My Sermon in an African Church

Last week I was invited to attend a gathering of four African Church congregations in the village of chitongwa. They gather once a month to combine their choirs and to worship together for the weekend. I saw it as a great opportunity to meet more people, practice Chitumbuka, and have more people get to know me and what I'm doing here. I guess its also an opportunity to learn about the stories of the bible and Christianity, but I get plenty of that already here in Malawi. Most Malawians are profoundly religious people, and generally the main topics of conversation are God, Christianity, and the bible. So sometimes it seems like my Peace Corps service has become more of a lesson in theology. So I am learning a lot about Christian philosophy, being the Godless Azungu that I am, but mostly I go to church to listen to the music.
So after a very early morning run, bafa, and breakfast, I set off on the 7km journey through the hills surrounding Mwazisi escorted by NRC chairman Erflone Gondwe who invited me. Along the way we encountered a man clearing a forest near the village. I was becoming very angry as we approached and I watched him hack away at a very large and healthy Musangu Sangu (Winter thorn) tree. This is a terrible tree to destroy, because it is very slow growing, but when it has matured it becomes a wonder tree for the soil. It's deep roots help prevent soil erosion, and its leaves are nitrogen fixing, so when they fall off in the cold season they act as fertilizer for the surrounding soil.
I was shocked and disheartened when we approached the man and found that it was Principal chief Chilengua. This is the same man who posted a a sign outside of his house saying "The destruction of local wildlife in Mwazisi is strictly prohibited by the local traditional authority." I was shocked because I know that he is an educated man who knows the value of Masangu sangu trees. I was disheartened because I also know what a tremendous influence he has over the surrounding villages, and how important his example is.
I didn't try to hide my anger, while Mr. Gondwe greeted him with the typical Timbuka greeting of chiefs, “Tilli Pascono," meaning "We are beneath you," I got straight to the point asking, "Chafukwa Mukotola Makhuni yawisi" - "Why are you taking green trees." I could see that he was embarrassed; his face showed that he felt naked and exposed before me. "Yayi," he explained "Nikukhumba kulima hona kuno" - "I want to grow tobacco here." This bothered me even more, I could understand a bit if he was growing corn, or sweet potatoes... something that adds to the village food stock, but I don't see the justification in one of the wealthiest men in Mwazisi clearing a mountainside to grow Tobacco, purely a cash crop, which he will need to cut more trees down for in order to make a gafa (a temporary shed used for hanging and drying tobacco after harvest.) I remained diplomatic in the encounter, keeping a casual smile throughout my cross-examination, but I conveyed in no uncertain terms that I expected to see him "Namuleni-lenji!” (First thing in the morning) on Monday morning at my tree nursery. Which was when I would be teaching the Natural Resource Committee how to plant tree seeds in Polyethylene tubes. He assured me he would be there... but come Monday was nowhere to be found.
I still had the whole encounter on my mind when we arrived at the church. But my mood was changed by all of the smiling faces that greeted me outside the church. I was later told that I was the first azungu to ever attend services at that specific church. This also explained why some of the very small children started crying and ran away when they saw me. I asked Mr. Gondwe what I did to scare them. He just smiled and said “chakwamba azungu wakusanga” (the first white person they have met.) I don’t like anybody fearing me, but I thought that was pretty damn cool. I felt a bit like an ambassador; their perception of Americans would largely be based on the first impression I left them with.
As a guest they had me sit on the side of the pulpit with the chiefs that had assembled from the different participating villages. I was happy there because it was the best vantage point of the choirs, which is the main reason I even go to church, to listen to the township jive type of harmonizing that all African church choirs seem to do so well.
Three choirs took turns singing between each sermon. The first choir was the women’s guild choir, made up from women ranging in age from 18 to 60 something. When their turn comes they all slowly rise with a dutiful look on their faces, half with babies tied to their backs with chitenjes. They start slow keeping a unified beat by sliding their bare feet across the dirt floor, and making a motion with their hands like they are swinging a jembe (fitting since women pretty much do all the work here anyway). They all have their eyes closed, and the only sound at this point is the woosh….woosh….woosh of their feet. Then they are cued by the choir leader who sings out the first word in each line to be repeated with the power of the rest of the choir’s unified voice. Their songs were slow steady and solemn, but beautiful.
The second choir was made up of just six teenage boys who kept a much more upbeat tone using all sorts of rhythm instruments, and a guitar. Their leader has a great high pitch voice that resembles the voice of the front man for Ladysmith Black Mambanzo, giving the choir the stereotypical African sound that we might expect from African movies.
The third choir was the children’s choir, which was my favorite, not so much for the music but more for the spastic dancing. While the teenagers keep their cool, simply swaying with the rhythm, the children make an aerobic full body activity out of it, swinging their arms with every step and gyrating their hips violently with the beat. The massive smiles on their faces show that the children know something we older ones have lost, how to dance like you don’t have a care in the world.
My Chitumbuka has now improved to the point where I can understand about two thirds of the sermons. I generally get the message, even if many of the words get lost in the speakers fast-talking and my limited vocabulary. There was a whole pack of preachers sitting in the front instead of just one priest presiding over the whole service. One man did wear a priest’s garb, white collar and all, but the church head people did most of the talking. The headmen wore white jackets that look like high school science lab-coats, and the women wore bleach white bonnets and blouses, and a black skirt…very pilgrim looking.
Each sermon was accompanied by a bible passage read by somebody else. The companion would read a verse than the preacher would give their commentary on it. Then the companion would read the next passage, and the preacher would take his or her turn again each time building in both volume and authority. When somebody in the congregation hears something they particularly relate to they cheer by making a sound that I think sounds like a turkey call; a hoot broken up by flipping your tongue against your upper lip. These “turkey calls really add to the dramatic effect of the sermons, and seem to boost the energy of the preacher. By the end of the sermon I may not have understood what they were saying but I’m convinced I better make some major life changes and repent my sinful ways.
Towards the end of the service, the priest acknowledged me as a distinguished guest and asked that I be introduced to the congregation. So Erflone spoke for me at first, giving my name and explaining that I have come from the state of Colorado in the U.S.A. as a Peace Corps worker. Then he introduced all of the church headmen and women as they came up to shake my hand.
Then came my turn to address the congregation. I knew this was coming because I had to do it at all the other congregations. I Usually just limit myself to a few basic sentences in Chitumbuka, explaining how happy I am to be here in Mwazisi, that I will be here for at least two years working as an environmental extension worker, and that I look forward to working with everybody.
But on this occasion I was feeling inspired by my preceding preachers, and still a bit fired up from my encounter with the chief that morning. So I started into one of my blatherings, which any of you who know me well have suffered through many times before. I spoke about one third of it in Chitumbuka, then elaborated my points in English, hoping that the few people who could understand would relay my message, and clarify for the others.
“Ntchito wane, ntchito ya chiuta,” I nervously started, meaning, “My work is the work of God.” I know that’s a hell of bold statement, but relating the environment to God seems to be the best way to convey my message to the community. I explained that;

“God has endowed us with boundless gifts in nature, we have been given all of the beautiful surroundings we enjoy here in Malawi, perennial rivers that provide water into the dry season, and most important the ability to sustain ourselves with fertile soil for farming. But we are destroying these gifts, slashing and burning forest for tobacco farming, over irrigating the Mwazisi river drying it up by August every year, and overusing the soil with bad farming techniques that turn the fertile soil into desert dust.
Jesus Christ taught us that we must love and care for one another, but how can we look after our children (bana bachoko) and also destroy the environment that will sustain their future. By not caring for the environment today we are starving the future."

I doubt if anybody understood fully what I was saying, but the turkey calls were abundant, and the smiles on everybody’s faces showed me that people appreciated what they did understand of my Chitumbuka mixed with chizungu. For me, it just felt good to get that rant off of my chest. Now I just need to refine my language so I can rattle on like that in all the churches. I definitely know a huge sector of American church congregations that could use someone with a keener mind and nimbler tongue to convey the same type of message. Because just like in Malawi, many of the fundamentalist Christians that I know don’t seem to draw the connection between God and the health of the world they believe he provided us with.