Seven Sundays, six churches, two continents, and at least four languages: this is what my church life has been like for the past couple of months. Starting with my final Sabbath days in the United States and going through my first month in South Africa, I have yet to attend the same church two Sundays in a row. This lends itself to a variety of church experiences, both familiar and completely foreign, from the customary, hour-long Sunday worship at Mt. View Lutheran Church in Edgewood, Washington, to a four and a half hour marathon service in a township in South Africa’s kwaZulu-Natal province. Sunday worship is naturally and integral part of my missionary experience. After all, I am here representing the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America in their partnership with the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Southern Africa. Sunday worship is a time to unwind, reflect on the past and upcoming weeks, and just be in God’s presence with others in the community of faith. As a missionary in a foreign country, church is exactly what I need to end one week and kick of the next one. It is in this light that I have decided to write this reflection on my various church experiences in the recent past.
I will begin by saying that God is present everywhere, and despite vast differences in language and style of worship, no experience is more valuable than another. The encounters are just different. At orientation in Chicago, one of our guest speakers, Winston Persaud, gave us a few ideas to consider during our time of service. He said that no place, culture, or people are strangers to God and that no language or culture is unfit to be a bearer of God’s word. This is an important idea for a missionary. We are not going abroad to bring God, instead we are there to discover how God is already there. I sincerely believe these words I have just paraphrased. God is not absent anywhere, and you can go to all corners of the world and find God’s faithful servants. There is also a phenomenon that I frequently experience, where even if I do not understand a single word of the worship service in which I just participated, I still leave spiritually fulfilled as if I just left a church service at home. To me, this shows how God’s spirit is present in all places.
Now for a brief rundown of my various Sunday worship experiences, which I will probably not be able to do justice, but I will try my best:
I begin with Sunday, August 9. This was my last time attending my home church before leaving on my journey. I could write a novel on how important Mt. View Lutheran has been to my life and the life of my family. This is the place we attended for the first time on “Scout Sunday” when I was a member of Cub Scouts, and it is the place we have been returning to ever since. The congregation is our family, and the church our home. I will always hold a special place in my heart for the familiar Sunday worship services there and I will be eager to return when the time comes. I can sing the liturgy by heart and utter the habitual “and also with you” and things of that nature. Sitting with my mom as my dad plays his guitar with the worship band and heading home for brunch after the hour-long service is the way it has been for a long time, and I am excited live that day again. But after that last Sunday, church would become different, but no less meaningful.
I did not attend church on Sunday, August 16. I spent the night before with my friend, Travis, in Seattle enjoying a night out on the town. I only mention this in order to stay in chronological order.
I was in Chicago on Sunday, August 23. A group of us were going to catch a White Sox game in the afternoon so we attended a church not far away from the stadium. The pastor was recently ordained and showed a great degree of exuberance in leading worship. However, the musicians and half the congregation were away at a music festival so the church was quite empty. Because of this event, there was a guest musician who proceeded to sing us songs that she wrote. I do not know if it was the poor quality of her songs, the five-minute lecture she gave, the special offering that was taken up for her, or the fact that she was lip-syncing, but the experience was quite comical. I could go on about this woman forever, but in an attempt to rescue some of the Christian values I am trying to display, I will stop there. Please ask me to tell you the story sometime; those who were there know what I am talking about. The pastor did give a great sermon that day and the people were friendly and welcoming, so worship in the South Side of Chicago was a success.
Now for the part that everyone has been reading patiently to get to: my first Sunday worship in Africa. Myself and the other nine volunteers, along with our country coordinators attended a special “rally” service in Johannesburg’s Alexandra township on August 30. Now I had an expectation in my mind about the music at an African church service. I was certain the music would be phenomenal, beautiful voices with the singers harmonizing freely in a way that Westerners can only imagine. I will now say that my expectations, for once, were completely accurate. I frequently found myself closing my eyes during service just to listen to the beautiful sounds. I could hardly believe I was there. The best part of the service? Offering, naturally. Sunday offering takes about as long as an entire worship service in the US. People literally dance there way up to the front to drop off their gifts to God, and then they go up again, and perhaps again. All the while they are jubilantly singing, despite the fact that many of these people do not have much to give. I have never seen anything like the scene that first Sunday. We were there for about three hours and it went by in a flash. The Spirit was certainly present in that place and those in attendance could feel it.
Sunday, September 6 found most of our group at a church in a small township in Pietermaritzburg. This service was entirely in isiZulu, unlike the previous week’s service, which was mostly in Setswana but also partially in English. This was, yet again, another great experience. To put it in perspective I will but it like this: The service was four and a half hours long, entirely in isiZulu, and I enjoyed every minute. Despite the length and language barrier, I found myself feeling spiritually energized through the whole process. The place was literally jammed with as many people as could fit inside the sanctuary. On my left was my fellow volunteer, John, and on my right was a woman with a small baby. I could not help but smile when the baby would reach over and grab hold of my shirt. “This is what it’s all about,” I thought to myself. Worshiping God on an uncomfortable bench while squeezed into a sanctuary with a small baby grabbing hold of me. It was real. It was beautiful. Once again the music was incredible and the people danced joyously as they brought up their offering money. I began to think I could really get used to this way of worshipping.
I was a bit nervous about worship on Sunday, September 13 because this was to be my first service without the company of my fellow YAGM volunteers. I was now at my site in Soweto and I decided to go to the church that is in the same compound as my residence. I walked in a few minutes before worship was to start and there was hardly anyone there. There is a different sense of time here in South Africa and I was beginning to see that. An usher told me to sit anywhere so I sat by myself on one side of the sanctuary. As people began to filter in, they all seemed to be sitting on the other side. It was looking like I chose poorly. I began to feel even more like an alien. I thought to myself that this is going to be a long year. However, not long after I had that thought, at man spotted me and promptly sat down directly next to me and introduced himself. For the rest of the service, mostly in isiZulu and I think a bit in Sesotho, he shared his hymnal with me and whispered directions when it was time to do something like go up for communion. A lady with one of the most beautiful singing voices I have ever heard sat on the other side of me. The sermon, half in English, was appropriately about helping not only those who you know, but also the stranger and the foreigner. This man sitting next to me was doing just that. I left feeling much better about my situation.
The last Sunday I will write about is September 20, one month after I left home. I accompanied my site coordinator, Reverend SS Mugivhi, to his congregation in the Dobsonville neighborhood in Soweto. The thing that stood out most upon arrival was the fact that the church building itself had been partially demolished with hopes of building a larger sanctuary. Worship was then held virtually outside. Now when thinking about attending church in South Africa, the last thing I would worry about would be being cold, but oh how cold it was. Johannesburg has not quite shaken off the last winter chill. However, yet again, I was totally moved by the music and the kind young man that sat next to me and shared his hymnal. This time the service was in Setswana, just as I was starting to master isiZulu pronunciation and the characteristic “clicking” sounds of the language. There is a recurring theme of passionate worship despite economic hardship and, at times, poor living conditions. But people raise their beautiful singing voices to God nonetheless.
I will proudly state that the Lutheran church is very alive in South Africa. Thank you for reading this relatively lengthy reflection. I hope all is well at home.
God’s blessings
Edit: On Sunday, September 27 I attended a service that lasted nearly six hours! The experiences keep on coming.
