Women in Prison

One of our female pastors in the Synod has developed a heart for the women in prison. This came about when her sister was unjustly accused of mismanaging money at her place of work and was imprisoned until the matter was straightened out. The young pastor visited her sister regularly to encourage her, until she was acquitted and released. During those visits, she became aware of the difficult conditions of female prisoners.

The churches the pastor is currently serving are relatively close to the Zomba prison, which at present houses 51 women. The pastor went to visit the prisoners at the beginning of Lent. At that time she took 22 chitenje (the clothe wraps that the women of Malawi use for so many things) and promised to find more for the rest of the women. During Lent, she spoke to the women of her congregations about the project and prayed with them about how God might want to use them to minister to these women.  These congregations would be considered “poor” congregations. Most of the members are subsistence farmers and their families. None of the women had ever been to a prison for any reason, so even thinking about going was outside their comfort zones. The pastor was not hopeful of the response, but she committed it to prayer. She wrote to the prison officials and got permission for a group to visit on Easter Monday.  On Good Friday, 6 women were committed to go. She encouraged them and continued to pray. She determined that if only the 6 went, that would be a witness. Easter Sunday, she spoke about the need again during the worship services and then went home to prepare for the Monday morning visit. She was overwhelmed in the afternoon when several women came with some chitenje for her to take, and began to ask questions about the trip. She was encouraged.

Monday morning 60 women came to the manse for the trip. They had talked among themselves and decided that they needed to take seriously Jesus words about visiting those in prison being the same as visiting him (Matt. 25). They brought supplies to minister to the needs of the prisoners – 2 bundles of sugar, 4 cartons of soap, 7 bags of flour, 4 bundles of sugar cane, 3 bags of cassava, 1 large bag of peanuts, a basin of guava, 2 boxes of perfumed body gel, a large bundle of used clothing and 29 chitenje. All of this came from their homes as they shared what little they had with those who were in greater need than they themselves. The greatest surprise to the pastor was the number of chitenje. She had never mentioned how many were needed to provide for those she had not had enough for in the last visit. The number the women brought covered the need perfectly. She praised God.

They made arrangements with one of the men of the closest congregation who has a large truck to transport the women and all the supplies to the prison.  The women sang as they traveled, but when they stopped in front of the prison, all were quiet. Their fears seized them. They had heard horror stories of prison conditions. The pastor prayed with them and they silently entered the prison. The silence was broken by the women inmates who greeted them with singing as they entered the assigned room. The singing dispelled their fears and they joined in the singing and danced with the inmates. The pastor led a time of worship and preached of God’s forgiveness. Then they distributed their gifts. The prison chaplain asked if they might share some of the soap and body gel with the oldest inmates who were kept in a separate area of the prison because they suffered from skin diseases. Two cartons of soap and a box of body gel went to those with skin problems. The inmates were eager to share. They were getting so much more than they ever thought possible from strangers. Some of the inmates have family members who visit, but many are abandoned by their families who are ashamed of them. This outpouring of generosity spoke volumes to them of Christ’s love.

The church women were particularly touched by the 7 children who were in prison with their mothers, young ones who are still nursing. The youngest is 2 weeks old. She was born in the prison. The women have decided to collect clothing and blankets for the babies and take them as soon as they can arrange for another visit, before the cold weather arrives. They have overcome their fears and have embraced a new ministry, one that they never imagined possible – meeting Christ in prison.

Bad Dog

About a year ago my gardener Maxwell and my friend Sam ganged up on me and talked me into getting a dog. Sam had too many at his house and with a number of break-ins in the area, these two thought it would be a good idea for security. Then one dog became two, since there is greater protection with two, or so the theory goes.  I was reluctant, since my experience with Malawian dogs was that they were ferocious. I didn’t want fierce dogs, and especially not around my grandchildren. Maxwell and Sam assured me they would not be. The dogs are the Maxwell’s responsibility and are relatively docile, so they have not been much of a problem, until recently.

Bruce, the first dog, is a cross between a Russell terrier and an African ridgeback. He’s too friendly and playful to be a watchdog, but he has a great bark and that counts for a lot. It is his playfulness that has gotten him in trouble. For some reason, after almost a year of peacefully living around the laundry line in the side yard, he has suddenly decided that those hanging clothes make great toys. He began by pulling my daughter-in-law’s bra off the line and enticing Diesel, his partner in the yard, into a game of tug of war with the bra. Jean was not amused. We retrieved the bra and rewashed it with no harm done. He was reprimanded and seems to have understood. All was quiet for about 3 weeks. Last week, however, the lure of the baby’s diapers drying in the sun proved to be too much and he jumped and pulled until he managed to free two of them from their clothes pins and triumphantly ran around the yard with them flying like flags between his teeth. Jean was angry. He had made tooth holes in the corner of one of the diapers and had gotten dirt on both of them. I tied him up while the rest of the clothes dried and then went and bought a few new diapers to replace the damaged ones. We have hung the diapers in the house to dry ever since. But yesterday he attack again. This time the victims were two sheets and a baby blanket. Jean, who is afraid of dogs, was furious. She set aside her fear as she went after him with a mop to compel him to drop the baby blanket. The sheets were strewn across the grass and up the steps to the kitchen. They were easier to retrieve. The items were undamaged but dirty. The poor housekeeper had to re-launder these things. Laundry here is done by hand, so that was no small task to have to re-do. So Bruce has a new name – Bad Dog – and will live by new rules. He will be on his chain anytime there is laundry in the yard. His friend Diesel has been innocent in this game, to this point, (except for the bra incident), and remains free, prancing past Bad Dog and then lying protectively under the clothes line. Dogs are dogs the world over.

Bruce, the Bad Dog, who can look so innocent

Palm Sunday

One of the things that I enjoy most about worship in Malawi is how participatory it is. All the worshippers are actively involved in the service, with songs and choruses, with invited responses. But Palm Sunday, the participation increased greatly. The congregation marched, with palms waving, to reenact Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem. This was the opening of worship for both services.

The clergy led the procession from the chancel out of the church, followed by the youth choir and their drums, then the congregation. At the door we were met by a “donkey” and rider to represent Jesus. Our make-shift donkey consisted of two strong young men, one walking tall in front, as the head, leading the second, who was bent at the waist, head against the first one’s back and his hands on his friend’s hips, to lead him. This second one was draped with a chitenje (piece of fabric) and a young boy, also covered with a chitenje, representing Jesus, literally sat on his back. The three of them lead the procession as the congregation sang “Hosanna to the one how comes in the name of the Lord” waving our palm branches. This procession went out of the parking lot onto the main road, down the road about 500 yards to a traffic circle (called a roundabout here), around the circle, back to the church and into the sanctuary, where worship continued. The elders had made arrangements with the police for the right to block traffic for this festive march. Drivers joined in the singing as they slowly processed behind us.

Our first service is the larger of the two, with over 700 people in worship. The entire congregation processed, so the event took some time to file out of the church, march the path and file back in, all the time singing and dancing. This took almost an hour but time was not a factor. The spirit and the music were joyful. The service in the sanctuary did not begin until 8:30, but nothing was cut short. The march had set the tone for the rest of the worship and especially for the preaching, which was powerful. The second service, which is scheduled for 9:30 began at 10:30 with the same procession and the same joy of celebration. That service ended more than an hour later than usually, but that didn’t matter to anyone. It was the joy of the day and feeling that we were living our history that carried everyone. But both sermon offered the sobering reminder that some of the same people who cheered and sang for Jesus on Sunday, jeered and screamed for his crucifixion on Friday. The challenge was to know who we are in the crowd. The procession powerfully drove that point home, as only participation can. We were, we are, part of the crowd today, as much as those who marched and sang that first Palm Sunday.

The Funeral

Death is always hard for those left behind, but it is especially so when that death comes to one in the prime of life. That was the case on Sunday for those of us at the Limbe congregation. One of the younger women of the congregation, just 34, had taken ill about 2 weeks ago and had been in the hospital. She had difficulty with her breathing and her heart, but she had been discharged and was improving. Saturday she felt strong enough to go shopping for a short time. We all rejoiced at that news. She has been so active in mvano (the women’s guild) and in the wider church. She had just taken the position as vice chair for entertainment for the Synod Partnership Committee. She was active in community projects, serving on a number of charity boards. She has 4 growing children. So the news of her improvement was well received by everyone.

 But in the middle of the worship service on Sunday, the senior pastor got word that she had been taken back to the hospital and had died. We were shocked. Her husband was with us in the service. He is one of our elders. We arranged for several of the elders to go with him to the hospital and he was told there, where he could at least see the body. Members of the church arranged to go to the home and be with the family. The funeral was set for Tuesday at noon.

Here most funerals are usually done from the home, but Limbe is a city church and has adopted many of the styles of the northern hemisphere, so the burial is from the church. The congregation arrived with the body as it was brought from home. The casket was led down the aisle by the pastors and placed in the front for the sanctuary. The mvano followed the casket, carrying live wreaths and singing. They gathered around the casket, sitting on the floor, surrounding it as an honor guard. The church quickly filled up until there were no seats remaining and about 200 people had to sit outside, listening to the PA system’s broadcasting of the service. The service opened with speeches from representatives from the various areas of her greatest activity. One of the family members rose to sing but could not complete the song for the tears that would not be held back. Her husband cried out, “She wasn’t just my wife but my best friend.” Everyone in the congregation cried with them. The rest of the service was much the same as a funeral service in the States.

The burial, though, was typically Malawian. The senior pastor and I led the casket out of the church and to the church graveyard, which is just adjacent to the church property. Many of those in the congregation moved in front of us to get positioned around the grave. We stood at the head for the grave as the casket was placed over the opening and lowered into the hole. The mvano resumed their place as honor guard. The family sat off to the side, the men with the men and the women with the women. The crowd of mourners spilled out into the street and closed the road. Traffic was diverted around the graveyard. After many of the same words and prayers as we use in the States at the graveside, then the pastors took a hand full of dirt each and in the name of the Trinity, sprinkled the first dirt on the casket. The senior pastor dropped her church membership card in on top of the casket. Then the elders produced chairs for the senior pastor and myself and the men of the congregation moved into place to fill the grave. Since this is in the city, that meant that men from the city had to first mix cement with sand and stones and fill around the casket, which had been covered with heavy plastic. This would prevent someone coming in the night and stealing the casket, a problem they had had especially with expensive caskets. This took about 45 minutes. During this time the mvano sang. Then the men of the church took turns with the two shovels and one hoe that were provided, and filled in the grave and mounted the dirt on top. The mounding was carefully done to provide space for the wreaths that would be laid. When the mound was prepared, the session clerk stepped forward to call individuals and groups to come and place the wreaths of live flowers, first the family, and then various groups. A mvano knelt and presented a wreath to the each one called. The individual bowed, took the wreath and then carefully placed it on the dirt mound. I was called to place the church’s wreath. After all the individuals had come, then the mvano came with the rest of the wreaths and finished the wreath laying, covering the gravesite with live flowers. We sang a hymn and the benediction was pronounced. Everyone filed out of the graveyard to quietly resume their activities. Life will go on, but there will be a great gap for those who knew her and loved her, whose lives were touched by her. This is a reality of life everywhere, a fact of death.

The gravesite decorated with the wreaths

Rained Out Reception

A church wedding is important but the reception is the real focus of the event. That is the community celebration. There may be 100 or 150 people at the wedding, but there will be several hundred at the reception. Wedding dates are set according to the availability of the desired reception hall. Preparations for the reception begin months in advance. The wedding committee is a must for any Malawian wedding; it works tirelessly on all the details, from the decorations to the entrance of the families and finally of the couple and the order of gift giving. All protocol must be observed, so within the committee are assigned protocol officers. They are to be certain to recognize the highest ranking persons in order. The DJ must be carefully coached on family dynamics and work relationships as he calls groups forward to give their gifts and to dance with money for the couple. This is an important task. Tellers must be selected, trustworthy people to handle the money given in the dancing and to make the correct exchange for those wanting smaller bills to toss at the couple during the dancing. If all of this is done correctly, the reception is certain to be a success, unless it rains.

That is what happened Saturday. The deputy session clerk’s daughter got married at Limbe CCAP. Rev. Bona and I officiated. There were about 200 at the wedding, which was conducted at 8 a.m. As is tradition, the couple left the church after some photos to take more photos at a scenic spot selected in advance and then went to a family member’s home for lunch and counseling from the closest relatives. The reception was scheduled to begin about 1 p.m. In Malawi, that means that things would get underway about 2 p.m. So I hosted a group that came to my home about noon and didn’t worry about being late for the reception. I had plenty of time. But just as I was preparing to leave, the heavens opened and the rain came in torrents.  I waited out the rains, as apparently did many others who were going to the reception. When the rains stopped, I gathered up my things and headed to the party. The reception hall was at the end of a kilometer long dirt road that is usually kept smooth, but the rains altered that. I got about ¼ of a kilometer down the road and cars in front of me were turning around. The driver immediately in from of me told me that the road was washed out ahead. The rains had formed a flowing river that cars could not cross. The only option was to park at this point on the muddy road and walk to the reception. Someone was there to help people across the impromptu river.

I sat thinking. I wanted to go to the reception, first to honor the deputy session clerk and his family and then for the joy of the event. I had my money all ready for dancing. This was the first social event I was able to attend since my surgery. But to walk ¾ of a kilometer on a rough muddy road was violating the doctor’s instruction for the hip’s healing – no rough roads for 6 more weeks. I was debating when one of my church members came along side the car, walking.  She greeted me and said, “You’re not thinking of walking that are you, Abusa?” She was my conscience. She offered to take my gift to the family and extend my greetings. I knew she was right, and so reluctantly I handed her the envelop with my gift in it and thanked her for your kindness. Then I carefully turned the car around and headed in what seemed to be the wrong way on a one way street. At least 15 cars were making their way into parking spots on this one lane road so the occupants could hike to the reception. I carefully maneuvered past them and out to the main road. There several others who had assessed the situation were turning around, rather than entering the muddy path. I drove home, discouraged and a bit embarrassed to have been stopped by a bit of rain – how unMalawian.

Yesterday at church I made my personal apologies to the family. The deputy session clerk said that there were many people who had made the same decision. The reception was much small then anticipated because of the road conditions. I felt sad to think that all that planning had been foiled by rains. But the family was buoyant and appreciative of all the support. After all, this is Malawi and these sorts of things happen. The thing to do is make the best of it. They had and had a wonderful time, regardless of the size of the gathering.