Praise be

No, the electricity is still not on.  Day 27 is drawing to a close and no one knows when it might come back.

This entry is about church in Congo…

It is hard to say whether churches in Congo are any more different than any of some other experiences here. Many things in Bunia seem similar, yet are different. Some things are so different that they do not look or feel much like the same activity in America. Church is the former – similar, yet distinctly different.

Churches in Congo are registered, at least the official ones. (Looks to be plenty of unofficial ones.) I am not sure why, but at some point the churches were all numbered, so one goes to CECA 20 (pronounced seca vingt) or CEP 45 or a church similarly named. Maybe just the Protestant churches are named this way.  Catholics are the largest religious group (about 50%), followed by Protestants of all types (around 30%). Islam, a big religious group in many African countries, is relatively small here, but growing, now about 10% of the population of Bunia. Islam is growing in influence partially from the presence of the UN forces – many if not most of the UN forces here are from Bangladesh and Pakistan. There are three mosques in town, and I hear the call to worship every morning around 5 AM. This house is close to the mosque and the call nearly always wakes me up.  It seems much longer than the call to worship I remember hearing in Morocco. But then by 6 AM during the week, I hear the church singing start. Not sure where it comes from, but there must be some little church nearby that has a morning praise service at dawn each day.  I would struggle to get up for that, but from the sound I hear, a lot of people have no problem with it.

The Witmer’s attend CECA 39 (the Brethren church), which has services in French and Swahili.  Ted was kind to translate for me, but the church service itself is pretty typical in form as many in America - praise team on drums, keyboard and guitar followed by a sermon.  Probably the primary differences is men (largely) sitting in front, women (largely) sitting behind them, but I think that is also typical of Brethren churches in America. Of course, the floors are cement and the benches are narrow and hard. Once the French service is over, the Swahili service fills in, and the instruments change to primarily brass, and many of the women are dressed identically, perhaps they are the choir?  I learned a bit of etiquette after the French service my first Sunday as Dana introduced me to an elderly (but very spry) woman, who grabbed the top of my left shoulder. I didn’t know what she was doing and Dana told me to lower my shoulder to her, which I did. Seems that is the traditional Swahili greeting – not shaking hands, but grabbing your shoulder. If you are older, you grab the shoulder of the younger person who has lowered their shoulder to you.  And if you are the younger, you lower your shoulder to be grabbed.  I think this is primarily done by the older generation; the the younger folks are hand shakers, sometimes with a special handshake that catches me a bit off guard. But since I am mah-ZOOM-ba (a white person), they mostly shake my hand in the western way.

Sunday afternoons, I have been attending the English service at CECA 20. It is mostly younger people and predominantly men, and I think an opportunity for those who are reasonably proficient in English to keep up their skills. Bunia is on the eastern edge of Congo, near the Ugandan border. Many here  have studied in Uganda, so many of the younger adults in Bunia lean toward knowing (or wanting to know) some English, as that expands their economic opportunities. (I am often stopped by people who want to practice a bit of English, which I am happy to do.  Often, the young school children I pass say ‘Good morning’ to me in a very deliberate way, no matter the time of day.  I once stopped thinking perhaps they knew a bit of English, and responded, Good morning. How are you?” They just looked at me, and finally slowly said, “Good morning” again. I had to smile, as I have done that with my French!) I imagine most go to French or Swahili speaking churches in the morning.  But I am getting to know some of them a bit, if for no other reason, they speak English.  I am struck by their names.  My translator gave me a lesson in naming, which I could not exactly follow, but I did gather that each person is given name in addition to their father’s name and their tribe name, often a ‘Christian name’, which means a bible name. I am accustomed to David, and Joseph and Daniel and names like that, but a bit unusual to my ears to hear Nehemiah, Moses, Isaac, Emmanuel, Barnabas, even Melchizedek as names.  I was also struck by the coordinated shirts of the worship team.  Every week, they all wear the same color of shirt, actually the same shirt style too. In a country where an odd lot assortment of western clothing is bought second hand in street stalls from clothing  shipments from the west, America mostly, I don’t know where they find matching shirts. And the color of the shirt varies each week.  (Remember, no credit cards and no postal service, so they cannot be ordering them on line from the GAP.) And immaculately pressed, a wonder to me given no electricity. (They use charcoal irons, which must have one very hot temperature setting…) And as you can see, the dress is predominately western at the English service.

 

I met a young man at the English service who asked me to visit his church.  I was not sure about going, but I decided it was probably okay, so I went with him this past Sunday.  I think the church was Pentecostal, not sure, as it was quieter than Pentecostal churches I have visited in America. When we got to the church, he introduced me to the pastor, who asked if I wanted to give the sermon that day!! I was quite taken aback, wondering if this was normal, or even if I understood correctly.  Well, I did understand correctly (I declined) because afterward, they asked me If I could come back and preach the next time. I was asked to give a word of greeting (and not asked whether I wanted to or not) , and I was prepared for that.  After, the pastor said that I should have talked longer! I knew right then that I was out of my element!  There were lots and lots of singing and choirs, which I enjoyed very much. A three hour service altogether. They had a guest preacher who spoke in Lingala, the language of Kinshasa the capital and all of western Congo, which was translated into Swahili; the man I went with translated for me into English. Very cross cultural. Most of the hymns were not familiar to me. Just as well, as even when I recognize one (like Amazing Grace), while the tune is the same, the rhythm of how they sing it is very different. I have a hard time singing it with them.  Lots of swaying, foot shuffling and clapping, all very measured and often quite slow. A bit daunting for me, as I am musically challenged.  But it was beautiful to see and hear. I stand in these services and think of how much Rachel (my daughter) would love to be here.  She has great rhythm.

 

And I continue to notice how well everyone is dressed.  I marvel, given that I am sinking into a crumpled, wrinkly mess and my shoes are hopelessly ground in with dust.  All the adults look as if they are about ready to attend their daughter’s wedding, that is how much attention and care is given to their dress. And their shoes are spotless.  I understand this is cultural, that appearance is very important. I marvel, but others say that the down side of this is a slavish attention to appearances that is not always healthy.

 

One thing a bit different to me.  All three of the churches had as decorations, what look like party banners strung across the front of the church. I am attaching a picture of the front of the church I went to Sunday so you can see. Not like an American church, at least not in any church I have been in, and I have been in many.