a sudden, the lady starts shouting something very loud and incoherent and then she falls to the ground. What just happened? Is she ok? Is someone calling 911? No, they all seem calm and enthralled in their prayer. I am the only one standing in the pew quietly, not tearing up, not muttering anything, not lifting my hands, or not falling to the ground. I am the odd weirdo out. 

Peter finally comes back and sits next to me. “What does this mean? What was she saying?” I am asking for an explanation, quietly whispering my astonishment to Peter.

“She was speaking in tongues," he chuckles. “This is how they worship. They are called Pentecostal.”

Ah, hm, ok. Tongues? What tongues? Also, I have never heard the term “Pentecostal” before. 

“Are you saved?” I blurt out,  demanding his answer. I already know what he will say but I need to hear it from him.

He raises his eyebrows and quickly answers. “Yes, of course! Now be quiet.”

The service continues but I can’t concentrate. My confused thoughts are swirling inside my brain. I don’t understand this religion and also I don’t understand who the person sitting next to me actually is. This supposed to be the Peter I know? Ugh, this is not him. This is some newly Pentecostal worshipper that I never knew existed. 

Next up on the program is some type of rock band with guitars, keyboard, and drums. I stand up to sing with everyone. I look over at Peter again and his eyes are closed, his hands up in the air. I am so unsettled by this sight of him. At the moment, I am not sure if I can call Peter my boyfriend any longer. I need to cool off. There must be some reasoning behind this. 

The service lasts nearly two hours. There is a long sermon, delivered by Tim. He is talking about something called ‘Y2K.’ There is more crying, tears, gasps, screaming…I am hoping I am not asked to participate or say anything. But just then I hear Tim from the podium.

“....and let’s please, welcome Jarka to our congregation! She is Peter’s girlfriend from Slovakia and she just arrived to us a few days ago to stay with us. We are so grateful to our Lord for bringing her to us!”

He is smiling at me, motioning for me to stand up. Oh no, all eyes are on me. Can I run out of here, please? I don’t like all this attention. Panic and anxiety overtake me. I am terrified Tim will ask me to say something, pray, or worse, play the piano. My heart is thundering in my chest super fast because I can’t believe I am being put on a spot like this. 

“Jarka is an accomplished pianist. She is a professional. Perhaps, one day, Jarka will play for us. Right, Jarka?” He is smiling at me.

I nod quickly because I want to sit down. I try to avoid everyone’s stares so I just keep looking ahead of me blankly.

I hear “Amen” and “Praise God” from every direction. 

“She is so beautiful,” a lady next to me says and everyone nods. “Praise the Lord, a true angel.”

I must be blushing because Tim finally takes mercy on me and says “You may sit down, Jarka. Thank you!”

It’s time to end the service and Tim does so in a prayer again.

“Watch for Jesus. He is waiting at your door.” He pauses in a few dramatic seconds of silence,  then he continues in a shaky voice. “Do not keep your doors locked from him. Open the door. Oh Lord. Unlock the door! Let him in! Accept him into your soul. Let him in! LET HIM IN!”

“Oh, Jesus….yes, Jesus,” people’s voices are echoing all around me. They are all swaying like trees in a spring breeze, back and forth, back and forth, their arms pointing up. 

“Ohhhhh, Jesus, you are our Lord….”