Bukoba Blessings

Arrival in Bukoba is achieved late Saturday afternoon. The guest rooms we occupy are small, simple and efficient. There’s time to get settled and take a short rest before we’re off for dinner.

Our food order is placed with a waiter in the outdoor courtyard of a local restaurant. Everything is prepared from scratch so we’re afforded a long period in which to get better acquainted with our African hosts. The power goes off for a time both nights that we are in the city. We’re assured that this isn’t a daily occurrence.

The next morning our group will be preaching in three churches. Since there are five in our group someone will be going solo. Assignments are made and I’m asked to speak at the church in town. I’m told that the pastor’s son will come by the room to escort me to the church as it's within walking distance.

A knock sounds at the door an hour and a half earlier than anticipated. The face that greets me is not that of the pastor’s son. Pastor Peter introduces himself as the Associate Pastor of the Hamgembe Church and indicates that it’s time to go. Fortunately, I have risen early to look over my notes. I grab my coat and we are off.

Pastor Peter is a tall energetic man over 60 years in age. We’ve been told that life expectancy for a male in this land is 52. Everything from his bright eyes to his brisk stride exudes strength and vitality. He possesses a personality larger than life. Intuition tells me from the moment we meet that time spent in his presence will be anything but boring. Pastor Peter insists on carrying my backpack. It’s an African courtesy to which I never get accustomed.

I do not speak the language, do not possess a single shilling of African currency, know little about the form of their worship services and don’t know a soul except this statuesque man whom I’ve just met. The experience is an exercise in full cultural immersion.

The church is rustic by American standards but beautiful in its simplicity. The people are warm and genuine and seem intent on teaching me to speak rudimentary phrases in their language. The bits of Swahili they offer are spoken so quickly that I find it difficult to grasp.

African people do not own a wealth of material possessions yet they dress impeccably. Not just on Sundays but throughout the week as well. As a rule women wear full length dresses in vibrant colors which they manage to keep spotless despite the red dust that accumulates everywhere. Men wear nice shirts, slacks, and dress shoes for the most part. Their dress exhibits the pride and dignity of spirit which inhabits the heart.

The service begins and the songs are lively. The only instruments accompanying our singing are a couple of drums which men play with enthusiasm. Bodies sway shifting weight from one foot to another to the beat of hands clapping. The people sing with abandon as if to give their best offering of praise to God. The sense of hope and strength drawn from the music’s message is palpable. A children’s choir breaks into full dance to the delight of their American visitor when their song is presented.

During the time of introductions I share how my church and family have fully supported my coming and have provided the means to send me. The congregation erupts in spontaneous applause so heartfelt that a wave of emotion washes over their guest and threatens to overwhelm him.

I have deliberated for hours on end about the message to be delivered on this day. What topic do you select when you know so little about the needs of the church or the day to day challenges faced by the people? What can an American pastor say that will be relevant to a congregation whose life experience contrasts so greatly with his own?

1 Thessalonians 1:1-4 serves as the text. It’s a simple word about how the church works together to make known our common faith, love and hope to a world where these things are in short supply.

This is my first time to preach with an interpreter. After the service Pastor Peter tells me this is only his second time to translate. The process can be complex.

It takes some time to get used to the lag between thoughts as it's necessary to pause at intervals for the interpreter to hear what you say and then relate it to the people. The translator weighs meaning, selects equivalent phrases, adds voice inflection to convey subtle shades of meaning and emotion, and follows the gestures of the speaker to add appropriate emphasis. After a while you learn to function as partners, each anticipating the cadence of the other. There’s a kind of bond that grows between the two of you as you work together.

The only snag encountered on this first outing is a running story used to illustrate a particular point. Although their Kenyan neighbors to the north are renown in the sport, apparently recreational running is something foreign to the average Tanzanian. Pastor Peter turns to me with a puzzled look on his face. “Running? What is running?” It’s almost like playing charades for a moment as down turned index and middle fingers are alternately curled to imitate a running motion. He struggles for a moment to find the correlating word.

As the service concludes the people sing and dance in single file procession out the doors of the church. Smiles directed my way simultaneously communicate appreciation for their guest’s efforts and amusement at his two left feet. Once outside a large circle is formed. The act seems a subtle reminder that the real work of the church takes place outside the building where services are held. There is something refreshing about the church being visible to the surrounding community. Pastor Jacob (standing next to me in the picture below) shares some final thoughts and we close in prayer.

It would be easy to imagine yourself a stranger on a day like this. You journey halfway around the world to a strange place. The people, language and customs are all unknown to you. Yours is the only white face in a sea of dark ones. What else could one expect?

On this day what I feel is not just the joy of meeting new friends. There’s a sense of being united with family. The common faith we hold makes brothers and sisters of us all. The barriers of race, language, and social standing are conquered by the love of Christ in each heart. That love is expressed though smiles on each face, warm hand clasps and joyful laughter. This first encounter offers assurance that coming to Africa is something meant to be.

Patrick Overton is the director of the Front Porch Institute in Astoria, Oregon and an ordained minister in the Christian Church. This first ministry experiece reminds me of his Faith Poem.

When you walk to the edge of all the light you have

and take that first step into the darkness of the unknown,

you must believe that one of two things will happen:

There will be something solid for you to stand upon,

or, you will be taught how to fly.

I don’t know whether I’m left standing or soaring on this morning. There is something I do know. As this first step into the unknown is taken, I do not fall.