Charging to go to church

There is one funny thing I wanted to pass along about my journey to Namuwongo:  my final stop for directions was with some boda (motorcycle taxi) drivers; they know where everything is.  As it turns out, I was at the junction where I needed to turn off Namuwongo Road, but I didn't know that at the time.

So, I was asking these three boda drivers where the church was, and they were telling me, when one interrupted to say, "for 3,000 [$1.20], you follow me and we go."

For the moment, we'll set aside the exhorbitant cost of this offer (if I had ridden his boda, the cost SHOULD have been no more than 1,500), and note that the others were willing to do the properly hospitable African thing and give me the directions.

This one, however, saw the color, not the collar, and wanted a profit.  So I pointed to the collar and asked him, "are you charging a musumba [literally a shepherd; pastor] to go to church?"

Apparently, he was, for he repeated his offer.  I declined.

The blessing of St. Paul's

Since I took the long tour of Namuwongo yesterday, I was late for church.  Apparently, I took the very long tour, because I gave myself an hour to get there, and with the open roads that early on Sunday morning, it should have taken me 30 minutes.  It took 80 minutes, which included stopping to ask directions three times.  I loathe being late, but it was helpful, because the singing let me know that I found the church.

So, since I was late, the warden (usher) let me sit in the vestry while they figured out what to do with me; they ultimately decided that I would sit on the altar.  My student was leading the service, which was a joy to see.

When the vicar, Rev. Canon Hellen, came in (which is normal here; processessions are not a given), she was on crutches, as she'd been in the hospital, and will be traveling to India for surgery.  I realized that we had met at the clergy women's conference here in 2012, so we had a joyous reunion, hugging and sharing greetings.  At the altar.  While the church was singing.  It was wonderful, and it was completely normal.  This is Africa.

After the service, Canon Hellen and I waited in the vestry for our breakfast to come (tea, bread, and bananas), and remember, no one knew I was coming, but I had to be fed.  Nothing beats African hospitality!

I tend to go to the first service during my visitations so as to avoid Kampala traffic going home.  The 7:00 service was packed.  Actually, it was overpacked, because once the nearly 100 children went out to Sunday School, adults came in and took their seats.  The room probably sat approximately 200 people, and they have five services each Sunday.  Five.  Two are in English, and the other three are in different languages (Luganda, Luo, and one that escapes me).

Canon Hellen explained that they were working to expand the church, because the current one is too small.  That was patently obvious, since the first service is overflowing.  Once they expand, they'll be able to go down to four services a Sunday, because they'll combine the English services.  How many of our churches in the US want to reduce to four services?

Then she told me about their weekly programs:  they have a prayer service, a mid-week service, and several Bible studies.  Namuwongo has a slum area, and St. Paul's has two daughter churches, one of them being in the slum.  

They have a large outreach program, and one of the programs reaches out to the sex workers.  Canon Hellen said there are about 150 of these girls, but she is only working with about 63 of them right now because that's all she can handle.  Only 63.  

All I can do is be compeltely awed and humbled.  Canon Hellen is leading a large, vibrant, and thriving church, and her heart, and the heart of the church, is clearly to bring Jesus' love and healing to the community.  It is such a joy to be able to have a relationship with a church like this, no matter how small the relationship is.

Google maps can lie

Yesterday I had to find a student at his placement church in Namuwongo, a part of town I've only been through maybe twice, and Mary Jane was driving.  Everything looks the same there, and your landmarks for where to turn are often signs or painted buildings, like "turn right at the Sadolin building across from the Peacock building (both being paint companies)."  I assumed that my adventures getting there would make for a humorous post.

I'm sure they would, but what i found at the church impressed and humbled me greatly, so I'm going to write about that next.  

All I will say about my journey is that I couldn't easily discern how to get to the church on either of my Kampala maps, so I turned to Google maps.  They can lie.

The top is the "easy" way to get there, but there are two turns after the roundabout, and I thought I'd get disoriented.  The top right was a misfire.  The real directions are at the bottom, and it's worth noting that there are precious few road signs in Uganda, and the ones that exist will look different, e.g., they may be small signs that sit on the ground, or in rare instances, it might be on a pole like we'd expect.  But generally, the way to go is landmarks, so my writing down street names was a bit hilarious, except that it's helpful when asking directions because locals know the street names; they're just not marked.

Since my handwriting is terrible, the big landmark from Namuwongo Road (once I went the proper direction) is a rather large sign for Cheap Prices Supermarket.  It's entirely possible that I would have driven past the church (there is a sign), but I was late because of all my driving around, and I heard them singing.  Hallelujah! 

Burial at discipleship

Last week in discipleship, one of my students asked if we could walk through the liturgy for a burial, so that's what we did this week.  It prompted a lot of questions (and gave me some food for thought for the liturgy committee), and as we were leaving the chapel, the same student said, "This was SO much better than what we did last semester!"  Hmmm... no one complained or spoke up last semester...

For me, the highlight of our discipleship time this week was listening to the students share their experiences "in the field" with burials.  Most of my discipleship group is from eastern Uganda, and one student is from Rwanda.  Even those from the east are from different districts and tribes, and therefore have different cultures and norms.

One of the students asked, "What would you do if you had an Indian in your congregation, and he died, and his family wanted to burn him and scatter his ashes?"  This poses an interesting question, because culture transcends almost everything else.  I shook my head no, but one of the other students gave the best answer.

"No, no, no."  He shook his head emphatically.  "No.  This is when I exert my authority as a priest and bury my Christian as a Christian.  It doesn't matter what the family wants or what the culture dictates.  He was a Christian, and I will give him a Christian burial, and will make the sign of the cross over his grave that matches the sign of the cross made on him at his baptism."

Amen.

Making pilgrimmage

Yesterday, I took my student to his placement at Entebbe so that I wouldn't bounce again (he can get to Kampala no problem, but finding a taxi that is going to Entebbe that early is a challenge, as taxis are really minivans, and only want to go when they have been filled).

We left about 5:15 am, and as we were driving towards Kampala, I noticed a fair number of people walking.  I asked him who they were, and he said they were "footing to work."

However, on the way back from church, i saw more groups walking, and with larger numbers.  Many were wearing crucifix necklaces, and some were carrying crosses.

I finally realized that tomorrow, June 3, is Martyrs' Day, and these people were walking to the shrine.  This pilgrimage is most popular with the Catholics, though some Anglicans do walk.  Some of these people started walking a week ago, and all they carry is a jerry can for water, and perhaps a bag (I assume with some clothes), and money to buy food.  

The Catholic shrine is probably about two kilometers from the Anglican shrine, and there are often around a million people (a combined count) at the shrines for the observance of Martyrs' Day.

At the Anglican shrine, the dioceses rotate hosting responsibilities, and last year, UCU hosted the celebrations, as it was our centenary year.  We also launched the prayer book at Martyrs' Day, and I was rather busy with that.

We have about 85 students registered to attend the 10:30 service tomorrow, and they're leaving at 6:30.  They have to; there are two ways to get to the shrine, and both ultimately end up at the same small road.  With several hundred thousand people there, you have to aim to arrive early, of you shall not arrive at all.