Ugandan religion is dominated by Christianity; I think 85% of the population considers themselves to be a Christian. As in the US, there are many different “flavors” of Christianity over here. I have made my temporary church home with the Church of Uganda, a branch of the Anglican Church (same as Episcopalian or Church of England). As I have understood things, this is the largest denomination in the country. The services are fairly similar to what I was used to with Disciples of Christ or Methodist services in the States, just bump up the length to 90 minutes and add a little – okay, a lot – of clapping, singing, and ‘hallelujah’s.’
I changed things up a couple weeks ago, however. My host family’s security guard, Patrick, invited me to attend church with him. I inquired a little further and found out that he attended a relatively new church that was associated with the evangelical – or born-again – movement. He also mentioned that services usually lasted at least three hours…
I decided to give it a try. I’d heard that the born-again services were an experience, especially when coming from a traditional worship background. I had been meaning to at least try one born-again service while over here, and I figured this would be my best – and possibly last – chance to do so.
On Saturday I checked with Patrick to see when the service would start, and he said it started at 10:30. Having learned my lesson the hard way – numerous times – I immediately responded with “Patrick, is that Africa-time or the actual time when services start?” Patrick shrugged sheepishly and nodded in affirmation that 10:30 was, indeed, Africa time. I decided that I would leave my place a little before 11:00 the next morning to head to the service.
At 10:30 the next morning, while working in my room on another project, I got a phone call from Patrick explaining that the service was about to start and wondering if I was going to come. That might be the first time that anything has ever been earlier than expected over here. Either that, or it was Africa telling me just give up trying to control time.
I quickly got dressed and drove to the church, which ended up being located in the middle of a valley/gully that probably doesn’t fare too well during times of heavy rain. I had to park a couple hundred meters away, and then I walked through a couple fields before reaching the church.
The church, hidden within a field of cassava and maizeRamshackle is the best word I can think of to describe the structure. The roof was made out of cheap sheet metal and 4” tree trunks provided almost the entire structure. The walls – and I use that term very loosely – were made of reeds strung together. The building was fairly impressive from a size perspective; it reminded me of a Morton building and, if I had to guess, I would throw out approximately 75 ft x 250 ft for dimensions.
A closer look at the reed wallsI walked in to see a woman dressed purely in white singing with a mic and leading the choir. As I would later find out, she was the pastor.
We made our way to our seats (as I should have expected, Patrick had saved two seats in the very front for us), and I settled in for what I was sure to be quite the experience. As I had expected, I was the only Muzungu in the room. I’m sure I got my fair share of stares as I made my way to my seat, but I’ve been over here long enough that I’ve grown accustomed to it and didn’t really notice.
The next 15-20 minutes were spent “singing.” Of course, there were no projectors or hymnals for showing the lyrics, and most of these songs were in Luganda anyway, so I just stood there and clapped along. Most of the congregants were completely absorbed in the activity, and left their seats entirely, walking/running around the large room while putting their whole body into the act of worship. Patrick was a little milder and was constantly making sure everything was okay with me. Although I tried to act nonchalant with the whole experience, I caught myself just staring, trying to take in everything going on around me, a couple too many times. I’m sure it was blatantly obvious that this was not my usual cup of tea for a worship service.
After awhile, the pastor handed over the microphone to another person who took the lead in singing, and the music switched over from up-tempo Christian gospel music to what sounded like a cross between hardcore rap and heavy metal. The new song leader then broke into a mixture of screaming/rapping, in Luganda of course. Again, I found myself staring around; it appeared that this was a completely normal experience for everyone else. I enquired with Patrick, who casually explained that it was a rap for Jesus. At this point, we were less than 30 minutes into the service, and I could only imagine what was yet to come.
Eventually, the group singing ended, and they transitioned to individual performances. It seemed like most of this was completely unscripted; people from the congregation would get up, take the microphone, and sing whatever came to them. Of course, it was in Luganda, so I had no idea what they were saying (if I only I had paid more attention in those classes last semester…). My favorite performance was by three teenagers - two boys and one girl - who gave a CD to the sound system coordinator (basically the DJ), and proceeded to lip sync & dance to some Christian rap some. This was the final performance, and it ended by members of the congregation coming up and giving donations to the three. I asked Patrick what the money was to be used for, and he said that it was for the kids to use as they pleased. I wasn’t quite sure what to think of that, but decided it would be better for my own mental health to not try and come up with a logical explanation for everything that I had – and was about to – see at this service.
The next aspect of the service was a sharing of blessings received during the past week. People got up and spoke about how God had influenced their lives; most of the stories included finding an unexpected source of money in some way, shape, or form. One that stuck out, however, was from a Congolese visitor, who gave thanks for the health of his mother. She had apparently been in a very severe car accident and was now recovering in the hospital. He had just come from the hospital where the doctors had told him that everything would be alright; she was just “coughing up a little blood.” Again, I looked around to see if anyone was as taken aback by that statement as I was, but apparently everyone else thought “coughing up a little blood” was a minor issue.
This continued for awhile, with plenty of shouts of “Hallelujah” and “Praise God” mixed in along with a few more songs scattered throughout. Eventually, it transitioned to preparation for the morning message, at which point the female pastor made her way back up to the stage. She definitely had a commanding presence; and it was obvious that she held a great deal of respect from the congregation.
The sermon delivery was an interesting approach. She gave the message in Luganda, since that was what most of the congregants understood. She then had an assistant who would immediately translate everything to English. I was impressed with the effectiveness of the setup; it gave the whole sermon an interesting rhythm as the two speakers bounced phrases back and forth. What added the most to the whole scene was the fact that the pastor moved back and forth on the stage throughout the duration of her sermon. Her assistant then mimicked her movements, but always a couple feet behind her. When she stopped, and jumped up and down to emphasize a point, he stopped and, jumping up and down, repeated the same statement in English, with the same vigor. At a couple points, the pastor turned to her assistant and they exchanged phrases while pointing/yelling at each other. If I would have just walked in at that moment, I would have sworn they were about to throw punches. As it was, they were just making a main point of the sermon.
The fiery sermon lasted for somewhere between 30-60 minutes. However, ADD still somehow managed to kick in after about 20 minutes, and I found myself staring around again, just trying to take in the whole experience. I would occasionally get brought back into the sermon when I would hear the phrase “I have a dream…” which, according to my count, was used at least four times.
Eventually, the pastor wrapped up the message. Understandably, she appeared physically drained as she made her way back to her seat while the congregation transitioned back to more singing. The songs went on for 10-15 minutes before the pastor once again took the stage. She then gave a request for tithes & offering, which was collected during more singing. I checked my watch at this point; I had been there for slightly over 2 ½ hours, and it seemed that things were wrapping up. In fact, the pastor started the next aspect of the service by saying how she wanted to make sure to “keep time” (Ugandan way of saying stay on schedule) this Sunday. I thought to myself that I might get out of there in under 3 hours. When will I ever learn…?
I thought I had seen about all there was to see with an evangelical service. Ha! At this point, the pastor started to explain how the church was going to be doing a special outreach service in the upcoming weeks, and they needed approximately $3,000 to pull it off. They would need all the help they could get from the congregation for this to be possible, and she wanted to know who would be willing to contribute.
As I sat there wondering how she would ever manage to get that amount of money, people started walking up to the front of the church. One by one, they pledged to give what they could to help with the program. The pledges ranged from over $100 to less than $10. It was a powerful experience to see people coming and giving the little they had for something in which they believed truly needed to be done.
The real interesting part came after people would make their vocal pledges. At this point, the pastor would stand over them (she was at the edge of the stage, elevated about 2 feet) and give them a blessing. This blessing changed depending on the individual. It would usually be a general blessing of good tidings to come. A few times, when it was a woman who had made the vocal pledge, the pastor would have her husband come and stand beside her. She would the place her hands on the woman’s stomach and bless her with a future child.
This whole process, however, was interrupted at one point by cries of agony coming from the building’s side entrance. I looked over to see the same Congolese man who had earlier shared the blessing of his mother’s “good health.” Unfortunately, the “coughing up blood” had been as ominous as I had feared, and his mother had just passed away. The man made his way up to the front of the room, where the pastor – who handled the situation very well, in my opinion – managed to calm him slightly before handing him some money and telling two of the other church members to go with him to the hospital so he could be with his deceased mother.
The pastor then transitioned back to the pledges. More people came up and more blessings were given, including promises of more children (which, with Uganda having one of the highest fertility rates in the world at 6.77 children/woman, actually will hinder the country’s development progress…but that’s a whole separate post in itself). I thought this whole process of handing out blessings – especially promises of future children – was a fairly bold move by the pastor, but it ended up being tame compared to what came next.
An old woman walked up to the stage and offered to give the little money she had for the outreach program. As the pastor went to place her hand on the woman’s head to bestow a blessing, she suddenly recoiled with a look of horror on her face. She then explained that the woman was possessed by some time for a demon. At this statement, the old woman just shook her in acknowledgement while staring at the floor. I then was able to experience my first (and probably last) exorcism. The pastor placed her hands forcefully on the woman’s shoulders and spoke quickly and forcefully (I didn’t catch exactly what she said), repeating the process over and over again as the old woman started to shake more and more violently. Eventually the old woman collapsed into the arms of a man standing behind, at which point the demon had apparently been driven out. I just sat there for the whole thing, watching the whole process with a mix of wonder and curiosity.
That served as the climax of the whole service. After it, the pledging process wrapped up. Although they didn’t get the necessary amount of money, they were able to raise much more than I had expected.
The rest of the service was fairly straight forward. At one point, all visitors were asked to come to the front of the stage, and I got to introduce myself to the congregation along with a quick summary of what I was doing in Uganda. I threw in a few of the Luganda phrases that I had learned over the months, which the congregation enjoyed. Beyond that, I’m pretty sure that my accent prevented them from coming anywhere close to understanding my English, but an interpreter translated the few sentences I said.
I made my way back to my seat, and continued playing with a couple kids who had slowly gathered the courage to approach the Muzungu throughout the service as everything wrapped up with a few more songs. When it all ended, I looked at my watch: 2:00.
Intense. That’s the best way I can describe the whole experience. I shared it with a few of my friends over here who had been to some of the more main-stream born-again church in Kampala, and I got the feeling that my experience was an extreme one. I wanted to get an experience, and did I ever…
It is probably fairly evident from this post, but I’m pretty skeptical of what I saw during this service. Looking at the experience from a Christian perspective, it was great to see such enthusiasm among the congregation. That enthusiasm can be extended to the Ugandan population in general. Never before have I been proselytized as often as here in Uganda, and it’s nice to see people so excited about their religion. However, there are some definite issues that I have observed with Christianity in Uganda. Sadly, the corruption that plagues the rest of the country is also rampant within the churches. Pastors of the largest churches are often the owners of extravagant homes and can frequently be seen driving their BMW or Lexus (or both) around the streets of Kampala. Too many people are willing to take anything they are told by a pastor at face value and accept it as 100% truth. As it is, pastors are some of the most powerful people in Ugandan culture, and not all of them preach the type of acceptance and understanding that I have always taken to be integral to Christianity as a whole. Like most other aspects of society in a culture where corruption has become entrenched, religion has to be approached with a healthy dose of skepticism.
But I digress... Instead of delving into a long discussion about what I see as the pros and cons of religion in Uganda, I think I will save us all and just wrap up the post at this point. Congrats to anyone who made it all the way through!
Cheers!
Chris
