Cook Island Christian Church

Sunday, January 31 our final day in the Cook Islands. It was overcast and raining lightly on our final day in Aitutaki. John and I were excited to attend Sunday service at the Cook Island Christian Church because we’d heard from several people that we shouldn't miss the opportunity. Jo-Anne gave us a lift into town and dropped us at the Cook Island Christian Church. CCIC is the oldest church on the island founded in 1821. The church is undergoing a massive renovation so we attended service next door at a smaller church in a building probably used for Sunday school. Brightly colored tropical flowers decorated the makeshift pulpit and two gentlemen presided over the service. The minister was a large man dressed in a dark pinstriped suit with a light blue pastor's shirt with a white collar. How he was able to tolerate a suit and tie in the hot humid conditions is a mystery to me. Most of the women wore dresses and hats (straw) and looked very much like the women you see in Baptist churches back home. Most of the men wore slacks and short sleeve island shirts. The teen girls wore skirts and dresses (no hats) and young boys, short sleeve shirts and jeans or long denim shorts. The service began with some remarks in Maori (the majority of the service was in Maori) and then a song. Everyone stands for every song and songs are performed a cappella by the congregation. There's no choir, no music, no conductor and the hymnals have Maori lyrics but no music. The congregation manages to perform multipart harmony without music or a conductor and the singing is in a word SUBLIME! I can't even begin to describe the singing so I'll just try to describe how it made me feel. I got so caught up in the singing and the magic of the Maori voices that I felt like I was being swept up and carried away, I think the word is enraptured. I literary felt at times like I was floating, relaxed, weightless, peaceful and free. Suddenly a gust of hot island air would whip across the ocean, through the palm trees, and finally through the glass shutters and shake me back to consciousness. Until the next song of course, and then the same weightless, free, floaty feeling would grab hold of me again. Some of the selections sounded like lullabies with voices expressing care, comfort, warmth and love. Other selections were chants, rich deep male voices like warriors and elders and female voices offering an intriguing mix of the sound of mothers, teachers and angels. Finally there were selections that managed to create a choir of angels, children, parents,birds, warriors, teachers, and elders. The singing literally took my breath away and at one point I was afraid I was just going to topple right over. I felt like I was standing there completely exposed with no place to run, but I didn’t even feel like running because the songs with lyrics I could not understand surrounded me with a feeling of safety and love and I knew there was absolutely nothing to fear. When you feel your soul is bare and you can't run there's nothing to do but weep because you are free. So I wept as I listening to the voices of the angels, the teachers, the elders, the children, the birds, warriors... the voices of everyone who has ever loved me, worried about me, fought for me, encouraged me, scolded me, and comforted me.

The sermon was on Zion: The Mountain of God, Mt. Zion, upon which sits the city of Jerusalem will regain
its holiness and beauty in ‘Paradise,’ as Christ reigns there over the whole earth:


Aere ra Aitutaki (goodbye)