The Transfer

I have been transferred as associate pastor from the Chigodi congregation to the Limbe congregation. Sunday was my first time with the congregation as their associate. I have preached there a number of times with the Partnership but this is different. This is as a pastor for the congregation, not as a guest preacher. The welcome was warm and encouraging. And I clearly recognized the difference between a city congregation and a village congregation.

The pastor, Rev. Rodney Bona, had told me that we were having just one service instead of the usual two. The service was to begin at 7:30 a.m. and would be primarily in Chichewa. I wanted to be prompt, so I arrived shortly after 7 a.m. to find the parking lot nearly full. As I got out of the car, I heard congregational singing. My heart sank. Had I misunderstood and was I late for my first service with a new congregation? I quietly made my way to a side entrance, to slip in as unnoticed as possible. As I entered the sanctuary, I breathed a sigh of relief. The service in progress was a wedding. It had begun at 6 a.m. to be finished in time for the Sunday service. The pastor was just pronouncing the benediction. I wasn’t late but I had a graphic example of the intense schedule of a city church where services have to be placed at all times to accommodate the needs of the congregation.

After the wedding party had recessed, the elders gathered in the pastor’s office and quickly set the order of worship in place, assigning parts easily. I was to give the opening prayer. During the announcements, I would be introduced to the church and give greetings. Those were my only responsibilities. The pastor had come and gone. He would slip in to the service once it had begun. His home is on the church grounds and he went home to freshen up after the wedding. This is Malawi and even a 6 a.m. wedding is hot when one is fully robed.

The order of service is the same in every CCAP church, but the flavor is different because of the personalities of the congregations. Limbe is a large and generally well educated congregation. The parking lot overflows with newer model cars. The church has tiled flooring throughout the sanctuary. The sound system is controlled for a sound booth near the chancel. The elders come dressed in fresh suits or stylish dresses. The choirs all have their recorded accompaniments. The service begins promptly at the designated time. There is a formality that does not exist in a village church. But there are a few things that remain the same. Men still sit together on one side of the church and women on the other. The small children still wander up and down the aisles, going between their parents. Sunday school is conducted concurrent with the worship service so their singing can be heard during the service. The Spirit is evident in the praise songs and joy of the worship time.

As I worshipped with the congregation, I felt comfortable and welcomed. I anticipate a good time of learning and growing in faith together in the months ahead. Transfers are good. They are part of the life of a minister but more than that, they are part of God's plan for our growth and good.

Church Farewell

Pastors in Blantyre Synod are assigned to churches at the discretion of the Synod and the Presbytery. These decisions are made by the executive team of the judicatory body. The pastor’s response is to go where he or she is sent. That obedience is part of the ordination vows. I am part of Blantyre Synod, so when the executives of the Synod told me I was to be transferred from the Chigodi congregation to the Limbe congregation, my response was, “Of course.” Actually, I knew this was  going to happen, since the young pastor who has come as my assistant at Chigodi Women’s Training Center needed to be assigned to a congregation and it was most logical that she take the church closest to the Center, where she is living. The congregation, however, was not as willing. It wasn’t that they didn’t want Rev. Jailos. It was that they didn’t want to lose me. But after some long conversations with the elders, they accepted the transfer and began to plan a farewell Sunday for me.

Sunday was the big day and it was a big day. We usually have two services, one in English and one in Chichewa, but on special occasions, we combine and have only one service. That was the schedule for Sunday. That meant that the church was crowded, as we packed the two congregations into one. The choirs of the congregation usually divide between the services, but since there was only one, all the choirs were present and they each had prepared special music for the occasion, songs thanking me for being their pastor. That was most humbling. I preached the sermon, with the session clerk as my translator. It was a joy to work with him for one last time in this way. After the offering, came speeches of appreciation. It was a humbling, too, to hear all they thought I had done for them and with them in just 16 months. Then came the giving of gifts. This has a particularly Malawian flavor. Each of the zones of the church, the various groups of the church and some individuals had gifts to present. I stood in the front as the giver of the gift danced up the aisle with the gift as a choir sang. The giver knelt in front of me to present the gift, which I received and then handed to member of the mvano who was there to assist me. She took the gift and placed it in the growing stack beside the pulpit. One of the elders stood on the other side of me with a bucket in hand, to receive the kwacha that the folks from the group wished to give. The giving of money is part of the fun of giving here. This is usually given in small bills of 20 kwacha (about 13 cents) and 50 kwacha (about 33 cents), but many of them. The fun is in the dancing and the tossing of the money, all the while choirs sing. This can go on for some time. The whole process of gift giving took almost an hour. It is not the amount given that matters. It is the heart and the fun of the giving that matter. There was great heart in their giving. I was deeply touched. After the service, there was a dinner at the Women’s Center, just up the hill from the church, for all the elders and their spouses. There were more speeches and more laughter as we shared a final meal together as pastor and elders.

Pastors become used to going to and leaving congregations. That is part of the call of God but there is always something bitter sweet about having to say goodbye. While it means new opportunities for the pastor and for the congregation, it is hard to let go of the relationships that have been built and the ministry that has been done together. I guess that is the price of engaging in one another’s lives. The farewell recognized that relationship and appreciated the time together. I praise God for that. I’ve said goodbye, but part of my heart remains, as part of my heart has in every congregation I have had to leave.

Session clerk and his wife tossing kwacha as a farewell gesture

Cottage Prayers

Large congregations are the rule here in Malawi. As in the States, the challenge in a large congregation is how to spiritually nurture the members. It is so easy for folks to just come to worship but never get involved in the life of the congregation. To help address that issue, Blantyre Synod congregations are divided into zones, geographic regions of the congregation. Elders are appointed from each of the zones or cottages to oversee the life of the members within those areas. The elders are responsible for knowing the families in their area – their needs, their struggles, and their joys. The elders are responsible for conducting weekly prayer meetings. These are called Cottage Prayers. Each week in worship, the locations of cottage prayers are announced so that everyone in that area is able to know and to attend. At the Chigodi congregation, we have 4 zones. Cottage prayers are usually held on Saturday afternoons, so those who are working are able to attend.

Rev. Kadawati teaching

Since the church is preparing for elections of leadership in December, Rev. Kadawati and I have visited the cottages during November, doing some teaching on the responsibilities and the requirements for deacons and elders, answering questions and then joining them in prayer. If the need is there, we have done some visitation to the sick as well. Now, I’m a bit handicapped in that I can’t preach in Chichewa but I can understand the questions being asked and follow the discussions. The session clerk, who has traveled with us, has been good about translating for me – both translating my preaching for the members of the prayer groups and the questions of the group so that I get the full extent of the questions. I have done the preaching and Rev. Kadawati has done the teaching and fielded most of the questions, although he has tossed a few delicate ones in my direction. We have worked well together as a team. For a few of these, my young associate from Chigodi Women’s Center, a newly ordained minister, has gone with us and joined in the service.

The various cottage groups had really enjoyed it when the three of us are together. It is enough to have one pastor, a blessing to have two and almost unheard of to have three in one congregation. Repeatedly they tell us how blessed they are to have the three of us there.

The venue for these meetings is always someone’s home, but the houses are too small for groups of twenty or more, so we have been meeting outside the houses. Praise God that the rains have held off each time. These meetings take place mid afternoon on Saturdays, so the challenge is to find a shady place for everyone to sit and for the pastors to stand. Seating is on the ground, or in a few cases, on grass mats that the host provided. This has worked and most Malawian are comfortable with that, especially the women who are used to sitting on the ground. We have walked up steep hills and down among small houses to get to the hosts’ homes. We have been in the heart of the Kachere village area. I have gotten to know places that one never sees from the road, where the people live. Each time, we are warmly greeting, offered cool drinks and the best seats and made to feel that we have honored them by coming, when in fact, we are the one who are blessed by being there.

My only regret is that we did not do this earlier in my time with the congregation, since this has given me a wonderful opportunity to know where these folks live and for a brief time to share in their lives. But I have to trust God that this is the right time. Rev. Kadawati’s schedule as General Secretary has not allowed for this, he has had to juggle things to make this work. My Chichewa has only recently gotten to the point that I feel comfortable following conversations and I think it has taken this time for the members to be comfortable with a mzungu (white) pastor, so it has all worked out in God’s perfect time.

Zone 2 Cottage group

General Assembly

A General Assembly of the CCAP (Central Church Africa, Presbyterian) was scheduled to begin on Saturday here in Blantyre. This would have involved all 5 of the synods of the CCAP -  Blantyre, Livingstonia, Nkhoma, Zambia and Zimbabwe – but it is not going to happen For the fourth time in as many years, the meeting has been canceled because the participants could not agree on the agenda. Actually, two of the five would not agree, Livingstonia and Nkhoma. The two synods are in a dispute about the border between the synods and each encroaching into the other’s territory in planting prayer houses and new churches. This is not a new dispute. It has been brewing since 1924, if the issue is traced far enough. It has heated up in the last few years and the encroachment has escalated on both sides.

The rhetoric and public arguments have quieted down in the last months. Parties from the other synods had visited both of the disputing parties and each had agreed to participate in the General Assemble. We were all hopeful. Plans were made and everything was coming in place. Accommodations were reserved. The meeting place was prepared. Subcommittee meetings were scheduled. Tuesday there was an air of anticipation that this was finally the time to put the differences of the past in the past and to move forward, politely agreeing to disagree on some points but working to preserve the unity of the church by meeting together. Then Tuesday evening the meeting was canceled. The issue was the agenda. Livingstonia wanted the border issue on the agenda and Nkhoma refused. There was no giving on either side. They were right back at the same impasse, over the same issue. It was as if all the negotiating of the last months had not happened. All arrangements were canceled.

This is a disturbing development for a number of reasons. The most obvious is that as brothers and sisters in Christ, we cannot sit together and work out our differences. Yes, there is record of disputes happening even in the New Testament, but they were worked out by meeting and reasoning together. If we don’t meet, we can’t reason together. Second is the waste of resources - time and money - that has been spent on something that is now not going to happen. In a land where resources are so scarce, it is really a sin to waste them in this way. But even more serious is the message that this sends to the non-Christian world. It says we can’t practice what we preach about peace and love. We are damaging our witness to the world and thereby tarnishing the name of Christ. This grieves my heart. I can only imagine what it must do to God’s heart.

But before I become too quick to point fingers of shame, I need to look more closely at my relationships. It is so easy to see others’ errors, especially institutions, because they tend to be nameless and faceless. But when they are brothers and sisters in the faith, it is different. It is harder to point at those we know and like, on both sides of a dispute. Pointing becomes inappropriate. That is not our place. The only thing to do, with integrity, is to uphold all parties concerned in prayer. Only God can change hearts and resolve differences. This must continue to be an issue of prayer. That is true for all the church disputes in all our denominations because the truth is that we all have them. The issues are different. The names and faces are different, but the disputes are there. I am convinced that the only alternative is prayer from and for all parties involved. Only God can truly make peace.

Let the Children Come

Most of my work is with adults, especially pastors. But sometimes God gives me the opportunity to be with the children of Malawi. That makes my heart sing. Last week God gave me one of those times, thanks to Peter Kadawati, the General Secretary’s eldest son. Peter is a college student majoring in community development with a heart for ministry. About 2 years ago, he was asked to help with a CBC group – Community based Orphan Care – that is run by Blantyre Synod Health and Development Commission (BSHDC). The project works with orphans and the adults who care for them in a densely populated area outside of Blantyre. BSHDC operates a number of these centers around Blantyre. Peter has begun a Bible study with the group and asked me if I would come and share the word with them. He would translate. I have done this twice before. Those times the groups have been the women who care for the children.

The prayer group moves around, trying to find adequate space. Most recently they have been meeting in an open air shelter with just a grass roof. The participants sit on the ground. This particular day, as we left Blantyre for the site, the winds picked up and the sky darkened. When we arrived, there was no one at the shelter. We were told by one of the neighbors, one who cares for some of the orphans, that many women had gathered, but when the wind started, everyone scattered. They wanted better shelter. A light rain was beginning, so the lady invited us to stand on a porch, out of the wind and wet, until the group could be gathered again. Then the owner of the house insisted that we come in and sit in her living room while we waited. There was no need for a great announcement that we were there. Everyone knew. We had come by car and that is a rare sight in this area. The children gathered around the car and followed it down the narrow lanes as we drove. They easily followed us to the house to wait with us. Within just a few minutes, there were 15 children standing on the front porch, looking in at us. Our hostess invited them in and announced that her living room was the best location for worship that day. This is where we would stay. That announcement was as good as a public address call. The children began to assemble, this time in the house instead of in the shelter. Within 5 minutes the house was full, floor space all taken and more came, sitting on the front porch, leaning in the windows. We had a congregation.

Peter made introductions and worship began – lively singing of choruses, with clapping and dancing. Movement was a challenge, since the space was so crowded, but that did not stop the Malawian movement of worship. Unlike the other times I have spoken to the group, most of those gathered were children. I quickly mentally adjusted my message for a younger audience. These bright faces didn’t need deep thoughts as much as they needed encouragement to be faithful to follow Jesus. As I spoke of a young David who had a heart that pleased God, they understood (because of Peter’s good translation) that they could please God. They began to respond visually and verbally. They liked the story and got the message. And I had fun with them. I think I got a glimpse of why Jesus liked to have the children come to him. They are free to respond, What a blessing to a preacher.

Only after the service, as we were leaving, did we realize that the light rain has stopped soon after it began, The ground wasn’t even wet. All that threatening weather had been to change the location and the composition of the congregation, not to flood the area. God gave me time with his children, That a blessing!

Chingale

Every culture or region seems to have one group of people who are the source of jokes. These jokes usually revolve around the rural nature and economic status of the people of that area. The Chingale region is the source of that sort of joking in the southern region of Malawi. Economically, Chingale is the poorest part of the region. This has to do with the landscape, first. It is rocky and hilly, not at all conducive to agriculture, the primary source of economic stability for the entire country. Second, there is no steady water source, so irrigation is not an option. Everyone and everything is dependent upon rainfall, not a reliable method of farming. The landscape also makes road construct difficult, so since there is no economic motivation to construct, there are no good roads in the area. The best are one lane dirt roads, pocked with ruts and rocks. The worst are trails wide enough for a bicycle but hardly negotiable by car or truck, although both use these trails, since they are the only means of connecting the residents of those areas with the rest of the country. The schools that exist are understaffed and undersupplied. Education suffers. Only a few of the children’s parents can afford to send them to school. Pastors joke about being sentenced to Chingale, rather than being sent there. But I disagree. While all these factors are true, and life there is remote and difficult, the people of Chingale easily compensate for the geography and the economy. That truth was born out again Thursday when the team from Chigodi went to Chingale Presbytery to present our building project.

We had made arrangements to go to only one church. This meant that the women who were invited had to travel to the center of the region, to the Chingale CCAP church. This was not an easy task. I had never been there but our driver said he knew where it was. He knew where the Presbytery office was, but that was not the same church. We made several inquiries and followed several people’s directions, unsuccessfully, until we finally spotted the pastor and offered him a ride, in exchange for guidance. The problem was that one of those trails was the only way to the church. We hadn’t recognized it as a navigable road and had driven past it three times. The women of the region had no such difficulty. They were there to welcome us, with singing and dancing. More than a hundred women walked, rode bicycle taxis or hitched rides in the back of flatbed trucks to come to the church. One group made arrangements with a truck driver to bring the entire group from the church. They arrived and left sitting in the open flatbed of the truck, joyfully singing as dust swirled around them.

The church is more than a kilometer from the nearest market area, in the middle one of the few level, cleared gardens, ready for planting when the rains come. There is no electricity near the church and the nearest well is at the trading center. In spite of this, we were offered cool drinks when we arrived. Some of the ladies had carried them from the trading center when they came. They cared for their visitors with grace and generosity. None of them had cool drinks. They had water that several of them had carried in buckets on their heads from the market area.

We come, asking them to help us finish a dormitory that was left incomplete from the last administration. We suggest that if each church or prayer house in the Synod would contribute MK4,000 (about $27), we could finish the project. These ladies asked if they could contribute maize flour or casaba to sell, to make up their contributions. They don’t have cash, but they have some crops and they are willing to sacrifice those to support the project. I was deeply touched. At the end of the program, in typical Malawian tradition, they offer gifts to the visitors, in thanks for their coming. (Yes, we come asking for money and they give us gifts to thank us for coming and for asking – amazing!) Each church group or prayer house group brought their gifts, individually – small bags of ground nuts (peanuts), casaba, maize flour, pigeon peas, a head of cabbage, a bunch of bananas. All of this was carefully stacked in front of us and we shook hands with each one presenting a gift. These women scratch to feed their families and they were sharing with us from their family’s storerooms. While the meeting was going on, a small group of women had been cooking for the entire group. After the program, we ate in small groups – we three visitors in one area of the church, the pastor and session clerk in another and the woman gathered on the floor in the sanctuary. The guests were served rice, nsima, chicken, vegetables and cool bottles of soda. The pastor and session clerk were given nsima, chicken, vegetables and sobo (water and flavoring, like Lemon Blend). The women ate nsima and vegetables and drank water. Separate dining areas downplayed the different menus. It was humbling.

When we prepared to leave, they sang us out of the church and all the way to our vehicle. They carried the gifts they had given us and loaded them in the truck. Then they ran alongside the truck, singing and waving their chitenji (wraps) as we pulled onto the dirt path. Their reception and treatment of us overwhelmed me. Chingale is no joke. It is populated by generous, gracious people of God. That is not something to laugh about but rather to praise God for.

For a Jack

Since my last travel adventure, when the tire literally fell off, my colleagues at the Synod have arranged for a vehicle and a driver from the Synod when we go off on trips for Chigodi. This protects me and my companions from being stranded, if something happens. We put this to the test on Thursday. We, (Mrs. Majamada, the program director, Rev. Catherine Jailos, the assistant administrator and myself), had to go to Thuchila Presbytery, between Mulanje and Phalombe. It isn’t a great distance, nor a particularly remote area, so it was a good test for this new procedure.

At 7:30 a.m., I was at the Synod offices, awaiting the driver. He was late, so the Human Resource Director, the one responsible for drivers and vehicles, assigned another driver, to get us on our way. Mr. Kabalula is usually the General Secretary’s driver, but since the GS is out of the country for a week, he drew the short straw and was selected to drive us. He is a delightful man and an excellent driver, so I knew I could relax. We were assigned the Toyota Camry, an older sedan, but since we weren’t going on rough terrain, it seemed practical, so we set off for Chigodi to collect the others and head to Thuchila

The first church we were to visit was on a dirt road that had a few deep dips and bumps, but Mr. Kabalula handled them well. He maneuvered us through a small, crowded market areas with great skill. I would have been a bit stressed, if I had been driving. We arrived in good time and held our meeting with about 70 mvano from 10 different churches and prayer houses. At the end of the meeting, they presented us with gifts, a Malawian tradition. This group was extremely generous in their expressions of thanks for our coming. They danced in with bags of sweet potatoes and casaba, packages of beans, a pole of bananas, and sticks of sugarcane. It was overwhelming. All I could think of was how it would all fit in the trunk of the car. If we had had my CRV, there would have been no problem but this was more than100 kgs of “kindness” that had to be transported. Mr. Kabalula ably handled the packing while we had lunch, then he joined us.

He decided that since the car was sitting low in the back, he would use a different route to the next church, one with fewer ruts. We were traveling about 20 kilometers an hour to avoid big bumps. We were putting great strain on old springs so he wanted to be careful. But there was one particularly rough spot. We rubbed the bottom of the car and bumped harder than we had before. Then we heard a thudding sound. I looked at Mr. Kabalula as he stopped the car. He said he thought it was a tire. We all got out to check. Sure enough, the left back tire was flat. The bump had jarred the tire enough to pop it from the rim. Mr. Kabalula never batted and eye. He just began to unload the trunk to get to the spare tire and the jack. That is when we discovered that we had no jack. The spare was new; there was a tire wrench, but no jack and we were nowhere near any one or any place that would have a jack. Mr. Kabalula began to look for alternatives to the traditional jack while Mrs. Majamanda looked for alternative transportation to get her to the next church ahead of the rest of us, to meet the ladies who were waiting for us. She decided she would take a bicycle taxi and we could meet her there. When I suggested I take a taxi, too, and go with her, she just laughed and rejected my idea. It was inappropriate for me to ride on the back of a bike, but she could. I know better than to argue, even though I was certain I could handle the ride as well as she could. Rev. Jailos and I stayed with Mr. Kabalula.

After several failed attempts to drive up on large rocks placed under the car, Mr. Kabalula agreed that I could pay a few of the strong young men who had gathered to watch us, to lift the car as he placed the rocks appropriately, to serve as a jack. The young men were more than willing to earn some easy money. They lifted while he shimmied the rocks into place and then he set about quickly changing the tire. In less than 15 minutes the tire was changed, the car lowered and the trunk repacked. We paid the young men and slowly moved on to join Mrs. Majamada at the church.

The ladies who had been waiting at the church had gone ahead with lunch preparations, so when we joined them, everyone was joyfully eating, unconcerned about our delay, but grateful for our safe arrival. The meeting proceeded as the first one had, including the generous gifts at the end of the program. I was caught in an emotional struggle: I was deeply grateful for their generosity but deeply concerned for the weight and space of the car. Once again Mr. Kabalula did the packing. He emptied bags and filled in knocks and crannies in the trunk; he repositioned the spare tire (which he had repaired while we were in our meeting) and only placed a few small bags in the floor of the back seat. The backend of the car was sitting very low. After a pastoral visit to the minister of the congregation who was ill and the appropriate farewells, we headed off more slowly than we had arrived. The blessing was that we were very near the main road, so we did not have much of a distance on rough terrain.

Once on the main road, we still traveled slowly, not over 60 kilometers an hour, because we were overloaded. This made the trip longer, but safer. The only concern I had was the police road block. This is a routine stop where they check for expired safety stickers, but do check the minivans for excessive passengers and baggage. We would have had some explaining to do, weighed down with a trunk full of casaba and sweet potatoes, if they had stopped us. We speculated about our explanation and the policeman’s possible responses. Praise God we were just waved through with no questions. God is good!

The jury is still out on the blessing of a Synod vehicle. The CRV would have been better for the roads and the load, but there is no question of the driver. Mr. Kabalula is capable, resourceful and careful. I would travel with him anywhere again. The real question is if he wants to travel with the Chigodi crew again. We have been prone to adventures, but God has been faithful and has protected us and provided for us. He provided Mr. Kabalula this time. We will see who or how he provides on the next outing.

Mr. Kabalula addressing the jack issue.

Protection and Provision

I’ve gotten in the habit of praying before any trip for God’s protection and provision for me and for all those around me. I’ve seen too many accidents and breakdowns to take God’s care for granted. Thursday night I experienced that care.

I had had a day of speaking in Chuita Presbytery. Rev. Catherine Jailos, my assistant at Chigodi, Mrs. Majamanda, our program director, Thomas, Jean and Chimwemwe were all with me. Thomas and his family were coming down to spend part of Mother’s Day with me on Friday. We dropped Mrs. Majamand near her home, so she could spend the Mother’s Day holiday with her family and were proceeding to Chigodi. It was about 7:30 p.m., dark but past rush hour, so traffic had thinned out. I had heard a noise in the front of the car when we hit bumps and made a mental note to call Sam Ncozana, my friend who helps me with all things car related, in the morning to have him take a look at it. This was a bit disconcerting, since I had just spent a great deal of money on repairing the suspension system and on new tires.

We were about a mile from the turnoff to Chigodi when there was a great thud, and the front passenger side of the car dropped to the road. Metal scrapped the pavements as I gained control of the wheel and steered the car to the right should of the road, across what would have been traffic, if there had been any coming. Praise God there was not. (We drive on the left side of the road in Malawi.) Here there was room to get the car off the road and inspect the problem. This is an isolated area of road, with no houses nearby. Thomas got out, instructing me to stay in the car. While he inspected the car and put out triangles (warning markers), I tried to call Sam for assistance. There was no answer. I texted him. After several attempts, I called Rev. Kadawati, the General Secretary and my friend. He said he would send a Synod driver and mechanic to assist us. Thomas got back in the car and we began to count the things for which we were thankful: We were all safe; no one was coming toward us; no one was close behind us; the car steered to a safe stop; the spot in the road was wide enough for us to be safe; I was not alone; help was on the way; Chimwemwe was asleep and quiet. About this time, Catherine’s phone rang. It was the matron at Chigodi, wondering where we were. Catherine reported the incident to her and she insisted on sending one of the police officers who lives on the Chigodi ground (built-in security for the Center) down to be with us. Apparently the thing that made that spot a good one for stopping is the very thing that makes that spot dangerous – it is isolated.

The policeman arrived in uniform with his gun and his two teenage sons (for help if needed), just as the Synod team arrived. The police officer stood across the road, in the dark, keeping guard, while the mechanic and driver got to work assessing and dealing with the damage. The ball joint had broken, they said. Patrick, the mechanic, put on his work overalls, took out his tool box and a jack, and he and Mr. Banda, the driver, began temporary repairs, to make the car drive able. It took over an hour, lots of pounding, a piece of bull rope, and a great deal of engineering “jury-rigging,” as my father would have called it, but by 9:45, we were ready to roll, at a very slow pace, but ready to move. There were no brakes and everything was held together with rope, so Patrick was going first, alone in my car, at about 20 kilometers an hour. I tried Sam again, to let him know the situation was under control. He was driving down from Zomba and said he would get us along the road. We unloaded the luggage (including 2 live chickens given to us by the Presbytery) from the back of my car into the Synod truck, shifted the sleeping child and the rest of the passengers and the police force into the truck. We, in the truck, turned off at Chigodi to deliver the group that lives there and then catch up with Patrick and follow the car on its slow trek to the Synod. We deposited the Chigodi folks and katundu (stuff), paused to praise God for his care, and then headed back to the road to catch up with Patrick. On the way down the Chigodi road, my phone rang. It was Sam asking if I were driving my car. I said no but Patrick was. He said he was just behind my car and was hoping I was not the lone driver. I assured him I was not and that we would be joining them shortly. As we approached the procession of two cars, Patrick pulled off the road. We all thought something was wrong. Mr. Banda quickly pulled in front of my car and jumped out to see what was wrong. Thomas followed him. After a short time, they came back, laughing. Patrick was nervous about an unknown car (Sam’s) following him, so he pulled off for us to overtake him. He was relieved to learn who was behind him. So we started off again in a slow procession of three – Patrick, the Synod truck, and Sam. It took us almost an hour to get to the Synod, but the blessing was that it was late at night and traffic was very light. We were not causing traffic snarls with our slow pace. We pulled into my yard about 11 p.m. Sam and Patrick talked “repairs” for a few minutes while the rest of us unloaded the truck and put the sleeping child in the house. Sam said he would come in the morning to attend to the car. There were not enough words to thank Patrick and Mr. Banda for all they had done. They just smiled and headed home. They both had to report to work at 7 a.m.

After Thomas and Jean and I got Chimwemwe settled and got a little something to eat, we sat and reviewed again God’s great protection and provision for us that night. We were save; the car was safe; we and the car were back at the Synod; gifted and dedicated mechanics had come to help us; we had our own police protection. God was so faithful to care for us in all these ways and more. I can only praise him for his care. Our God is an answering God!

Mother's Day

Today is Mother’s Day in Malawi. Yes, it seems like an odd time for Americans, but this is Malawi. Mother’s Day is always on the Friday of the second week of October, regardless of the date.  Actually, Mother’s Day is quite different here. It is a National Holiday, so banks and businesses are all closed. People are encouraged to spend time with their mothers, or those who have been mothers to them (since there are so many in Malawi who have been orphaned and raised by someone other than their biological mother). It is because of this practice that I am celebrating Mother’s Day. Actually, I’m spreading the celebration out over a few days because of the boys’ schedules. Charles has church meetings today and tomorrow, so he and his family are coming on Monday morning and we will celebrate together on Monday. Since I was in Ntaja   yesterday for a teaching time at the Presbytery, Thomas and his family came down with me last night and were here for the morning. Then Jean went to see her mother and Thomas headed back for church meetings tomorrow.

But this morning, after Thomas escorted Jean to the minibus to go see her mother, he came back to have lunch and collect his luggage (and a few goodies from Mom) before heading home. We printed recent photos from his ordination and installation for him to take home. Photos are rare treats here, expensive and hard to come by. As we were scrolling through the library of pictures, we came across some older ones, from 2007, when we first became family. There was one photo that stopped me, as I remembered all that was behind the taking of it. When I showed it to Thomas, he just gave me a long, hard hug and whispered “Thanks.” The photo was of him and his biological mother, taken just a week before her death.

Many of you know the story, but as I looked at that photo, it all came back to me. It is a Malawian Mother’s Day story, the heart of what we are celebrating and worth remembering again, I think. The day the photo was taken, she was being discharged from the hospital. She had been admitted several days before.  She had pneumonia and other complications associated with HIV/Aids. Ten years before, she had made a choice to stay with her husband, knowing he was being unfaithful, and knowing that she would become infected, but also knowing that if she stayed, her 5 children would be provided for by their father. If she left, they would all be cut off from any support. The night before she was discharged, Thomas came to visit me as he returned from the hospital, with the request that I go with him to the hospital the next day to talk his mother into taking the ARV drugs the doctors were recommending she take to keep the HIV at bay. She was refusing and he wanted me to talk to her. I asked why she was refusing. He said she had explained to him that she had nothing to cause this disease. She had been faithful in her marriage. She could face her Lord and savior with a clear conscious. If she took the drugs, her life would be extended, but the little money her husband, Thomas’ father, had left the family at his death10 months before would be used up. So she was refusing. I listened and then I said I would not go to try and convince her, even if I could. For the second time in her life she was consciously choosing death over life out of love for her children. Thomas stormed out of the house and slammed the door. I fell to my knees in prayer. Early the next morning, there was a timid knock at my door. Thomas stood quietly and asked if I would go with him to get his mother, to take her home in honor of her wishes. To that I willingly agreed. At the hospital, he asked me to take their picture, which I willingly did. It is the only photo he has of his mother.

Today as we looked at that photo together, I was reminded of the great love she had for her children. She not only passed along the power of faith in Christ, she lived it in her decisions. Her actions of love made Christ’s love real to her children, especially to Thomas. He is the man he is today because of her love and example. Twice in her life she made a choice of death over life out of love for her children, a choice few women in America every have to make but one that many women in Malawi make every day. That makes Mother’s Day especially meaningful in a country of over a million orphans under the age of 18 and many more orphaned in young adulthood, as Thomas was. Mother's day is a celebrations of mothers' love. and children's response to that love. Their picture represents that.

The big event of this weekend was the centennial celebration for Henry Henderson Institute. It has been a long time in the planning. In fact, the real anniversary was in 2009, but the celebration was postponed until everything was in place. One of the blessings of not being bound by time, as we are in the Northern Hemisphere, is the ability to celebrate when ready, not when the clock or the calendar degrees. So the celebration was set for 10-10-10, to begin at 10 a.m., marking a date that will not happen for another hundred years. Everything was in place. The road in front of the school had been paved. The trees had been pruned to make room for all the tents to be erected. Commemorative cloth had been produced and sold, so everyone and everything could be dressed in the material of the day. All the alumni had been invited, especially the Number One Alumni, the president of Malawi, His Excellency Ngwazi Prof. Bingu wa Mutharika. He was the Guest of Honor. That meant that everything that happened focused around him, as it should, as honored guest and as President.

Early in the week, preparations were begun for the big day. The grounds were readied. The tents were erected. The school buildings were cleaned and polished, inside and out. The students were rehearsed. Speeches were written and revised, so that on Sunday morning only the finishing touches remained. Chairs were set up and ushers were instructed about who was to sit where. The clergy were instructed to gather at St. Michael’s church at 8:15 for our instructions and preparations for processing to our seats near the platform. From these seats, we had shelter from the sun and a relatively good view of the Presidential party on a platform which had been erected in front of the school hall and decorated with the commemorative cloth. By 9 a.m., everyone was in place to await the arrival of the President. All the seats in the 7 tents that were erected and in the unprotected areas near the platform were filled and people stood under trees and out in the sun, to get a good view of the events. The grounds were packed. As we waited, red carpet was rolled out and swept clean for everywhere the President would walk, the Malawi police inspection for security, the media set up their equipment to televise the event, and choirs took turns singing, as final rehearsals and live entertainment. As the hour of arrival neared, women gathered along the entry road to sing and welcome the president’s convoy. Anticipation and celebration filled the air.

At 10:10 a.m. (on Malawian time), sirens sounded to announce the President’s arrival. Everyone snapped to attention as the motorcade pulled in and the President emerged. He was greeted by the General Secretary, the Synod Moderator and all the political officials who had gathered for the event, several of them alumni of HHI. They escorted him into the school, on his red carpet, where he signed the guest book and inspected a classroom and the library. As he emerged from the building, the Malawi Police Band played the National Anthem and the President took his seat of honor on the platform. After the formal greetings and recognition of all dignitaries, the program began with a worship service. This followed the usual format for CCAP worship. The Moderator, Rev. Reynold Mangisa, preached. Three choirs sang, including the Women’s Choir from Chigodi Congregation. This was a great honor for the church I serve and for our choir. The offering went to HHI for improvement to the buildings.

After the worship service, the real celebration began. The primary school children performed traditional rhythmic dumb bell exercises. This is synchronized movement and tapping of a set of wooden dumb bells by 40 young students. The President rose from his seat to give money to the group and to “exercise” with them. The crowd cheered his participation. Then the Beni dancers, came, young boys and girls who do military precision dance/march to a drum beat. Again the President won the applause of the crowd when he joined them in marching and gave them a monetary gift of appreciation. The alumni then marched from their seats, arranged in decade groups, in front of the platform to greet the President. Some of the older folks had been asked to represent 1909 to 1929, even though these were not their years. But from then on, those who marched did so according to the years they attended the school. The numbers of alumni swelled as the decades drew closer to the present. The Police Band played and the crowd cheered. It was an impressive procession of professional business people, teachers, pastors, and political and civic leaders. An Alumnus from each decade had been selected to give “brief” reflections on their time at HHI. This was interspersed with poems and a skit. Finally, the HHI choir sang as the present students released blue and white balloons. Then the dignitaries offered speeches. These remembered the early history of the school and those who had served in leadership over the last century. The last to speak, of course, was the President. While he shared official “State remarks” about education, he also offered some of his remembrances of his time as a student at HHI and then he presented a sizable check to the administration as a kickoff to the fundraising    for the future building improvements. He challenged his fellow alumni to step forward and contribute in the near future.

With the festivities completed, the Police Band played the national anthem again and everyone sang. The President was once again escorted to his motorcade and the women sang and cheered as the cars pulled away. The long anticipated event was over. As the crowd dispersed, comments of praise could be heard. No one seemed to notice that it was six hours since we had all gathered in preparation for the President’s arrival. Time didn’t matter. It was a good event, well worth the wait and all the preparations.

Busy Weekend

This has been a busy weekend, not that most aren’t, but this one has been especially so. This weekend held big events in people’s lives and in the lives of institutions Friday, Saturday and climaxed on Sunday. I’ll save the climax for an entry all its own. The other two events were not “big” by comparison, but they deserve reflection and appreciation.

On Friday evening the last group of oyendera (women’s church coordinators) graduated after an intense week of training at Chigodi. This is the fourth such week of training and the largest group to date - 65. The Women’s Desk of the Synod is responsible for this training and for a variety of reasons, has not done a training class for two years, so there were many women waiting for the opportunity. Over the past four weeks, there have been 203 women trained, some from each of the 18 presbyteries of the Synod. This training includes Bible Study leadership, administrative skills, mvano leadership, Synod expectations, and much more. All of this was done at Chigodi. This is a great blessing for the Center because it inaugurates a new phase of programming at the Center, as well as new training for the women. This time last year, Chigodi was closed. There were no programs, no water, no money. Another term for graduation is commencement, marking the beginning of a new phase in one’s life. Friday’s celebration was also a commencement for Chigodi, marking the new phase of training and growth for the Center. In this way, we celebrate with the oyendera as they begin their roles as church leaders and we resume our role as a place for women to develop into the people God intends them to be.

So the General Secretary and his wife came to honor the graduates, by giving a brief message and then handing out certificates. All of this was done with due pomp and ceremony and accompanied by speeches and music. Each of the new oyendera came forward when her name was called, bow, knelt before the General Secretary, in traditional Malawian fashion, and received her certificate. The rest of the class cheered as each o ne received recognition. After the program, there was a meal for everyone, fellowship together to encourage each other and rejoice together.

On Saturday, the group of 13 missionaries to Pittsburgh, USA, returned to Malawi. Unlike welcomes in the States, where your family comes to gather you at the airport and take you home, here, arrivals and returns are community celebrations. Folks from each of the churches represented by the travelers made their way to the airport to greet their members. Some came in large numbers from the far reaches of the Synod, from Migowi and Chingale and Chuita Presbyteries, to say welcome home. Mvano (women’s guild) choirs came to sing and dance welcome. Pastors and elders came to extend a hand of greeting. There were songs and speeches and flowers handed out. More than 200 folks came to say “we are glad you are back” to the 13 travelers. It was done in grand Malawian style. From the airport, we all proceeded to Grace Bandawe Conference Center for the official welcome and all the necessary speeches, and a brief reception. There were smiles and laughter at stories of faith and of cultures shared and learned from. From the “funny English” the folks in Pittsburgh speak, to the powerful worship times, the experiences shared encouraged the hearts of those of us who stayed behind. Personally, it was good to hear of folks from “home” and their welcome to my Malawian friends. I was encouraged personally. It was a great time and made the “busyness” of the weekend so worthwhile.