Be Not Afraid

As we drove from Antoine’s home across the city, I asked why the traffic was so heavy for a Sunday. 

“Sunday is a day off per the official calendar,” he said. “However, in practice, it seems to be used more and more as a regular work day, but Christians attend worship anyway. Many public school and college students choose to miss class or exams to attend church.” A lesson in commitment, I thought.

“Patient Evangelism” (CC, Nov. 26, 2018) introduced two missionary families in a Muslim-majority West African nation. One worked in pioneering evangelism deep in the interior. In the more cosmopolitan capital, however, Christian witness is highly visible, with many churches and Christian schools part of the city’s fabric. There Antoine Kalebona* mentors pastors, school administrators and teachers. While I was visiting the Kalebonas, Antoine and I attended worship in the same building that is a classroom and office Monday through Friday. 

When we arrived at the school grounds around 9:30 a.m., the change from weekdays was striking. Instead of the regular school ruckus, 35 people were gathering in the building, keeping total silence except for the briefest of greetings. Before they entered, everyone took off their footwear. Today the school room was holy ground. 

Merci, Seigneur
With no formal announcement, worship began when a young man walked to the pulpit. All stood as he welcomed everyone in French and Pular, a national dialect of the native language of the Fulani throughout West Africa. The service followed a familiar liturgy, starting with long silent meditation, concluding with the Lord’s Prayer in French. I was surprised when the congregation began singing a cappella in harmonies the well-known “Sing Hallelujah to the Lord” in French. 

To start the service of reconciliation, the liturgist read the Ten Commandments in Pular. As he began prayer, many worshipers moved toward the pulpit, kneeling and bowing with faces pressed to the floor, repeating “Forgive us, Lord” in French and Pular. At the reading of an assurance of forgiveness, heartfelt murmured “Amens” and “Merci, Seigneur” filled the room and penetrated humble and grateful spirits.  

To conclude the service of reconciliation, the congregation sang “Attache a la croix pour moi,” after which the worship leader read Matthew 8:23-27, all again in French and Pular. Only then did the pastor, who is also a member of the school board, move to the pulpit and began to preach in French, which the liturgist translated to Pular. 

I asked Antoine, “Why did he preach in French, though his native language is Pular?” With some annoyance, Antoine whispered, “French is the official language in the country used in the seminary that many Protestant pastors attend. They study French texts and commentaries and learn to preach only in French; he certainly doesn’t know much of the vocabulary in Pular. The translator learned that idiom elsewhere. But it irks me that the seminary doesn’t teach in the heart language of almost 100 percent of the people here.”

Sea of chaos 
I was pleased to understand enough of the pastor’s French to recognize his sermon was, from this Westerner’s point of view, a well-crafted, concise exposition of the familiar story of Jesus calming the stormy Sea of Galilee. First the pastor referred to parallel passages in Mark 4 and Luke 8, noting subtle differences, simply to draw the worshipers’ attention to the three different contexts in which the Gospel writers placed this episode. He noted that the authors addressed their respective readers emphasizing themes that fit their cultures. 

After the pastor finished that hermeneutical introduction, he moved to what I can only call a contemporary use of the ancient allegorical method of preaching that the early church fathers, particularly Origen, practiced. Claiming that the entire Bible’s aim is for Christ to reveal himself to the world, the pastor showed that Jesus was in the boat on the stormy sea, resting, not anxious, thus modelling a posture of trust for the terrified disciples – people like us. Antoine assured me that this presentation indeed spoke to the culture of the worshipers.

Jesus’ disciples, God’s people, are surrounded by a world of death – the sea of chaos. Yet they are safe in the boat simply because Jesus is present. They would have remained safe, even if Jesus had not calmed the storm, but he did that because they needed to see his power over the elements in order to recognize who he is and who they are as followers willing to live through risks, dangers, storms. 

With that the preacher concluded his message with a stirring reading in both languages of Psalm 107:1-7, 23-31, the sturdy, exciting recital of the risks God’s people faced long ago – wandering in the desert, working as slaves, sailing on ships, only to have the Lord free them from captivity, always faithfully stilling storms. And then he said, “Amen” and the congregation applauded, something that has never happened after I’ve preached.

I couldn’t help thinking that the pastor was encouraging his congregation to learn to sing the songs of Zion in that strange land. How fitting that message was for the day I didn’t know until the time of announcements, the longest of which was encouragement to take part in the “March for Jesus” in the capital’s centre. Yes, in the capital of a Muslim nation, a visible public Christian presence, not the first of these events. In fact, the march was not merely legal but also protected by security, Antoine later told me that it attracted more than 1,000 marchers the following Thursday.
 
Petitions for peace
After the sermon, the congregation continued worship with a prayer led by a woman. She opened with words of praise to God, pausing for the congregation to add their praise, then thanking God for the church, this service, their nation and its openness to the Gospel of Jesus. Continuing to petitions and intercession for healing, for peace, for wisdom for leaders, she stopped between each section, allowing congregants to share their particular concerns, all of this switching between French and Pular. 

The time for tithes and offerings (“dimes et offrandes”) followed with worshipers coming forward to deposit their gifts in large blue containers, kneeling and praying after they did so. I was expecting a final blessing, but instead the pastor made the request for announcements, one of which was about the March for Jesus. Only then did the pastor offer the benediction, thus embracing the news of the congregation offered by various members and other upcoming events within the worship liturgy. 

The ride home with Antoine through ever more heavy traffic still didn’t give nearly enough time to review the experience, to feel the ambience of a congregation learning word by word, week by week, in two tongues and languages to live in a land full of opportunity for creative and humble ways to follow Jesus.