So, What Did I Miss at YOUR Church on Sunday?

A tale of Two Cities

Asking me to compare Kigali and Kampala is like asking if you prefer day or night. Kigali is quiet, still, clean and pristine. There is no trash anywhere; plastic bags are banned in the county. Military men with AK 47s are poised every hundred yards on major roads. The city is full of staffed security guards stationed at each home, most of which are concealed by a cumbersome gate and overgrown bushes. Selling on the streets is illegal, although it is customary to greet anyone who crosses your path, no one in Kigali does anything to draw attention to oneself. Although, interestingly, drawing great attention to a MUZUNGU is completely normal.

Kampala is alive with energy and excitement. It wasn't until I was there, I realized it had been almost a month since I heard the radio. In Kigali, people listen to talk radio on their phones. In Kampala, music of all kinds is blaring from the cars, restaurants and bars pouring out onto the street. The traffic is chaos, a constant rhythm of honking and brakes screeching. In Kampala, everyone speaks English, with English advertisements decorating each corner; interactions with people flow easily because there is no communication barrier.

I never realized the full extent to which your own personality contributes to whether or not you love a place until I came to Kigali. I have been in love with a lot of places I have been. I have not been in love with Kigali. It wasn't until I visited Kampala that I realized, perhaps its my personality that clashes with Kigali. I love the madness, the chaos, the noise, the pollution, the energy. I am loud, all over the place, full of expressions and full of energy. Rwandans are "buttoned up." Rwandans are reserved. 

But my perspective on Rwanda completely transformed at a traditional Rwandan church this morning.
There we found the energy, the life, the joy of the Rwandan people.

Scratch Sunday School, make it Sunday Morning Zumba with Jesus

Burning calories for Jesus? Tell me more, you say!
This is the scene. The choir is singing at the top of their lungs, shouting the words in joy, then church wide choreography commences. I'm not talking about our dinky little motions for "He came from Heaven to Earth to show the way" oh no, this is legitimate- three steps to the right, JUMP! three quick steps to the left, JUMP! Clapping for such long periods, that if I stopped clapping, my hands stung. And- you have no choice in participating in the cheoreography or you will get run over. The church, about the size of the average American kitchen was filled to the brim, teaming with children. Each bench was so full, cheeks were on top of cheeks. If you decided to stand still instead of moving around with the crowd, you would get knocked over and stepped on like a small animal that falls behind in a stampede.

Between each song, everyone prays out loud. Can you imagine this- if you witnessed 100 prayers all being declared, knowing that God hears and understands each and every word. But more importantly, that he LISTENS and responds to all those prayers. Amazing!

The choir was accompanied by a drum machine, piano. At the end of one song, a huge mosh pit session broke out. One woman took off the sash of her robe and was swinging it in the air like a girl with her shirt on a girls gone wild video. 

The church was filled with children, like little monkeys, clapping and singing along. Two little girls befriended me and taught me the dances for the song. At age six, they blew my skills out of the water. There were about five choirs that each led the church- a women's choir, a boys choir, a children's choir and the choir that had robes. One song had a full-blown choreography routine that was basically the Cha-Cha, luckily it was quick to pick up or I'm sure I would been stampeded. While your body is trying to keep up, your hands aren't dead the whole time. Oh no, your hands have responsibilities too- to be raised above your head, clapping to a complicated rhythm, moving to the beat as your body moves. Every part of your body is worshipping at once. And let me tell you, after four hours of this... it was a better workout than any Zumba class could offer.

Should you feel moved by the sermon or a song, cat calls are welcomed and encouraged. Also, if you've never used your Bible as a drum or tambourine, then you have not used your Bible to its full potential. 

Now it all makes sense! No wonder Rwandans seem so reserved, they are exhausted Monday through Wednesday from Sunday's activity. Then Thursday through Saturday, they are storing up energy to release it all Sunday in a worship, I mean, work-out, I mean worship session. Incredible!!! 

all the little girls I shared a bench with this morning