African Church

The further along we drove the more I knew this wasn't going to be anything like the Western-style churches I've visited in the city so far. We turned off the main road into a section of town where the hills glinted as the sunlight reflected off the corrugated tin shacks. We kept going past homes made of plastic sheets draped over shoddy wooden frames. But despite the appearance of the community, everyone was out walking along the streets in their best dresses and suits on their way to church.

We pulled up to a corrugated tin building about two or three times the size of the surrounding houses. It was one long room with a raised stage and pulpit in the front right corner and the choir seated opposite on the front left side. Even though we were still a few minutes early, the rows of benches were already filled to the back. Paul, our friend who was the guest preacher for the day, led us to a row of plastic chairs near the front which appeared to be reserved for the pastor, elders, and special guests. We were greeted with warm smiles and made to feel right at home, aside from the many stares at the only white faces in the room.

The congregation is primarily Angolan refugees who years ago fled from the civil war, so throughout the service they spoke and sang in Lucazi, Chokwe, or Portugese and then some of the time it was translated into English. We started around 9:30 with a song. We were each given a hymnal to follow along with the words, or even brave the pronunciation if we wanted. Then came the welcome, a reminder for everyone to silence their cell phones, the introduction of visitors and new members, prayer for a couple who were married yesterday, prayer for all the fathers since it was Father's Day, and taking the offering. It was probably 10:30-11 when we started singing worship songs. Without instrumentation the chorus of voices naturally broke into multiple harmonies filling the small room. It was the beauty of simplicity that I think we often lose with our over-produced, Western services.

When the women's choir performed a man pulled out his iPad to record them, reminding me that even in the depths of Katatura it's still 2014. A few men calling themselves the "Fathers Choir" were going to sing but they ended up inviting all the fathers up to the front to join them. I wish I had an iPad to record that! For the sermon Paul preached in English, which was then translated into Lucazi. People were then given the opportunity to respond with a short testimony. After a few prayers, announcements, a secretary's report, and a benediction the service wrapped up at about 12:30. And they told us today was a "short" service because they didn't have the keyboard or else we'd still be inside singing!

We filed out orderly starting with the elders and the front rows. We formed what seemed like a receiving line where we shook everyone's hand then stood at the end of the line to shake everyone else's' hand as they came out. It was a very relational, very African way to conclude, making sure everyone had the chance to greet everyone else. I think that's something else we often miss when we either rush off to our Sunday afternoon activities or cluster with our typical group of friends.

I wish I had some photos to help you share in the experience, but it didn't really seem like an appropriate time. Maybe I could've asked the guy with the iPad to snap a few shots. :) But overall I'm thankful that the Body of Christ is so diverse in its styles and values and cultures. It's a good reminder that Christianity is not just about me, that God's mission is far bigger than I often presume, and that I, in fact, am only a very small part.