JoAnn: Church with the Family

Posted 02:46 AM, July 18, 2006, by jaczecho

I went to church on Sunday. My host father Lucius (whom I now call Pastor Lucius) leads the local parish of the Redeemed Church of Christ. The service began at 9am with an hour of bible study. They divided the group into Spanish and English sections, and because I actually have more trouble understanding Nigerian English than Spanish, I challenged myself and joined the English group.

The subject at hand was the role of each member of the family. Uh oh, I thought, I'm going to have to lie. We started with the Father. People took turns reading a bible passages that referred the role of the father in the Old and New Testaments, and we discussed each one.

Directing the development of the family's values, providing for the family. Okay, nothing too objectionable. Then we moved on to the role of the Mother. We read about submission and obedience. One woman talked about the evil of this thing called Women's Liberation that started in the 80's.

Up until now, the leader of the group had kindly avoided calling on the obvious visitor to the bible study. But after a passage about how women should not ornament themselves with worldly things, I was on the spot. What do you think about that, sister? I was asked. Luckily, this passage had room for a pseudo-feminist interpretation. Well, I think it means that women shouldn't worry about looking beautiful for men, but should focus on living a good life. Correct, said the leader. Whew! Said I.

Bumper stickers on all the bedroom doors. Translation: "Your blood was spilled for me, Jesus Christ."

All dressed up and ready for church!

After bible study the service began. I had expected to sit passively with my host family, but when your host family leads the church, they sit in front, so I stayed in the middle, where I had been during bible study.

My normally quiet and subdued host-mom Elizabeth took the mike and welcomed the congregation: The Lord has done it again! He's made another beautiful day! Alleluia! Then she broke into a song leading the whole place in praise. And by praise, I don't mean mumbling along to the words in a hymnal. No. The house of God was rockin'!

In fact we spent the next hour singing and dancing in those pews. Elizabeth led a few songs, and then another women led a few more. We're talking 90 degrees, tropical heat, no air, a couple fans, about two hundred sweaty Nigerian and Guinean believers, and the sweatiest of them all, yours truly. It was more exercise than I've gotten during my whole time here, including the run I was able to go on up at the plant.

After the big opening song and dance, the service moved onto the skits. The youth in the community had put together some short dramas to teach the congregation moral messages and ways to avoid sin, false gods and most of all, how to fight the devil in your life. Now, in my Catholic upbringing, I had always viewed the devil no so much as a being, but as a concept: the general cause of evil in the world, the force pushing me not to act according to the best moral principles.

Here in Guinea, however, the devil is a monster: a sentient being sitting with a pitchfork in hell cursing people, possessing people. It's a much more literal notion of Satan. And Jesus isn't someone you strive to be like, the model of a perfect life, as in the Catholic Church.

No, here Jesus is like your bodyguard against Satan, and we praise him because we love him and we want him on our side in the battle against the monster. By dying for us, he has shown us that he's willing to fight in the battle. It would be interesting to consider the cultural psychology involved in the interpretation of Judeo-Christian tradition, but I'll save that for another day.

After the skits came the youth choir (five songs), and after the youth choir came the children's choir (another five songs), and after that, the money collection. The money collection here is also a bigger deal then in the US. In our Catholic church, they pass around baskets and people discretely place sealed envelopes inside. No so here.

First they have the tithers, that is, those contributing 10% of their income, come up and be recognized and blessed as they put their money in the box. And then they have a sermon that makes the non-tithers feel guilty about not tithing, and then they have everybody take out their money and say their prayers out loud with their money in hand.

It's like the Pentecost, people shouting in tongues. When people have reached the climax of their fervent prayers, the adult choir breaks into another loud song of praise, and people literally dance in lines up to the collection box and drop in their envelope.

Clearly, this church knows how to get people to contribute. In quiet protest, I stayed back and didn't contribute to the box. I like all the fun of this service, but I like my Catholic Jesus and Satan better than this protestant Jesus and Satan, and I wanted it to be evident that I wasn't a convert.

After four hours, of sweating, singing, dancing, my host mom Elizabeth came up behind me, and asked me if I wanted to go home and rest. I had to restrain myself from shouting a grateful "Alleluia!"