Rutonde Parish



One of my greatest delights is to worship in a village church, but that is not always easy to do in Rwanda. Language is the first obstacle. I must have a translator and that means a pastor who is comfortable with English. There are a few of them and while the number is growing, English is still relatively new here and even pastors are reluctant to speak it. Then there is the transportation issue. I do not have a car, so I can’t just drive to the village. I have to arrange with the pastor and we have to coordinate transportation. This means buses, mini buses, motorcycle taxis or, if possible, a car taxi. I was blessed that all the logistics came together last week to allow me to be with Pastor Immaculee Mukanmusoni, a gifted pastor who did her masters in Scotland. We have been talking about this since I shortly after I arrived and she translated for me at a pastor’s conference. She serves a parish about 15 kilometers outside of Kigali. She has invited me several times, but this time it finally worked.

Immaculaee with her "children"

Immaculee usually travels by motorcycle, but for our trip she arranged for a car taxi. This allowed us more comfort and enabled her husband to join us. It was a typical rough dirt road, and since we have not had much rain, it was dusty. She and I huddled in the back seat with a chitenje (cloth wrap) over our heads to protect against the dust that filtered in, even though the windows were closed. The road runs alongside a river and is bordered by sugarcane and rice fields. Even on a Sunday morning, there were workers in the fields. Then folks were walking along the road, some to the market and some on their way to church. Immaculaee waved to several as we passed them. She is a part of the community, even though she lives in Kigali.



One of 5 choirs

 The impetus for the trip was a gift I was bringing for the vulnerable children’s feeding program that Immaculee had begun at the central church of her parish. (She serves 3 congregations.) Five mornings a week, before school, the church provides fortified porridge for the most vulnerable school age children. Poverty and malnutrition are problems in Rwanda just as they are in most of sub-Saharan Africa. When we arrived at the church, the children were waiting to greet us, but especially Immaculee. She is like a second mother to them. They surrounded the car and pressed against her as she got out. They were all talking at once, telling her their latest news. She quietly walked with them to her office, nodding as she went. When we got to the office, she introduced me Edith, the young girl who first caught Immaculee’s eye because of her thin figure and reddish hair, a sign of malnutrition. This day she was bright-eyed and her hair is returning to its natural dark color. Edith clung to Immaculee, out of love for her, not fear of the muzungu (white person).

The worship service was a delight to my spirit. This little church with no electricity has a generator to power the electronic keyboard and electric guitars, but the music is pure Rwandan. The choirs and congregation danced to the drums that set the tempo for the instruments. The singing and dancing were spirited and filled the sanctuary. Five choirs sang during the service. My preaching seemed like a sidelight, but Immaculee’s translation was excellent.. During the offering, those who didn’t have money brought crops and those were offered for sale, the proceeds going to the offering. After the service, Immaculee and I proceeded out and the congregation followed to greet us. At that point, I was surrounded by the children, pressing to shake hands with me and touch the white skin. Several of the young girls more stroked my hand than shook it. The most touching, though, was an elderly, stooped, vision impaired gentleman who was led by his grandson through the crowd of children to greet me. In Rwandese fashion, he placed his hands on my upper arms and patted them, like a loose embrace, and in English said, “God bless you.” Then he gave a broad, toothless smile that spread to his clouded eyes. My heart melted. This is worship in the village.