Sunday Mornin'

What really got me was when, after shaking hands with our neighbors during the Sharing of the Peace, everyone looked around at those who were too far to reach physically and waved brightly with both hands.

This morning's church service was held in the Catholic Basilica just up the street from our home. We drive by it several times a week, and have often appreciated it's neoclassical charm in the midst of the many aluminum, glass, and steel sided modern buildings going up all over Khartoum. We've passed it many times, but today, we decided to go inside.

As we walked in, we were both surprised at how full the pews were. Perhaps we've grown cynical about the state of Christianity in the United States, feeling generally estranged from much of the population that call themselves Christian, and watching the attendance at local community-based progressive churches dwindle in the shadows of of the ballooning suburban megachurches. The growth of Christianity in Africa isn't always at the front of our minds, but if today's service was an indication of anything, it is a force not to be underestimated.

We sat down, and as the bells in the tower began to ring in the start of the service, the most peculiar howling rose up alongside. I listened perplexed for a bit, and then remembered the gangs of street dogs out in this, and nearly every, neighborhood in the city. Apparently they had some praising to do this morning too . . .

When the first hymn started, my heart sunk. Oh no! I thought this was going to be in Arabic, but I'm not understanding a single word in these lyrics! Then, when it ended, and the first prayer began, I realized that, yet again, I had failed to pick up on the Sudanese dialect (or perhaps it was really a more distant Southern dialect that I hadn't yet been exposed to anyway?!). As the service processed, I limped along, catching words and phrases as I could. I consoled myself, thinking: At least if I don't understand every word, I can't get caught up in the battle of semantics I find myself fighting so often in English language liturgies. I didn't have to worry about overuse of patriarchal, hierarchical, or exclusivist language this morning - all nuances were pretty much lost on me. I was just going for recognizable vocabulary most of the time.

The highlights of our experience today would probably include:

• the string of blinking green and white fairy lights wrapped around a rough wooden-stick cross near the chancel


• the priest preaching from right behind the altar, right at the center of sacred power, rather than the available pulpit or lectern on either side???


• the stadium-style Hammond organ that accompanied the hymns


• forgetting (momentarily) that I was any different from those sitting around me while we listened and prayed together (until I looked down and saw the shockingly white skin on my hands again)


• and certainly the pervasive sense of welcome we felt as, after the "Sharing of the Peace, we followed the model of our neighbors, and looked up and around at the other congregants beyond our reach and waved to them, mouthing "As-Salaamu alekum, wa alekum as-Salaam" to all within sight. This was a community whose cups of welcome, hospitality, and desire for peace runneth over.

Just another Sunday mornin' here out here in sunny Sudan . . .