Easter Sunday

On Sunday I went to church with Charles.

We went to the Evangelistic Assemblies of God church that Charles regularly attends, which is fairly close to the college. Charles picked me up from the hotel and we made it to the church for the 9 am Swahili service. The church was packed with between 250 to 300 people.



The service opened with lots and lots of singing! The choir was wonderful! They were assisted by some huge speakers near the stage and a fellow who would put on the background music using an MP3 player. In addition to singing the choir would dance to the music – often in unison. It was very lively and I tried my best to sing along following Charles’s finger as he traced along the lines of the church hymnal. But seeing Swahili, and trying to sing it are two different things. I did my best to fake it.

Getting in the spirit.

Then Charles’s wife, Pamela, as serving elder, related a whole list of announcements about the study societies for the coming week, the various meetings for the leadership group and more than several exhortations to parents to keep their kids from wandering around the church.  Then there was a whole series of collections: the freewill offering, and collection for buying musical instruments, a collection for the young people’s group and a collection for a young couple who would be celebrating their engagement that day. If you come to this church make sure you take a collection of bills so that you can make it through all the collections or you might run out quickly and since we all paraded to the front to put in our offerings, it would be pretty noticeable if you only came unprepared.



The sermon was a spirited retelling of the Easter story and the resurrection. The young man who gave the message spoke directly to us, to our hearts and to our heads, and he did this by building phrase upon phrase, with a cadence and repetition that is seldom heard in Western churches. As he built towards a crescendo, another fellow tried to translate every phrase into English. Both men got louder and louder and many in the church shouted, clapped or trilled their agreement and encouragement. Never have I seen such a celebration of the death and resurrection of the Christ. The congregation was simply alive with joy and many were moved to tears.  

A friendly church goer.

It was powerful.

After the service was over, we remained in our seats to take part in an engagement ceremony. A young man who had been studying elsewhere returned to Mwanza with a young lady he hopes to marry on July the first. The prospective bride, groom, maid of honor and best man showed up to the service in matching outfits and each was paraded up to the stage for the ceremony. The groom was actually carried aloft by a number of young men with much singing and hooting.

Then the pastor of the church gave a message and a blessing on the young couple. He read from the Old Testament as well as the new and exhorted the young people in the congregation to find their mates in the church.  He did not mince his words and shared what happened to Israel when the young men married local women who did not worship the one true God.

So we entered the church at 10 and we left it at 2. It was a very long service and yet it seemed to go by fairly quickly.

 

After church I had the chance to meet many in the congregation. I had a lot of practice in doing the local Tanzanian handshake (if you see me when I get back I’ll show it to you). I also congratulated the young couple and met a young lady from the UK who has come to Mwanza to set up a daycare.

Then I was invited to the pastor’s house for a late lunch.  As the new person and a man, I was asked to take of the lunch first. I wasn’t really hungry so I took a very small portion. I thought it would be polite to leave more food for everyone else.  Apparently I was wrong. You are supposed to eat as much as you can, otherwise you offend the host. The other men came back to the sitting room with heaping plates and then they gave me the gears for taking so little.

New Friends (the Pastor is in the middle)

 After our visit to the Pastor’s house, Charles, his wife Pamela, his son Baraka (call me Kevin!) and I went to a local museum. The museum was set up by a Roman Catholic Missionary from Quebec who came to Tanzania in the 1950’s and decided that the best way to work with the local population was to validate and respect their traditions while at the same time bringing the gospel. Quite a contrast to some of the practices in the Canadian Residential schools. Local cultures were celebrated on Catholic special days where different tribes competed in dance-offs in complete traditional dress and showcased how each had different components and purposes in their dances.

 

A mural at the college featuring the founder Clement

We had a wonderful guide at the museum who knew quite a bit about Canada and toured us through the traditional huts and explained how the ancestors lived, farmed, hunted and celebrated.  It was a great way to finish the day and a good way to get to know Charles’s family in a less than formal environment.

 

 

 

 

I slept well that night.