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.

The Rains

The people of Malawi live by faith. Rainy season is usually late November to early March. This season the rains arrived on time and everyone praised God. They continued nicely until mid January and then they stopped. During February there were light rains in scattered places, but nothing of substance. People began to speculate about the crops. Malawi is a rain-dependent agricultural country. There is little irrigation, so when the rains stop, people’s livelihoods are at risk. What kind of a maize crop would this yield? Maize is the staple for almost everyone in the country. Other crops only augment the maize. The immature maize began to dry up on the stocks, not a good sign. Then the cassava was invested with bugs. Cassava is breakfast for many people as well as being a cash crop for many others. This was a bad sign. Rice had no water, so was not growing. People began to pray.

God heard because last week the rains began again. Each day for the last 10 it has rained substantially, so much so that some areas have flooded. In typical Malawian fashion, everyone is praising God for the rains, and adjusting to this late blessing. The maize is fairly well gone. There is nothing that can be done but to harvest it before it gathers too much moisture on the stock and begins to mold, destroying what is available. The cassava is already harvested. But the rice farmers are thrilled. These rains are giving them new life and hope. Some are even planting who have not grown much rice before. Those who grow beans are delighted. There is hope yet for a good crop. The crops have been affected, but all is not lost. God is good. There are no complaints heard, only praise for God’s provision and intervention. People will have food to eat and will have crops to sell and that is what counts most. If you have water, you have life, so they are praising God for the life he has given and are taking advantage of the opportunities available. That is living by faith.

Road Tested

When an automobile is serviced, the last thing the mechanic does, before returning the auto to the owner, is to road test it to be certain that everything is functioning properly. That is the analogy the senior pastor used on Sunday at the first service of the Limbe congregation, where I was to preach. He proclaimed my return a “road test” by the Master Mechanic, Jesus, who had been the doctor and healer for my recovery. Everyone had a good laugh and the service commenced.

I danced (a most acceptable behavior in a worship service here as we dance with the singing of the praise songs and choruses that are presented) with the congregation as we sang praises to the God who heals and strengthens, who empowers and graces us. I led in prayer and then preached. After the offering, the senior pastor declared the “road test” a success and announced to the congregation that I was fit to return to full service. Again there was great laughter, but this time accompanied by applause and a few cheers. The congregation rejoiced with me at God’s great healing and restoration. At that point, I wanted to sing the doxology again, not for the financial offering, but for God’s offering of grace to me in this recovery. He is truly the one who is worthy to be praised. He is the only one to deserve praise for who he is and for what he has done.

As if the morning service were not enough of a road test, I was scheduled to preach at the 5 p.m. service at St. Michael’s, here at the Synod. So after a rest and finishing touches on the second sermon for the day, I walked the quarter of a mile to the Cathedral and led the vespers service. This is one of my favorite services for pure worship. That is because it is an informal service with contemporary praise music in English, songs that I have known from the States. This is one of those rare opportunities for the pastor to worship, not just lead worship. (Those who are pastors will understand this.) So, even though I was further “road testing,” I was also worshipping. The result was a great peace and strength that I can only praise God for. It was a wonderful time of worship, for me. I can’t evaluate the preaching objectively, but I can the praise. God was present in a wonderful way.

So it is with great delight that the “road tested one” has been released and is back to work with a strong hip and a refreshed spirit. Hopefully there will not need to be any further tuning or repairs for a good long time.

It's a Girl

Thousands of babies are born everyday but each one is, or at least should be, special to his or her own family and to the people around that family who care for them. If this is true, each birth is a gift from God. We as a family received a gift from God last week. Mphatso is the Chichewa word for gift and that is our new little one’s name.

Her parents, Thomas and Jean, decided on the name long before she was conceived, realizing that if they were to have another child, it would be a gift from God. Jean had had a 52 hour labor that was only ended successfully with a c-section when their first child Chimwemwe was born 4 years ago. Both mother and baby had nearly died. They were cautious to try again. In Malawi, 8.6 children out of 100 die before the age of one year old, according to the 2010 CIA World Face book statistics. (Don’t even ask about a .6^th of a child. These are statistics.) Most of them die shortly after birth, for a number of reasons from unavailable health services, and inadequate health care, to bad water and malaria. The list of causes seems endless. But the reality is real. It is so real that many expectant mothers won’t even discuss their pregnancy with anyone outside the family. It is considered bad manners to mention someone’s pregnancy to them. Everyone sees it, but won’t talk about it until the baby is born, when it is safer to discuss, when they can hold the baby.

Before considering another baby, Thomas and Jean had lengthy conversations about the risks and the best procedures to follow for a good outcome. Since they are living in a remote village area, more than an hour by motor bike from the nearest hospital, they decided that she should come to Blantyre for a doctor and for the birth. The doctor was adamant that the only safe delivery would be another c-section, given Jean’s history and health. So she came to stay with me as the date for the procedure got closer. When she went on a Thursday for a checkup with  two weeks to go, the doctor said she was ready and moved the date up to the following Tuesday. And so, last Tuesday, Mphatso was born at just over 8 lbs. She is healthy and so is her mother. We don’t take this for granted, in a country with the 12^th highest infant mortality rate in the world. This is a gift from God. As cries of life fill the house, we praise God for his mphatso to us as a family.

Mr. Linguja

Mr. Linguja has died at 92. He is one of the saints of the church. No, he will never be officially canonized by the larger church, but here in Blantyre, he will be remembered and his life celebrated. His funeral service bore witness to that.

Mr. Linguja was a quiet, gentle man of humble means. He was a member of Chigamula Congregation from the time it was a small village church of fewer than 200 people, a long walk from Limbe business center. Today the church is a congregation of well over 2,000, as the area has grown up with the business interests of Limbe, becoming an affluent suburb to the developing business center, a short drive to work. But in all of this, Mr. Linguja remained the same – a subsistence farmer who lived by faith. On his meager earnings, he and his wife supported the church, educated 5 children and managed to stay in their humble home up to the day of his death. He was an elder of the church for over 50 years, but that is only a title. He was a man who lived his faith and shared it with all around him. His testimony of God’s grace and provision was his favorite topic of conversation. The story changed with each day because God’s grace is fresh each day and always displays itself in new ways, he was quick to say.

There was nothing old about this man or his faith. He was among the pioneers of partnership between Pittsburgh and Blantyre Synod. This humble man of little formal education but great Bible knowledge, was one of the first missionaries to go to Pittsburgh from Blantyre in 1991, his first time out of southern Malawi at age 72. He was uncertain what he had to offer the trip or the new partners in Pittsburgh, but his pastor at the time, Rev. Dr. Silas Ncozana, encouraged him that his faith was more than enough to share. The church affirmed this by helping to sponsor him on the trip. The pastor was right. Mr. Linguja quickly became a favorite among the other missionaries and the partners for his words of encouragement and affirmation. There, as here, he carried his worn leather Bible but rarely had to read from it. He had memorized most of the passages that he used for the focus of his talks. (He never claimed to preach. He just shared who God was in his life and what he had done.) I had heard of Mr. Linguja long before I met him. When I met him, his broad grin and warm welcome won my heart. Then he shared his story of God’s faithfulness for that day, and I knew why everyone who met him talked about him as they did. He was a giant from the stories told of him, although he stood at a mere 5 feet, with hunched shoulders. When I had my first hip replacement, he traveled on 5 minibuses to come pray for me. I could barely stand, but he knelt before God on my behalf. I was humbled. In the last days before his death, he pleaded with his family to not make him eat so he could go more quickly to be with his God. He was ready. In the quiet of the night of February 26^th, surrounded by his family, he peacefully slipped into God’s presence.

His funeral was a celebration of his life. Seven clergy came to offer prayers and testimony. This happens for ranking Synod officials but here was a “mere Christian” who touched the lives of these servants of God. The service was held at the church rather than the home to accommodate the large congregation. Chigamula’s spacious new sanctuary was filled. His children and grandchildren sang a song they had shared together with him countless times, as a farewell to the body. His spirit is with Jesus. The spirit of his life will live in the hearts of those who knew him and loved him. The stories of his faith will inspire others to faithfulness. That is the mark of a saint.

Mr. Linguja, one of the saints of the church.