Another Day at Church

Church was, once again, another interesting rendition of intense faith and absolute belief. The service was very similar to last week's-- ear-piercing ballads, simultaneous yelling of random prayers, and collapsing congregation members--with the insertion of an off-the-cuff speech by yours truly. The pastor called me forward during the morning announcements and asked me to say a few words to the congregation about the Team, my faith, this community, and the future of Tanzania. My mind went blank, frozen in fear and uncertainty. What am I supposed to say to this congregation of over 200 Swahili-speakers? I stood up there, staring out into the sea of dark faces, colorful head wraps, and squirming babies, and the words just started spilling from my lips. A man stood up and translated my words. I babbled on for a few minutes, talking about the importance of giving to others and the notion of interconnectedness and karma. I challenged each of the congregation members to be a part of Team 100 through loving guidance, imparting their wisdom, and through prayers. Throughout the few minutes I was up there, several times the congregation erupted in an explosion of "Amen!" and "Hallelujah!." I ended with asante sana and everyone started laughing. The translator even translated my final words, "Thank you very much!." After a few hours of songs, a sermon, a little dancing, and prayers for individuals that resulted in sobbing, wailing, and collapsing of church members, the pastor pointed to me, motioning me to come forward. I hesitated, looking around to make sure he didn't really mean me, but then "Muzungo, come here." Ok, that's me, I thought. Nervously I stepped forward in my schmorgishboard of funky backpacker clothing made even more appalling by the colorful, mismatched accessories the girls had given me that morning to wear. A bright pink and purple flowing hippy skirt, chaco sandals, a lime green shawl draped over one shoulder, and a scarf on my head. It was bad and I was self-conscious, made worse by the fact that the entire church was focused on me and what was about to happen. The pastor raised my hands, grabbed my head, and through clench teeth and with spit spraying my face, began to shout exotic words. His hands trembled and his grip tightened. His tone intensified. I stood motionless, terrified that I too would faint or start muttering in tongues just as the people before me had. Unsure of where to look, I kept my eyes down, too scared to look into the pastor's eyes. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he slapped my forehead with a fierce "Asante Baba," (Thank you Father) and turned me back towards my seat. as i turned around, I discovered two women standing close behind me prepared to catch me if I fell. I later found out that the pastor was simply blessing me, asking the Lord to guide me, and through me, to bring great success and growth to Team 100. I'm glad next week will be the last marathon church service that I will attend here! Hopefully next week, my participation will be limited to sitting silently in my chair. :)