On Call

For most of us, “On Call” conjures up images of medical personnel ready and waiting to leap into action at the alarm of an emergency to save lives. But here in Malawi, I’ve learned a different understanding for “On Call.” This application involves spiritual lives, but not necessarily in an emergency. It is that every pastor is expected to be able to lead worship or to give inspiration whenever called upon. I found myself On Call a number of times this week.

Twice it happened at morning devotions. The Synod has “prayers” every week day morning at 7:30. This is a time for the entire staff to gather together for singing, a short meditation on a passage of scripture and a prayer for the day’s activities. The passage of scripture and the one to deliver the meditation are assigned at the beginning of the month. There is a rotation, so that in the course of the year everyone on staff, from the General Secretary to the grounds workers, has several turns, usually about once every 6 weeks. A reminder is given the day before, just in case one forgets it is his day to lead worship. But if the one to lead does not come for some reason, then one of the clergy who is at prayers is “On Call” to step in and lead, preferably on the assigned passage of scripture. Monday when I went to prayers, the speaker did not come. There were only two clergy there and my colleague pushed that I should preach, if he would select the hymns and lead the prayer. I agreed. Thursday, the same thing happened, except I was the only clergy present so the staff just assumed that I would give the meditation. Since this is Advent, the passages are fairly familiar, so this is not a great stretch. In the States, many pastors would be unnerved to be called on to preach, with no preparation. It violates what we are taught about rightly handling the Word of God. But this is Malawi. More than once, I have gone to a large worship service and been told as I walk into the vestry that I will be the preacher for the service. It pays to always have as sermon” in your pocket,” just in case. You could be called on at any time – On Call.

 (Just as an aside, the issue of attendance has to do with the fuel shortage. Because fuel is hard to come by, there are fewer mini buses running and it is harder to get a ride to get to work in time for prayers. Usually it is not an issue, since this is Malawi and time is not as strictly kept as in the northern hemisphere, except when it is your turn to lead prayers.)

On Wednesday evening, one of the Limbe prayer cottages, a small group within the congregation, came to visit the manse. This is time for them to bring food for the pastor’s pantry for the month. Usually the group has prepared a short worship service and one of the members of the group gives a short meditation for the gathering, to feed spirit as well as body. But this evening was different. The leader of the group said that they usually have a Bible Study on Wednesdays, but since they were coming to my house they had not prepared one. They hoped I would lead them in a Bible Study. I found myself “On Call.” This is one of those times that I praise God that he has directed me in doing personal Bible Study each day. I have something to fall back on when I am “On Call” like that.

This context gives a whole new meaning to Peter’s instructions in 1 Peter 3:15 to “Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.” The truth is, the pastor is always On Call.

The Body of Christ

Thursday I saw the Body of Christ in a powerfully visible way. Actually it was visible all week long at Limbe CCAP, but especially on Thursday. During the day on Monday, we got messages that three of our families had lost loved ones – a brother, an uncle, a son. The church rallied around all those who were facing death with elders and mvano going to sit with the bereaved in vigil and walk with the family through the burial.

It was that “walking with” that was so powerful on Thursday evening. The Chitedze’s son died in South Africa, where he had gone for medical treatment, accompanied by his wife and his mother. They were escorting the body back, while the father waited at home to receive them, but he was not alone. The elders of the church gathered around him and waited with him. On Thursday, word came that the body would arrive about 11 p.m. The church gathered at the Chitedze,’ home. The living room furniture had been moved out on the porch, the room cleared for the casket and for the women to sit around it, as is the practice here. A tent canopy had been erected on the lawn and plastic chairs brought in for seating for the mourners. Routinely the women sit in the house with the body and the men outside, singing and praying all night, until the funeral and burial the next day.. When I arrived with some of the elders, other elders were already there, sitting with Mr. Chitedze, as they had been since he got word of his son’s death. We took our places and sang until the body arrived, escorted by the widow and the mother. The casket was placed in the living room and opened for viewing. The elders who had been with Mr. Chitedze lifted him to his feet and then stood, one on each side of him, to support him as he walked into the room to view his son. They held him securely and wept with him as they stood in front of the body of his 30 year old son. As the rest of the elders and I passed by the casket, the two escorts guided Mr. Chitedze back to his seat on the porch. As the rest of the elders exited the room, they gathered around Mr. Chitedze, placing hands on his shoulders, his knees, his arms, to give him comfort. They stood like that for several minutes, in a tight circle around him, as if one person, weeping with and comforting their friend. As I looked over my shoulder, into the living room, the same scene was being repeated there with both Mrs. Chitedzes and the women of the church. The church members had become one body, moving and feeling together the pain of loss. After all the mourners had passed the casket, I was called on to pray. The prayer was, in a sense, a formality. The Body of Christ was already present and acting as these groups of elders stood and knelt, supporting the parents and the widow. I offered a prayer and a blessing, but I was the one who was blessed, to see the church in action, as Christ intended.

Maxwell's New Role

Maxwell is my gardener, my driver and my general “go-to guy.” Maxwell got his driver’s license about this time last year so he could take care of the driving while I was recovering from hip replacement surgery and wasn’t allowed to drive. That was a blessing then and it has turned out to be an ongoing blessing. Maxwell loves to drive and he looks for opportunities to do so. He drives to the market to do the shopping. He drives to pay the utility bills. He does the household errands in the car now. These are things he did before, taking a minibus. Now he is able to do them faster and easier. This has helped me greatly, but in our current fuel crisis, his driving has become a blessing.

Fuel is scarce. Sometimes there is diesel and no petrol and sometimes the other way around. Rarely are both available at the same time and when either is available, there are long lines (called queues here, a part of the British influence on language in Malawi). We sit in a queue for 3 to 6 hours, sometimes to be turned away just before reaching the pump because the fuel has run out. This is not my idea of fun. To be honest, it frustrates the daylights out of me. I am not a patient person. I have to leave meetings to queue; I have to miss meetings to queue; I have to rearrange my schedule to queue. I am not the only one. That is the pattern of life for just about anyone who owns a vehicle in Malawi. Some people have waited all night to be first in line, to be certain to get fuel. It’s like Black Friday without the cost benefits. Fuel has increased in price by 33% in the last month. So time is costing even more money.



Maxwell with Charles' son on one of our outings



About 4 months ago, Maxwell offered to do the queuing for me. He is far more patient than I am and it gives him the opportunity to drive more, even if it is an inch at a time as he moves forward in the queue. I wouldn’t have asked him to do this, but I jumped at his offer. And so this has been added to his weekly responsibilities. But I felt guilty about his doing this for me. It seems like it should be my responsibility. It seems morally wrong to have someone else do your waiting for you. There should be some reward for this precious service of waiting. About a month ago, I hit on the reward. While Maxwell was driving for the errands around the city, I reserved the distance driving for myself. I frequently have to drive to presbyteries and churches in rural areas for speaking engagements. I have done that driving myself. I like to drive. About a month ago, Maxwell had queued for 2 consecutive days before he finally got fuel for my trip to Ntcheu Presbytery. It seemed ungrateful of me to then just drive away with the fuel he had worked for. I asked him if he would like to go along, since he had done all the work to make the trip possible. He jumped at the opportunity. He offered to be “the driver.” I reasoned it was also safer for me not to travel alone (not that that ever stopped me before). As it turned out, another pastor went with us, but it was nice to have a “driver” and to be able to focus on what I was to do when I got there and to chat with my colleague and not worry about the usual obstacles on the roads of Malawi. Coming home, Maxwell told us it was his first time in that particular area and he really enjoyed the time to explore as we held our meeting. I had hit on a benefit to both of us.

Saturday, I had to go to Likubula in Mulanje to speak at a retreat. Maxwell spent 3 hours finding fuel for the trip. I asked him if he would like to drive for me, but we were leaving at 6 a.m. He said that was fine with him. He had never been to Mulanje Mountain so this was his opportunity. He drove and while I spoke to the ladies at the retreat, he hiked part way up the mountain (with a guide we arranged for). He was delighted. He is not much of a talker, but on the drive home he regaled me with all he saw on the mountain. I think we have hit on a win-win situation. I get a driver and he gets to drive; I don’t go alone and he gets to see places he has never seen before; he queues for fuel and I don’t feel guilty. We are both enjoying this new arrangement and his added responsibilities.

The Nursery School

Some time ago I wrote about the laying of the foundation of a Child Care Center by the Makogolo congregation, a small congregation just 2 kilometers from Lake Chuita and the Mozambique border, in a district where the HIV infection rate is 25%, well above the 16% national average. Their vision is a Child Care Center that will house a nursery school, an after school program and vocational training programs, to provide for the most vulnerable children and youth in the community.



Chilren prepared to recite



Sunday I was invited to go there again and see the progress they are making. My expectation was that I would see the bricks they have molded and hear more about their construction plans. That was part of their program, but not the major focus. They have not waited for the building to be completed to begin working with the children. They had asked me several months ago to assist them with funds to train three pre-school teachers, to begin the work. I was able, through the support of a church in Pittsburgh, to assist them with that. They began the preschool program 6 weeks ago, under the direction of the teachers who were trained. They hold school in the church building. Sunday, the children and teachers presented a program for me, to see the progress they are making. I was ushered into the church building, a simple structure with concrete and brick benches, nothing moveable. With handmade posters and other local materials, they had converted the space into a classroom with multiple learning centers, nine in total. I was given a tour of the learning areas as each one was explained. The children sat quietly on the concrete benches in the front of the sanctuary, waiting their turn to show me and their parents and guardians, gathered for the event, what they were learning.  After the welcoming speeches, the children stood and sang “We Are Marching in the Light of God,” in English and then in Chichewa, as they marched to the front of the church to recite. They each introduced themselves (in English), giving their names, their villages and their ages. Together they recited the alphabet, counted to 10 and identify parts of their bodies. I sat amazed that these 45 children enrolled from various home situations and religious backgrounds, had learned so much in such a short time. Their creative teachers have made play equipment and educational materials from local resources. The children demonstrated these. The congregation has donated 5 bags of maize, soy beans and peanuts to be ground together to form a fortified porridge for the children to be fed each day. For some of these children that is the only good meal they receive each day.



On the see saw, made of local materials



 After the children’s demonstration, the elders of the church proudly took me to tour the foundation of the building that has been laid for the child care center and the ovens of 60,000 bricks that have been fired and are ready for the building after the rains. They know they will need assistance with some of the construction costs, but they are committed to doing all they can to make this project a success. They are off to a wonderful beginning. This is a faith community that has dreamed big and, with just a little assistance, has begun to make those dreams a reality that is impacting children’s lives. It will be exciting to see what they and God will do next.

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Committee in front of some of the bricks of the oven



To the Lake

Last Saturday one of the cottages (geographic areas) of Limbe church made plans to go to the lake for the day for fellowship. The plan was to leave at 5 a.m. on a chartered bus. It is a 4 hour ride, so they wanted to get as much time at the lake as possible. The organizing committee had planned a breakfast stop about half way and had arranged for a lunch at a resort at the lake and a cookout in the afternoon on the beach before returning to Blantyre. They had prepared food for breakfast and to supplement the cookout food. They had devotions planned and all the recreation equipment packed. Everything seemed to be in place for a great day.

I was at the church before 5 a.m. but there was no one else there. About 5:10, the session clerk came speeding into the parking lot. He jumped from his truck when he saw the empty parking lot and asked desperately, “Did we miss them? Have they gone already?” I told him no one had come yet. We were met by the pastor as we were talking. He lives on the church grounds. He said he had been waiting in his house. He invited us in to wait with him. He reminded us that this was Malawi and people do not keep time well. We all laughed. At 6 a.m. we called the chair of the area to check on them. She said there was some confusion with the bus company but it was being resolved and they should be there in about half an hour. We called again at 7a.m. and they finally arrived at 7:30 a.m. We greeting the chair lady and loaded our things on the bus. We boarded the bus, offered prayer and were ready to head off. But the bus driver did not get in. The chair lady got off the bus and entered into a discussion with the driver. Then she instructed the committee members to distribute the breakfast items for everyone. We ate and waited. And waited and waited. Finally she got on and announced that we needed to unload everything because they were sending a different bus. So we unpacked the bus. The session clerk opened up the church for people to be able to sit and wait.

The senior pastor and I met with her to learn of the problem. The bus driver was insisting that the bus we had was not to make the trip to the lake. First he said there was no fuel then he said the bus was unfit. After several calls to the bus company, it was decided they would send another bus, but it had to be fueled and that would take time with the fuel shortage we are experiencing in the country. The committee thought of cancelling the trip but they would have lost all the money they had invested and the resort had all the food already prepared. That would cost money, too. The children were upset about missing the opportunity to enjoy the lake. (So were some of the adults.) We urged them to push the bus company and to go ahead with the trip. At 10 a.m. the new bus arrived and by 10:15 we were on the road. While we were late in leaving, at least we were going.

The driver sped as fast as was safe, to make up for lost time. Spirits were high again on the bus. Some of the ladies led us in songs. Everyone was having a good time, late in leaving or not. When we came to the first traffic stop (a routine in Malawi), we were singing “It is Well with My Soul.” The police officer looked at the bus, listened for a moment to the singing and waved us on, without asking the driver for any paper work, which is against the routine. At every traffic stop thereafter, the women began to sing “It is Well,” hoping for the same response. It worked until we were about half an hour from the resort. This was not a routine stop. We had been caught speeding. The driver was trying too hard to make up time. The ladies continued to sing, regardless. It was well with our souls, speeding or not.

At the resort, the staff had lunch waiting for us when we arrived at 1:30 p.m. and the fun began. The food was delicious, the devotions inspirational and the games great fun. The kids loved the lake and even got to take a small boat ride. Everything that was planned happened, just in a shorter time frame. At the end of the day, everyone had has such a great time that they forgot about the delay and frustration of the morning. It was well with our souls.



On the lake



Market Day





Mtonda market



Mtonda village is typical of hundreds of villages all through Malawi. Six days of the week, it is a wide spot in the road, with a few shops and services for the locals to buy sugar or to have a phone charged, to have tires serviced or to drink beer. But one day a week, it becomes a thriving business center. That is market day. Everyone anticipates market day for buying and selling and visiting with friends. Vendors come from the outlying area in trucks loaded with charcoal, eggs, produce, plastic plates, bowls and buckets, with used clothing, and electronics. Locals come with freshly butchered meat and fresh fruit and produce in season. Some have “shops” of wood frames and grasses that sit empty along the road until market day. Others sell from the back of their trucks or spread plastic tarps on the ground and display their goods. The number of “portable shops” multiplies to several hundred for that one day each week. Local residents count on this. They walk, ride bikes, or catch rides on the back of the trucks coming to do business so they can shop and visit.  

  

Tuesday is market day in Mtonda. I was in the area for other business and took advantage of the opportunity with Charles and Alinafe and my friend Rev. Njala. Rev. Njala had suggested Tuesday for our trip, knowing it was market day. We carefully drove the car through the crowd conducting business on the edge of the road and the trucks in the center of the road unloading or repacking until we could find a parking spot. Then we joined the fray as we began looking for bargains ourselves. Rev. Njala informed me the area is Ngoni territory (one of the large local tribes) and as such we should experience Ngoni food. That meant pork. I could smell it cooking as I stepped from the car. That was one of the reasons for his wanting to come. He is Ngoni and this is his home. But before we got to the pork, we came to the potatoes, another specialty of the area. Irish (white) potatoes, as they are called here, are expensive in Blantyre. They are much more affordable where they are grown. While I shopped for a small quantity, Rev. Njala negotiated for a 50kg bag and the lady selling carried it to the car, on her head - just part of the service. Cathy, Charles’ daughter, spied the “chips” (French fries) being cooked and stood in line, hoping her father or grandmother would buy some for her. I did. She munched as we walked and shopped. This contributed to the carnival flavor of the outing. The music blaring from the shop selling beer also promoted that atmosphere



Rev. Njala buying his cooked pork



A few yards beyond the potatoes, someone was selling eggs from the back of a pickup truck. I was surprised when the vendor greeted me by name. Then I recognized him as the Ncheu Presbytery treasurer. This is his “other” job, traveling from market to market in the area selling his eggs. We three pastors and the treasurer chatted about Synod events for a few minutes and were preparing to move on when Rev. Njala was greeted by an older gentleman. He introduced us to his uncle. Of course we talked for a while before proceeding to the main event for Rev. Njala – the pork. He negotiated for raw meat as well as cooked, joyfully eating the cooked from a small plastic bag as Cathy had her chips. His mission was accomplished. We finished the tour of the vendors and headed back to the car. Charles stopped to buy cabbage and Alinafe purchased mangos from the session clerk’s wife, who was earning a little extra cash for the family by selling the fruit from their tree. We all came away with some treasure of the day. It was profitable for us and for the vendors – a good market day.



 



Before the Rains

The rains usually begin in southern Malawi about mid November, if it is a good rainy season. This is what people hope for, but there is much more to a good rainy season than hope. People must prepare. There is much to be done before the rains come.



Urban gardens, outside Blantyre



Malawians depend on a garden to secure life. If one lives in the city, the garden supplements life; if one is in the village, the garden sustains life. The garden must be prepared before the rains come. City dwellers have gardens around the city, outside the city, or back in their home villages, but they have a garden. Those in the village use the land around their houses, whether that soil is rocky and hilly or flat and siltish. The usual plot is an acre or more for planting maize and other vegetables that add flavor to life, such as soy beans, pumpkins, cabbage, tomatoes, carrots and peas, but mostly maize. But small plots serve the purpose, too. The ground must be cultivated and ridges built up to hold the seeds when the rains come so the crops get the water and the valleys of the ridges trap the water and they prevent the seedlings from being washed away. This is usually done in October.



Rural garden



Warning rains usually come about two weeks before the heavy rains begin. These are heavy showers that last for 2 to 4 hours, softening the ground, making it ready for the seeds. They may come for two or three days. Those rains came last week. Now people are frantic to get the planning done. Mvano meetings have been suspended for two months, for the planting and then the holidays. This allows women time to be in their gardens, especially of those gardens are in the village. All this work – the ridge building, the planting and later the fertilizing – is done by hand, so there is plenty of work to be done in a short time. About two weeks after the planting, the fertilizer should be applied. The hope is that the timing is right, that the rains have come, and then there is a short break to allow for the fertilizer to be applied. If the rains don’t return, the fertilizer can’t be applied without burning the seedlings. No one will do that. But if the rains don’t come, the seeds will dry up and the crop will be lost anyway. People watch the weather carefully. The timing of the rains is everything.



Burned kiln



In addition to the gardens, rural houses must be prepared for the rains. Many of them have thatched roofs and they must be secured against the heavy rains and the winds. The plastic that goes under the grasses must be whole and tight and the grasses thick and secure. Those with metal roofs need to check for nail holes that may let rain in or allow the wind to tear off the metal sheeting. This is primarily the men’s work. If bricks have been made for new construction, the bricks must be secured against the rains. That means the bricks must be burned. Otherwise all that molding will have been for nothing. Once the bricks are burned, they are safe for later use. Most construction is done with hand-made bricks, burned on site. The bricks form the kiln and the kiln is the bricks. If you have seen the Hallmark Hall of Fame production of “The Last Brick Maker in America,” you have seen the procedure that is followed here by everyone who builds a house or outbuilding or a wall. Securing all this is part of preparation for the rains.

Once the rains come, people can rest but before the rains, there is much to be done. It reminds me of “wintering in” in the northern United States – preparing for the snows. Once they come, little can be done but to trust your preparations and to trust the precipitation’s working on the environment.

Charles' Induction

In August Charles was re-assigned to the Kapeni parish in Ncheu Presbytery, so there was need for an “induction,” or an installation, as it is known in the States. It was scheduled for Oct. 30. With the fuel shortage, I was concerned about being able to get there, but God was good and, after 3 days of Maxwell’s searching, God provided enough fuel for us to go. The “us” included Maxwell and his new wife, Rose. Since he had done all the leg work for the fuel, this was his reward, as he saw it. “Us” also included Rev. and Mrs. Njala, since this is his home congregation.

Maxwell drove. We arrived well before the Presbytery officials did and had time to visit the area. Charles had told me the church was in desperate need of repair, but I didn’t understand how desperate until I saw it. There is no building. A strong storm tore off the roof and the walls collapsed. All that remains standing is the vestry (office) behind the sanctuary and partial walls in the chancel area. The elders have constructed a wood frame to hold some of the salvaged roofing sheets and a tarp. The concrete benches are still in place, so people have a place to sit, at least. Worshippers were assembling in this make-shift sanctuary as we arrived. The surroundings did not affect their enthusiasm for this wonderful event. They were rejoicing at the induction of their pastor. As they prepared, we went to visit Rev. Njala’s home, which is just up the hill from the church. His mother, who is 82, maintains the family home there, raising pigs and doing farming. She may walk with a cane, but she does not let that slow her down. She walked down to the manse before we were able to walk up to see her, then she escorted us to her home. The house is situated on the top of a hill. This area of Malawi is very hilly. The location of the house offers a wonderful view and enjoys any small breezes that may stir. That was a blessing on that very hot day. As we returned to the manse, the Presbytery officials arrived and preparations for the service began. The Presbytery clerk asked that I preach, since I had come all the way from Blantyre. This was his way of honoring me. I’m grateful that I anticipated this as a possibility and had an outline, just in case.

The worship service was a traditional induction service, with preaching, choirs, the constitutional questions for the pastor, charges to the new pastor and to the congregation, gift giving and speeches. The service was late in starting and lasted 4 hours, so we sat in the heat of the day under the tarp and metal roofing, but we praised God there were no walls, so a small breeze provided some relief. I was delighted to be able to share in that moment in Charles’ ministry. I had missed his first induction because of commitments in my own ministry, so this was a blessing. Maxwell served as photographer as well as driver, to record the event.

After the service, the session clerk asked that we wait before walking from the church to the manse for the meal the women had prepared. They had something special they wanted to do. So the pastors remained at the church chatting until the session clerk told me I could proceed. I led the procession, and that is what it became. As I got to the junction of the road from the church to the manse, the women were gathered, singing “hosanna,” as they sing on Palm Sunday. They spread their chitenje on the ground in front of me for me to walk on. They provided a carpet of their clothing from the road right into the house, in honoring welcome to the meal. Once I was inside, they offered the same welcome to each of the pastors as they came. It was the most humbling experience I have had in Malawi. I couldn’t look them in the eye for fear of crying. As we gathered for prayer for the meal, several of the other pastors expressed the same emotion. This is an induction I will long remember, because it was my son’s, because of the lovely, creative location and because of the humbling treatment from the women of the congregation.

Church Alive

Saturday I arrived at Limbe CCAP at 8 a.m. for a mvano (women’s guild) visit to the manse. We were consolidating the visits to one manse so the mvano would not have to travel to my home after visiting the senior pastor’s home. The last activity of the training of the new mvano is a manse visit, where the nearly trained students lead worship and present gifts to the pastor. With the fuel shortage, it made more sense for one person to travel to the group, rather than the group to traveling to one person, since the senior pastor’s house is on the church grounds and my house is 7 miles from the church. The church parking lot was full when I arrived. I was welcomed to the house by the amayi abusa (pastor’s wife) who reminded me that there was a wedding at 7:30 that Rev. Bona was officiating and he would be coming when it was over. The women were gathering and were content to wait patiently. As is the case in all of Malawi, time is not a great issue. At Limbe, people try to be on time, but it doesn’t always happen and they are good about waiting.

There were 33 women who had been studying for 4 months to become mvano. This was the last activity before their graduation. Sunday they would be inducted into the mvano and be given their uniforms during the morning worship service. But for Saturday, they were learning to care for the pastor and his/her home. They had come with a short worship service prepared, all led by the students and they had brought gifts for the manses (both of them), to show their care for the pastors. So it was an official program, but one that would hold until the senior pastor finished with his responsibilities. As they waited, they gathered chairs and took seats on the porch and patio in front of the manse, some sitting in the shade and others in the sun. October and November are our hottest months, so by 8 a.m. the temperature is already up to 80 or above, so this was no small gesture of caring. Once everyone was seated, one of the students began to sing, inviting the rest to join in. For half an hour we sang as we waited for Rev. Bona. The time went quickly. The spirit was joyful.

 Rev. Bona arrived with the session clerk about 8:45. The session clerk reminded the chair of the mvano that there was another wedding yet that morning that Rev. Bona was to officiate so he would not stay long after the function. Actually the second wedding was scheduled to begin at 8:30, but no one really expected that to happen, so they weren’t all that concerned. The mvano program would not be rushed. (Rev. Bona does most of the weddings because they are in Chichewa and my Chichewa is not good enough for officiating. When weddings are done in English, I officiate.)

The mvano students began their program. The singing continued with a choir and a duet. The preaching was well done and then they presented gifts to the pastors – rice, cooking oil, and chickens. This is the common expression of care and support. These are the luxury items in the diet of life here. This is the menu for celebrations and guests. All of this was followed by speeches by the mvano leadership, the session clerks and the pastors. Nothing was rushed. After the closing hymn and benediction, Rev. Bona thanked them all again on behalf of both of us, and excused himself to go to the second wedding. It was 9:50 a.m. The second wedding would be underway by 10 a.m. and no one would complain. As we had been meeting at the manse, I could see the parking lot empty of cars of one group of worshippers and fill with the second group’s; everyone was in place.

The mvano were not leaving. After some drinks of tobwa (local sweet beer – non alcoholic), they were headed to the church hall to set up for their fundraiser on Sunday, a Malawian style yard sale to be held after church. They had plenty of work yet to do. They had to have everything done before 2 p.m. when the choirs came for their rehearsals. There was much more activity for the day, a somewhat typical day at Limbe, a church that is alive.

LIfe is Tentative

Life in Malawi is tentative. What is planned may or may not happen and the unplanned happens regularly. The unexpected is the most likely. This premise has been born out again this week.

Electrical power is uncertain. It periodically goes out for “power-sharing,” so one sector of the service area gets power while another sector is cut, since there is not enough power to go around. This is unannounced and usually lasts for an hour or two, but on Monday when the power went out with a “bang,” it was something else all together. Investigation proved that someone had stolen the oil out of the transformer for the sector that feeds the Synod and the unit seized up. This was going to take time to repair, since ESCOM (the electric company) does not have a large supply of spare parts. No one from ESCOM would give an estimate of time, since in all fairness, they really didn’t know. At the Synod, we prepared for a camping experience. A friend had room in his freezer to store my meat (praise God). Since I have an electric stove, I made plans to eat without cooking, for the most part, getting in things that didn’t need to be cooked. Wednesday, a group of us had planned to have a pot luck at my house, but we shifted that to the home of one who had electricity and I went there to cook my part of evening meal. Those of us without power were most grateful to the one with. Meetings were shifted from inside rooms that need lighting to areas outside or to rooms with large windows to provide light. Deadlines for reports were extended, since the computer batteries were running low and there was no way to print the reports. In other words, all firm plans became tentative, depending on power availability. Friday afternoon the power came back on and everyone rejoiced.

Fuel is scarce, both diesel and petrol. Even before a station receives a tanker, the lines have formed to wait. Men come with large containers to purchase fuel as well and then take it away, usually for re-sale at a mark up. This is becoming a profitable side business for many. The problem is that it makes it harder for the vehicles to get the fuel, since the containers fill faster and are serviced more easily. This week, in addition to no electric, the petrol in the car was getting low. I wanted to go to Ncheu on Sunday for Charles’ installation at his new church, but that became tentative, depended on getting fuel. Maxwell spent part of Thursday and all Friday afternoon looking for fuel, to no avail. Today he set out at 8 a.m. with hope since he had heard there were to be two deliveries. He returned at 4:45 with ¾ of a tank. He sat in three different lines, two that ran out before he got to the pumps. He used part of the money he had to purchase from one of the enterprising young men with the containers when he was close to running out of fuel in line. But he came with enough fuel to get us to Ncheu and back tomorrow, so I called Charles and told him we are planning on coming. The tentative planning is gone. Praise God for Maxwell’s perseverance. He asked for the “honor” of driving. Since he did all the work to get the fuel, getting to drive is only fair. So tentatively we set off at 6:30 tomorrow for Ncheu. I say tentatively since only God knows what will really happen. I just know what we have planned.

As I began to write this article, the power went out again. I continued to write, using the battery, with the tentative expectation that the outage was only a part of power-sharing. It was. The power was only out for two hours and I am able to post this. The tentative became reality, for now.

Inflation

I tend to be a fairly optimistic person. I can usually find the positive in most situations, but of late I find myself shaking my head and wondering where we are headed. If I analyze this, it usually happens in the grocery store or over the issue of finding petrol. I’ve been doing a lot of head shaking this week.

Monday was a holiday (Mother’s Day – a national event here), so the banks were closed, but I ventured to the grocery store to get some staples. I didn’t come home with what I went after. First I went to the ATM. It was closed so I decided to shop for just a few things. Because it was a holiday, the local baker was not producing, so there were NO loaves of bread in the store. I ended up buying some of the few rolls that were left so my watchman would at least have something for his evening tea. There were no eggs either. I took my rolls and headed to get petrol, but there was none. For the last three weeks diesel has been scarce but there has been plenty of petrol. Not on Monday. I went home shaking my head.

Tuesday Maxwell took the car to get in line to get petrol at a station that was receiving a tanker. Before the tanker had finished off-loading a fight broke out among some of the men waiting in line and the owner closed the station rather than to incur more trouble.  Maxwell came home to report and to say he would return the next day, when the station opened again. On Wednesday he sat in line for 6 hours, was 2 cars from the pump and the fuel ran out. Last evening, when I was telling Thomas about this, I shook my head as he said that in Ntaja the only fuel available was on the black market and it was going for MK7000 for 5 liters. (That means that while we usually pay the equivalent of $1.69/liter or $6.70/gallon, he is paying $8.75/liter or $35/gallon). Things in the village are much worse than here in town, and the folks in the village are much less able to afford this great increase.

This morning, Maxwell left at dawn, armed with new information about a station that had a tanker coming. He returned at 2:30 with fuel and a story. He ran out of fuel in line and paid two fellows MK300 to help him push the car to the pump, where he was told he could only buy 20 liters, the limit per car. But for a bribe of MK500, the attendant filled the tank for him. People are looking for ways to make money from this situation any way they can find.

With fuel, and the bank open, I headed out to do some necessary shopping. I found myself shaking my head again at the increase in prices in just a few days. The cost of bread had gone up 20 kwacha a loaf. Eggs had increased 50 kwacha for 18 eggs. Peanut butter had increased 80 kwacha a jar. That doesn’t seem like a big deal, but it adds up. Over the last months, a kg of sugar has increased from 90 kwacha to 174 kwacha, a kg of ground meat from 990 kwacha to 1400 kwacha. Again, I can afford to pay it, but I am being careful, trying to make the most of my money. I worry for those who make less, those who were already struggling to make ends meet. I am having a difficult time finding the silver lining in all of this at the moment. The increased costs are predicted to continue as the fuel shortage extends. I just shake my head, again.

CBCC

Sixty five children, ages 3 to 6, sat in their little blue plastic chairs under trees, quietly eating their likuni phala, a fortified porridge, and watching all the fuss of grownups setting up chairs, and audio speakers, of strangers (mostly white people) gathering and taking pictures of everything and everyone, of older youth singing and dancing as they, too, waited. The children just ate and watched. This was not the normal routine of their day at the Timvani CBCC in a village just outside Limbe town center, but they were being fed and were satisfied to enjoy the entertainment of the day.

All the fuss was around the opening of the new building for the Center, part of a gift from a congregation in Canada. All but one of the white folks (one American snuck in) was from Canada, for the purpose of celebrating this partnership with the community and this CBCC. The CBCC (Community Based Children’s Center - we love acronyms in Malawi) is a powerful tool of Blantyre Synod Health and Development Commission (BSHDC) for ministering to the vulnerable children in villages, both around Blantyre and in the rural areas. They are not called orphan care centers, to avoid the stigma of children being singled out as HIV/Aids orphans, and to allow the program to care for all vulnerable children in the community. These programs include a pre-school for the youngest children in the morning, an after school program for the older children in the afternoon and a youth program for those young people in the community who are not working. CBCCs are community based, so the community has ownership of the operation of the centers. The community selects a committee to oversee the operation. The committee selects the volunteers to staff the center. The volunteers are trained by BSHDC, but the selection of the students, the running of the programs, and the supervision of the facility is all from the committee, as representatives of the community. Friends and partners come in as the community sees the need. Two years ago a group from Canada visited the Timvani Center. At that time, the children were meeting in a thatched roofed shelter in a small field. The visitors and committee talked about the need for a better place to meet. The visitors went back to Canada and began to raise funds to build a modest building to house the programs of the committee.

So on Thursday, they celebrated the opening of that building. It was a joy-filled celebration. The District Headman came with the traditional authority and the village chief to celebrate with the visitors from Canada and the staff of BSHDC. The building is one of the nicest in the village and will be a blessing to the entire community, not just for these programs, but for meetings and other training opportunities.. But it is designed for the children. The inside walls are painted with the alphabet and cartoon characters to illustrate the letters. The chairs are suited for the smallest children. The play equipment is tailored for the children. This is their special space. The day’s program included a ribbon cutting and speeches and thanks, accompanied by songs and dancing and drama from the children. It was a time of encouragement and hope for the most vulnerable in one of the poorer communities around Blantyre. It was a day to rejoice.

Musical Weekend

Music is a part of life in Malawi. I have written about it before (and probably will again). Music is something that everyone here participates in, and does well, from a young age. That was evident this weekend in a two separate activities, both of which thrilled my ear and my spirit.

Friday evening I spoke at the Polytechnic’s CCAPSO (Church of Central Africa Presbyterian Student Association) meeting on the college campus. This was my first time to be invited, so I wasn’t exactly certain of what to expect. It was more than I imagined. They met in a classroom at the college that seats about 300 students. All the chairs were full. This was a Friday evening when there were lots of other activities on the campus to draw attention. It was a delight to see so many there. But the real delight was the spirit of the meeting. A praise team led the worship and it was spirited. The room resounded with the singing and vibrated with the dancing. The students danced freely with the singing. I was reminded of David dancing before the ark of the Lord. I was taken back to my college days when as a young Christian, I attended Inter-varsity Christian Fellowship meetings and was swept up in the emotion of singing. I felt that same thrill on Friday evening. The highlight was the CCAP Choir who sang “I Will Call Upon the Lord” in 6 part harmony. It was an inspirational time and definitely improved the preaching, for which I praise God.

But the delight of music did not end there. Sunday worship at Limbe celebrated “Synod Music Sunday.” The choirs of Limbe hosted a guest choir for the weekend from Nkhoma Synod. They had had Friday evening and all day Saturday together to share and practice for the services. We had the usual 2 services, but the focus of both was music. There were 7 choirs and 3 ensembles to participate in both services. Each choir selected their best number and presented it as praise to God, except for our guests, who gave two numbers. These songs ranged from a classical Hayden piece, done by the guest choir, to traditional Malawian music done by the Limbe Joint Choir and in between offerings of traditional hymns, contemporary praise songs, and Malawian praise choruses. Some were done to recorded backgrounds, other acapella, but all with dancing. But this was not a concert. It was worship participation. When a group sang a song that those in the congregation knew, they stood and joined in the singing or in some cases, come up front and joined the group, including the session clerk at one point. Participation was encouraged. One of the highlights was the Sunday school choir, comprised of 40 children from the ages of 6 to 13. The solo leader was a powerful 8 year old girl who captured everyone’s heart with her clear, strong voice. It was a spirit filled time of worship. But the ultimate was when the choirs joined together for a mass number. In the first service, they sang the old hymn “Peace, Be Still” in Chichewa. The harmonies were wonderful. For the second service, they sang “It Is Well with My Soul,” a favorite in Chichewa. I was moved to tears by the beauty of the sound and the power of the emotion of the music. The preaching for both services was on the place of music in worship, reminding us that music comes from God and that he invites us to praise him with song because we are created in his image. The face of God was evident in the praise of these two services.

So twice this weekend I was carried into God’s presence on the musical refrains of praise to the God of all creation, including the creation of music. For that I can only continue to praise him.

Blantyre Driving

Driving in Malawi is a challenge. That is just a given in life here, but most of the time, visitors think that refers to the challenge of rutted dirt roads in remote areas, no signposts anywhere and narrow bridges constructed of tree logs. While all of that is true, the greater challenge is navigating through Blantyre, the largest city in Malawi.

Blantyre has grown up with Malawi. It was a trading center that grew into the commercial center of the country. The roads were laid out when few people owned cars and were designed to meet the need of the time. The driving population has doubled in the last 5 years, from about 7% of the population owning cars to about 14%. The complicating factor is that close to half of them live and drive in Blantyre. Added to the congestion is the limited parking in the city. In an attempt to address this, the parking is primarily angle parking on most streets in town. This adds spaces, but makes the streets narrower for driving and difficult for backing out into traffic when one is ready to move again. This last challenge has been met by those colleting the parking fees (there are no parking meters). Once they collect their fee, they step behind the car and direct the driver backing into traffic. Sometimes that is stopping traffic and sometimes not. A driver must always keep an eye open for the folks in the iridescent green jackets attempting to stop traffic for someone backing out. Many people wait for those times, eager to take that parking spot before someone else grabs it. Some impatient drivers have taken matters into their own hands and double park, thinking they will just be a short time with their business. This makes the roads even narrower to navigate. This is particularly popular on the main street in town, Victoria Ave. An additional hazard is the drivers of the minibuses. Minibuses are the major mode of public transportation. They are the style of the old Volkswagen bus, but accommodate up to 15 passengers. They do not have routes, as such but stop at the will of the driver to pick up and discharge passengers. They cut in and out of traffic at will.

If this were all, Blantyre would not be all that different from some of the major cities in the States that have overflowing driving populations. But there are other factors to watch for. While Blantyre is a city, it still has the features of a trading center. The bicycle is still the major mode of transportation everywhere in Malawi. Blantyre is no different, so rush hour is a mesh of cars, trucks, the ever present minibuses, and lots of bicycles. The cyclists dart in and out of traffic, making better time than the cars, but at a risk to themselves and the motorists. Many times, these bikes are the mode of purveying good to the market, so are loaded with chickens or wood or bags of charcoal, all protruding on either side of the bike, making it a wide load as it maneuvers through traffic. Pedestrians are not restricted from the roads. Many use the sidewalks, but others choose to join the traffic of the road, walking behind the parked cars or down the center of the road. This is especially the case if the walkers are trying to sell goods, some on the way to the market and others using the available drivers as customers for their wares of vegetables, mops and brooms, or even goats and chickens. Some others take the opportunity of stopped traffic to beg.  All, whether beggars or vendors or pedestrians, parade among the cars, adding to the challenge of driving.

Most recently all of this has been further complicated with the fuel shortage. No, that has not meant fewer cars, but rather periodic long lines weaving from service stations in the center of town that have just received a shipment of diesel, the rare commodity these days. The trucks and minibuses create a third lane, between the parked cars and the passing motorists, as they wait their turn to enter the station and fill up. This usually means that traffic is reduced to one lane of moving vehicles that take turns moving around the line of waiters. These are the days that I miss the ease of driving in the traffic of Washington DC or Los Angeles.

World Communion Sunday

World Communion Sunday is designed to symbolically remind us that we are connected to the Body of Christ all around the world. On a few occasions, worship is planned that makes that symbol tangible. That was the case yesterday for me, the congregation I served in the States and part of the congregation I am serving currently in Malawi. It was a powerful reminder to all of us that we are connected. Electronics made it possible but the Spirit made it reality. God planned it all.

About four months ago the pastor serving the Mt. Pisgah congregation in Pittsburgh, the congregation I served for 8 years before coming to Malawi, contacted me about the possibility of doing a Skype connection with the congregation during worship on Oct. 2, World Communion Sunday. I was thrilled with the idea and reserved the time on my calendar, to be certain I was at home for the connection. She wanted this to be a surprise for the congregation, so we agreed that we would not say anything about it to anyone. She also asked if it would be possible to have a member or two of Limbe, my present congregation here in Malawi to join me, to make a full connection – church to church. When I asked the session clerks about this, they were thrilled and negotiated who would have the honor of representing Limbe. The deputy clerk, Robert Mponela won, since he knows more about computers and is more comfortable with the technology (or at least that was his reasoning for taking the post). Last week the pastor from Mt. Pisgah Skyped me to let me know that she would not be in worship on Oct. 2 because her daughter had given her a special birthday gift of a trip to Spain, but her husband, also a minister, would be filling in for her. We finalized the arrangements, still keeping this a surprise on that end. On Saturday, the parish chair of Limbe informed me that one of the zones of the church (geographic areas) would be coming to the manse on Sunday afternoon for a visit. Each zone takes a turn during the year visiting the manse and the pastor to give spiritual encouragement through a short worship service, and material support with food items, staples to assist with the household budget. I explained about the Skype conversation that was scheduled for 4 p.m. our time and he assured me the group would be at the manse early in the afternoon. They arrived at 3:30.

At that point, God made his planning clear. I explained what would be happening in just a short time and asked if they would like to be a part of it, making it a representation of the congregation. This hadn’t seemed a possibility when we were doing the planning because of the logistics of getting people from Limbe to my house (about 7 miles) and the fact that most people do not have cars. But God had arranged all of that. The group had come for a different purpose but in perfect time for the Skype conversation. They were a bit hesitant, mostly because they didn’t know what Skype was or how it worked, but finally decided to trust me and try it. It couldn’t hurt. I asked them if they would be willing to sing a Malawian chorus for the group in Pittsburgh, something I know Mt. Pisgah would love and that Limbe could do with ease. They willingly agreed, so we did a quick rehearsal and were set when the time came.

Exactly at 4 p.m. (10 a.m. in Pittsburgh) the call came. The visiting pastor had only told the congregation that there was a special greeting coming for World Communion Sunday. I think they thought it was his wife from Spain. When I answered and my face appeared on the big screen the church uses for the worship service, someone in the congregation let out a whoop that everyone on both sides of the ocean heard. I gave greetings and let them know how excited I was to see them, then introduced them to the session clerk and to the congregation gathered here. The group had moved together so they could all be seen by the webcam and they waved and called to their brothers and sisters in Christ in Pittsburgh. After I made a few remarks and took a few questions, we sang our song for them. They clapped and cheered and then responded by singing the doxology of us. The folks here joined in and together we praised God, although 10,000 miles apart. It was a powerful, spontaneous moment. The pastor at Mt. Pisgah offered prayer and we reluctantly said goodbye to one another, both sides waving. As we disconnected, the organist there began the introduction to the first hymn – In Christ There is No East or West. How true! We had just experienced it.

The folks here were in awe of the opportunity God had given them to celebration the Body of Christ around the world. The parish chair, who had come apologizing for being late, left delighted that “he had been to America in the matter of moments.” He said he couldn’t wait to tell his wife. That was the feeling of whole group. God’s plan and timing was so different from ours, but as always, it was even better. We can only praise him for that, for connecting us in Spirit, by electronics. Ours is an awesome God, in whom there is no east or west… but one great fellowship of love throughout the whole wide earth.

Vendors' Market

One of the ways of earning money in Malawi is to sell goods you have made or that others have made. These goods include wood carvings, paintings, jewelry, sewn items and even furniture. The vendors of these goods are regularly found on specific street corners in the cities designated by the police for this purpose. The street vendors find that competition is fierce, with 15 or 20 vendors trying to sell to the same 3 or 4 people who walk by and stop to look. The price may be good for the shopper, if he or she is willing to negotiate, but then the question is the origin of the materials and who really gets the profit, if there is one, since most of the vendors are not the artists. For the timid shopper, this method can be intimidating, as well, since in the States, we are not used to negotiating for a price and here that is part of the culture, and sometimes a rather aggressive part of it. I have had vendors follow me down the street trying to renegotiate a price when I decided not to buy.

There are about 4 vendors who are ambitious and have sought a different method with me. They come to my house and inquire when I will have visitors and ask if they might show them their products. These are vendors who make their own crafts and who have proven, over time, to do quality work and to offer fair prices, with a minimum of negotiating. So, gradually, I have come to hold a vendors’ market of sorts in my yard when I have visitors and when it is feasible. The vendors benefit, because they have less competition and the visitors benefit because they get quality works in a safe environment. No one has to shop; it is just available if they want it. I have peace of mind about the vendors, who have come to be friends, and my visitors, who are colleagues and friends.

So at some point when groups are here, my yard becomes a market place. The vendors have favorite places around the yard to display their goods. They try to be the first ones here to get the patio, with its stone railing. That is Amos’ favorite location. Mr. Missi prefers the slopped yard for display of his paintings. Gilbert likes it under the bougainvillea, using the table from the patio to display his cards. The vendors know one another and have been known to call the one who did not come on a given day or in time for the group, to inquire about his whereabouts. Each has his own specialty and although there are some duplications of products (paintings and jewelry in particular), there seems to be enough business and good will to go around.

The last group of visitors was most creative in bargaining. It was the last day of their trip and some of them had run out of money, so they offered to barter with the vendors for goods – a watch for a painting and a pair of shoes for a carving. Gilbert and Amos laughed at first but in the end decided that a trade was as good as cash. Today Gilbert is sporting a wrist watch, complete with the date and Amos is walking tall in new sneakers (well, new to him).

My role in all of this is just to provide the opportunity. But I do enjoy watching the interaction. Some folks have a score of questions about the methods and materials used to create the items. Others want to know about the lives of the artists involved. Still others just want the best deal. Hopefully everyone comes away satisfied. That is what makes for a successful market, from my perspective.