I thought today would be relatively uneventful after our exciting trip home from church last night. But today proved to be a string of experiences and conversations and events that have stretched me in many ways.
This morning we went to the Assemblies of God Bible College - the school where Erasto studied to be a pastor. We met several students, administrators, and staff people from the school. I couldn't help but compare it to my theological education at Saint Paul. In terms of what they had to work with, there was no comparison (in fact, Clif is going back tomorrow to see if he can help them with their outdated computer lab.) The library had maybe six or seven rows of books, many of them faded and old. The cafeteria food is cooked over an open fire, and they raise their own chickens and pigs for the food! But the man who spoke in chapel today has been studying for his DMin at Asbury Seminary in Kentucky. He shared his doctoral work with the gathered students.
At the end of the chapel time, the academic dean called up Erasto, who introduced me and Clif. Now, I have worked with many Pentecostal pastors and scholars through my work with the Wesleyan/Pentecostal Consultation, and I know that some Pentecostal pastors are not comfortable with women as pastors. I also know that churches in Africa tend to be more conservative. So I wasn't sure how my presence was going to be received. But when Erasto asked me to introduce myself and my husband, I said in a loud, clear voice, "I am Laura Guy, and this is my husband Clif, and in our family, I am the pastor." This was met with some enthusiastic clapping (perhaps mostly from the woman students). But I also explained that Clif was not called by God to be a pastor, but he has gifts and skills with computers and he has a passion to spread the Good News through information technology. "So," I said, "he supports me, and he supports the pastors at the church where he works. That is his ministry." That got a big round of applause by everyone.
Then we had an interesting shopping trip downtown to get Jennifer Hall an African dress (by special request).
Erasto told us that we were expected at the home of a friend for lunch. We arrived at the home and were warmly greeted by the father of the family. The women and children soon appeared to set out food for us.
As we became acquainted, Erasto asked the husband how many children he had. He said something in Swahili, holding up four fingers, then only three. Erasto explained that the man used to have four children, but one of them died. I asked how recently the child died. "One week ago." My heart sank. I felt awful. In my culture, I would never bring a guest to the home of a grieving family.
The mother spoke very good English, and she asked me if I wanted to see photos of the child, a sweet 9-month-old girl named Vashti. The first photo album was filled with photos from Vashti's baby blessing at church. She was dressed in a frilly blue dress and her parents held her and smiled. Such a happy day! The next photo album was from her funeral, one week ago. There were photos of her wearing another frilly dress, but laid out in a tiny coffin. There were photos of her family weeping - photos we would never take because we would consider them intrusive. Lunch was served before we finished looking at the photos, but I made a point to ask to see them again after lunch. It seemed important to remember this child, to acknowledge that there was an absence in the room. Erasto asked me to pray for the family before we left their home.
Walking out to the cab, I asked Nessie how the child died. She said the child had malaria with a high fever. They took her to the hospital, and she was given too much medicine - an overdose. My heart broke all over again for this family. I will continue to keep them all - but especially the mother Julianna - in my prayers.
Then there was the church service tonight. My spirit was drained after the day. I did not feel good about the sermon. My eyes are burning because of all the dust here. But there were more people in the service tonight than last night, and as they began to sing praises to God (and as my prayer network back home started praying), my spirit lifted. I was especially blessed when a young man rose to sing a song he had written, one he said was inspired after the service the previous night.
When I rose to preach, I just began talking without looking at my manuscript (something I never do). The words tumbled out, with conviction and passion, and I never did find out where I was in my manuscript. But the people shouted "Amen!" many times. At the end of the service, Erasto asked a woman to pray for us. She shared how my message tonight was an affirmation of what she needed to hear from God. So God is pulling me beyond the point of comfort. God is reminding me to empty myself so that I can be filled with the Spirit. Such a difficult lesson in a faraway land.
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