Chickens in Church

Sunday is filled with ten straight hours of ministry; it is not a day of rest.  Rob begins at the Sweya church by teaching the Bible Institute for a couple hours before the majority of the congregation arrives for services.  The church is just a short ten-minute walk from the Howell's home, so the family doesn't tag along until it is time for church to begin.  Beyond the front gate we follow a dirt path to the right through a small cluster of trees.  It is not unusual for cows or goats to be grazing here.  The footpath soon joins a larger dirt track (pictured), wide enough for a car, that leads close by the church.  Small groups of cows and goats trek up and down this path everyday.  We walk uphill, dodging the cow paddies, then cut to the right again by a small house under construction.  A large outcropping of rock looms before us with the church built at its feet.

The church structure is located toward the back of a large fenced-in rectangle. The ground is sandy and rough, spotted here and there with hearty vegetation. Cows graze on this acreage as well, so we're careful where we walk. The church members have constructed an outhouse facility toward the front end of the rectangle. The building itself is roughly 30'x40', made of concrete, topped off by a tin roof, and accented with blue paint. Inside the one room structure, there are several wooden benches with backs, a wipe board, and a pulpit. In a small corner closet are supplies for taking the offering and communion. Small paperback hymn books are dispersed throughout the benches. The night before, a woman had come to clean the church. She filled up a bucket full of water and proceeded to "mop" the entire floor by bending over at the waste and scrubbing the floor by hand. Needless to say, the building is fairly clean despite the fact there are no windows and dust can easily come in the decorative holes in the concrete. In the rocks above the church, there is built a small, open pavilion for an additional meeting space. Currently, the children gather there during the second half of the worship hour. From this perch, there is a spectacular view of Lake Victoria and the valley where Sweya is located.

The members of the church slowly gather around the ten o'clock hour. Rob winds down his class and we prepare for worship. Fortunately, I just happen to place my Bible on the left hand side of the church (facing the pulpit), and the men all take their seats on that side while the women are on the other. I had read about this on Rob's blog, but had forgotten. We are greeted and the worship hour opens in prayer. At the end of each prayer the congregation responds in unison, "Amen." A young man from the congregation, William, comes to the front and begins to lead a song. He claps his hands in rhythm to set a pace for the congregation and we join in clapping as well; there are no instruments this Sunday and we clap through every song. The only song we sing that I recognize is, "Are You Washed in the Blood." After a few songs there is a time of testimony, followed by prayer and more singing. The wind blows through the church, as I notice cows outside the door and listen to roosters crowing in the distance.

Rob begins to preach after about 20-25 minutes of congregational worship. The text for the day is Judges 6-8, the story of Gideon. A young man beside me helps me along with the Swahili Bible, putting his finger under the words in the text as Rob reads them. He launches into his message spending very little time behind the pulpit. The congregation pays attention, while I have trouble catching even a few words I know...Israel, Gideon, Midian, etc. The boy takes my pen out of my hand and writes, "Mungu," on the palm of his hand. He then writes the English word, "God." I nod my and say quietly, "Asante" (thank you). The congregation is typical...most pay attention, some read the text, others struggle to shake off a late Saturday night. Afterward, Rob expresses satisfaction overall. One wandering sheep was at the service, though several ladies had missed because a local clinic was offering free shots for their children.  A lady told Rob that she was waiting until after church to take her children to the clinic. Little gestures such as this demonstrate right priorities.

After the preaching concludes, the offering is taken. One bag with a narrow opening in the top is passed throughout the congregation. Everyone seems to give something. Kara has given me a coin for just this purpose. The congregation begins to clap one last song and file out of the church while they sing. The first person out stands beside the front door and shakes the next person's hand and then joins the greeting line. Soon the entire congregation exchanges greetings and stretches in a line across the church yard. One final prayer and the service is concluded. I did not take pictures during the worship, but next week I will take a portrait of the entire congregation.

Rob meets me quickly after the service and urges me to get home fast and grab something to eat, we are going to visit a few families. After a sandwich on the run, we jump on board the motocross bike and head into Sweya central in order to visit Mwanzalima (pictured). Actually, the entire church is walking to Mwanzalima's home. His ten year old daughter died last weekend and the church is paying respects. This is a bit of a formality since the daughter did not live at home, but not to attend would be a slight. When Rob and I arrive at the hut most of the church family is already there. Someone offers me their stool, but I try to decline. This is met with disapproval and these words, "It is not good for an old man to be left standing." That's not what I need to hear. Does it help if I tell you that "old man" doesn't necessarily mean age, that it can also refer to experience or wisdom? Probably not.

I prop my stool near the wall of a mud hut and sit down with a few other men. Many are gathered on short chairs or benches in a corner between a hut and a wall made of wire, wood, and cornstalks. A dirty sheet provides some shade. Chickens stroll around our stools while goats graze a few feet away. We find out that we are going to be fed. Soon someone brings me a plate full of rice and beans, in addition to this, there is a cup of chai. Rob tells me not to worry about eating it all. He only takes a plate of rice. I am given a spoon, though the Tanzanians use their right hands without utensils. In some ways, I am happy to be sitting on my own stool since those under the sheet share a community plate--everyone eating from the same pile of rice. This is ok as long as you don't look at fingernails and what might be under them. Rob tells me the key of the community plate is carving out your own niche on which to munch. The rice and beans are actually fairly palatable. I manage to eat about a quarter or so; the chai is incredibly sweet and good. Ferdinand takes my plate and thanks me for being willing to eat strange food. His kind comment allows me to save face while returning a plate with food left.

While we eat, we carry on a conversation with a couple men in the church, Faustine and Safari. I ask them if they have ever heard of Gideon before. They both say, "No." How remarkable to tell Bible stories to ears that have never heard. With the meal concluded, we gather around Mwanzalima and share a word of encouragement and prayer. Rob asks a man in the church to lead this time, hoping for the nationals to demonstrate more proactive leadership. The man, Dani, manages to lead most of the time, but still asks Rob to say a few words. A plate is placed on Mwanzalima's table and we give a small offering. It is considered uncouth to receive or give anything with the left hand. Rob has bet me that I won't manage to make it through the visit without breaking the rule. I reach toward the offering plate with my left hand, but at the last second realize my mistake and switch hands. "Good move," Rob whispers, as I pull my hand back from the dish.

As we leave this gathering of church members, Rob announces we are going to go visit a couple more families. We hop on the bike and head to the area where the Howell's lived originally. I jump off the bike while Rob cruises through a small stream with his legs outstretched.  We pull up to a typical grouping of huts, and Rob calls out a greeting to a man named Charles, who comes down to welcome us. His wife, Rehema, has been attending the church almost since day one. Charles has never come despite many promises to do so. When Rob asks him why, he says, "I am a liar," with a dose of refreshing honesty. He invites us into their home. The front room is roughly 6'x10'. The walls are covered with old newspapers and pictures. A battery-powered clock keeps time. Our chairs are so close that our knees practically touch. The plastic and metal kitchen ware is piled in one corner of the room. We enjoy a pleasant visit and Charles promises again that he will come and hear me preach next Sunday. After a warm exchange of good-byes, we head off to the next stop.

The next family we visit had not been in church for some time until this morning. Their home was burglarized a few weeks ago and they were a little unhappy with what they perceived as a slow response from the church. A couple of the men visited them during the last week and so they were at the service this morning. Once again we exchange greetings and accept an invitation to come into their home. This house is bigger than the others I have visited and is furnished a bit nicer as well. When you become accustomed to dirt, cleanliness stands out and this house is clean. Through the course of our conversation, Rob smooths over any difficulties and renews the relationship. The wife hands Rob a letter requesting employment at the soon-to-be-completed orphanage. Here is one of the difficulties of ministry in Mwanza, balancing wants and needs with opportunities and motives.

We leave this home with very little time to make it to Shadi in time for the evening service. We stop by the house to pick up our Bibles and take off. The six kilometer ride flies by fast on the motocross. At one point in the afternoon, we almost spilled it while going quite slow, but managed to recover our balance without eating dirt. A few of the local women walking nearby got a good laugh at watching our legs go in every direction while we tried to maintain our balance and stay upright.

At Shadi, Ferdinand has arranged ten narrow benches under a tree. Lake Victoria is in the background. A congregation of about 25, that is noticeably poorer than even the people in Sweya, gathers. The clothes are dirty and ragged. There are a number of children who come sans parents. This is a decidedly rural setting. Roosters are perched just a few feet from the pulpit, strutting behind Rob, and letting loose throughout the sermon with piercing cock-a-doodle-doos. A herd of cows and goats walks by and covers the congregation with a cloud of dust. Rob stops preaching to let a lone auto pass. When it does, a dog lying at Rob's feet, begins to bark and chase the car. Rob says to the congregation, "I like that dog. He's guarding our service." They all laugh. Rob teaches for an hour or so about church membership and then there is a short break before a worship service much like the service at Sweya in the morning.

We've got about 20 minutes to make it back to Sweya before a scheduled call to my home church, so we quickly say goodbyes, mount the bike, and speed off. It's been a full, but very rewarding day.

Comments

[Doug]

Jon, I don't know if you were the assistant pastor at CBC when Dale, and Lois Ensminger went to visit their son Bob when Bob was a missionary in Western Samoa. Dan (their youngest son) went along for an adventure of his life.

One Sunday morning, Bob decided to have one of the local men preach the sermon. This man just finished Bible Institute, and was eager to preach. Dan, being the camera operator, took a few photos of the proceeding. As the young pastor started his sermon, a hen walked into the church, and promtly found her way under the pulpit. Several minutes went by, and the hen started to cluck.

The young pastor stopped for a moment to see what was the problem with the hen because the clucking got louder and louder. By this time, Dan was snapping several photos, and the crowd in the church was losing it in laughter. Dan's parents (being gracious Americans) were trying to stay stoic through the whole process (it's irreverent to laugh in church at such times). Bob, on the other hand, was doubled over laughing so hard, the photo Dan took of his older brother tells the story! Bob had tears in his eyes!

The chicken was laying an egg! So was the service! I would venture a guess that no one, not even the young pastor, remembers anything about that sermon, other than the chicken who laid an egg!

[jon]

I wasn't there, Doug, but that is a great story. We were actually joking about that (a chicken laying an egg during the service) this evening.

[Joel]

"a scheduled call to my home church"

I thought that was an interesting way to speak about the church you regularly attend.

[jon]

I suppose so, I really didn't think about it. I guess I am trying to write from a missionary perspective for a broader audience than just the folks at nhbc. Good catch though.

[Deb]

Jon, I just got caught up on all the reading--soo interesting. Believe it or not, I was right at the part where you lost power...and the power went out here! I felt like I was right there with you.

Of course, no problem getting it back on like you had there; it came back on almost immediately. However, since I was right in the middle of uploading Charleston pictures, the outage deleted everything I had done! Back to work!

Thanks for an interesting read this morning.