First we stopped at Uhuru to pick up a few more people, then had to double back to pick up a aman who had been left behind, only to find that he wasn't going with us after all. (...This is Africa...). Then we went on to church #1 to drop off the first pair, only to find that there wasn't a 7am service after all. So on to the 2nd church to dropp off 4 more people, plus the original 2, who would worhsip at church #2 for the early service, and then get a ride from the pastor back to church #1.
Then we find that church #3 also doesn't have a 7am service (repeat after me:...This is Africa...), so we all stay at church #2 and hear Paul preach.
Then Brittany and I finally go to church #3, in N'guni, where we are welcomed by the pastor, and treated to breakfast of a hardboiled egg, roasted peanuts and tea. I'm especially grateful for the tea, because it is really cold here. I didn't realize that this church is almost in a different climate, due to being at a higher elevation. We are dressed in skirts and blouses, and the people around us are wrapped in shawls and jackets. You could see your breath.
In the few minutes before church, we visit the children, who form a big circle around us and sing. Then we each speak a few words to them, and go in to the service.As honored guests, we are expected to sit up on the platform. I try to not shiver visibly. The service is an intriguing comnbination of formal mixed with rustic, of traditional Lutheran mixed with African. The pastor wears a white robe over his black suit with priestly collar, whle the congregation wears colorful African garb. Some of the service is in Swahili, and some is in Chagga (the local tribal language). None of it is in English. We hear the doxology in Swahili.
Our guide/interpreter is working so thoughtfully to show me where we are in the prayer book that I try to join in on the responses and songs. Gregorian chant in Swahili (or Chagga?) is a Kafka-esque experience. And it is performed slooooooowly, which does make it easier to follow along, but gives one time to wonder why they do this.
A translator helps out as Brittany preaches about the kingdom of God, and the ability of all Christians to pray for the sick and to do signs and wonders. She tells them that they do not need to wait for a white person to visit. (They giggle nervously). She adds that they do not need to wait for someone who sits up on the platform. (They giggle nervously). I suspect that this wouldn't go over too well in most Lutheran churches at home, but I sneak a look at the pastor, and he is nodding. I'm really impressed with him -- he has trusted us enough to turn over his pulpit to a 20 year old female stranger, who is saying strange things, and he is hanging in there.
After she spoke, Brittany told the pastor we wanted to pray for the sick, and asked if we should do that now, or at the end. He was clearly puzzled, but told her to go ahead. She had the interpreter tell the congregation to come up front if they were sick or needed healing of some sort, and that she and I would pray for them. I experienced a moment of panic. What if everyone on her line got healed, and no one on my line did?
The pastor translated for me, which was great, because he really pressed them about whether they felt improved after the prayer. If so, he made them say 'bwana asifiwe' (Praise the Lord). If they felt all better, he made them say it multiple times. I prayed for people with the following conditions:
Demons(2); leg problems (2); chest pain (2); back pain (2); diabetes (2); headaches (4+); eyes (1); ears (1); multiple problems (1). Most of the people claimed some level of healing. One of the ladies with the leg problem was bending and straightening it with glee. It was kind of funny, because this is a culture where women do not display her legs, but she didn't care, she was kicking it out and pulling it back, with a big smile on her face.
An interesting but confusing part of the service was the offering. There were 3 offerings in fact, and we never figured out why there were 3, or what they were for. there were 8 wooden boxes up front, and the congregation placed their offerings in different boxes according to some mysterious choice. I randomly chose a box to contribute to. Non-monetary offerings were carried behind the altar -- a huge bunch of bananas, an armload of greens, and some small black plastic bags with hidden contents.
After the closing announcements, the pastor publicly thanked us for coming, and complimented us on how well we sing in Chagga. Pride goeth before a fall. Just as I was mentally congratulating myself I realized that the recessional had started, and I was expected to march out while singing without anyone standing next to me carrying the tune. My pride dropped faster than a leaking balloon.
Out in the yard we stood with the pastor while the congregation filed out and formed a circle around us. This was the auction -- they sold off the produce that had been donated, as well as a live chicken. A woman carefully marked each amount on the church ledger. The pastor asked if we did this at home. I said no. He looked at me for a moment and then said: "It works very well."Then it was time for lunch. I was grateful that they let us serve ourselves -- the food was not too bad (rice with a bony and gritty meat stew) but there was no way I was going to manage a huge plate. After lunch, I gave some of the Swahili bookmarks I had brought to the ladies who cooked the lunch.
Before we left, we wanted to go to the bathroom, and were directed to the hole-in-the-floor facilities.
Then back on the bus, to church #2, where they had not yet eaten lunch. It would have been rude for them to leave, so we then went back to church #1, and then back again to #2, and finally back to the hotel. Brittany was the bus captain, and was phenomenal, giving instructions to the local who was guiding us, and then making sure that he explained/translated the itinerary to the driver.
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