Wave to Jesus!

At the end of Part 1 (Clap for Jesus), we left you after the Prayers for the People and told you to get yourself comfy for the sermon. Hopefully, you’re ready, attentive, and quiet, or else the Ushers might get you.

The sermon comes at the end of the service. It begins with a question by the Evangelist: “Who brought their weapon?” In enthusiastic response, people wave their bibles in the air. Then the pastor leads off by reading the week’s bible passage, sometimes calling each verse number as he goes. He then moves on to his message, which can be fire-and-brimstone or funny and anecdotal. Regular themes center around bearing false witness, hypocrisy, and, most frequently, tithing. Key phrases and messages are translated into the local dialect. Audience participation is frequent. When worshippers are moved by the pastor’s message they issue calls of the traditional: “Halleluiah!” the spirited: “Preach it!” or the ironic: “Tell them!” Ushers patrol the sanctuary, waking any sermon snoozers with a quick jab and a sharp word. Small children are expected to be silent when in church, which is amazing considering the sermon’s length. Sermons average forty minutes in length, but can approach ninety. Angie has held other peoples’ babies during the sermon, but the experience is usually short-lived due to the child’s “unacceptable” cooing and giggling.

Oftentimes, at the height of the homily, the pastor comes down from the pulpit and enters the pews. Feeding off the drama and energy, the audience rises to meet him. With flair and style, the pastor delivers his final, punctuated points. At the finale, the sanctuary bursts into applause and jubilant singing. The choirs sing the pastor back to his seat. On the way back to the platform, the pastor is sent with handshakes and backslaps. As he mops his sweat-beaded forehead, appreciative parishioners throw cash into baskets on the altar.

This leads us to the offering, which, according to some pastors, is “the most important part of the service.” In Liberia, the opportunities to give money to the church are numerous, and they are far from subtle. Your opportunities for giving start the moment you walk into the sanctuary. Ushers often greet you at the door and pin a ribbon to your lapel. In exchange for the ribbon is a small, compulsory offering. The worshipper then sits down and the service commences. Before the official offertory, there are several points during the service where collection baskets are placed on the altar. If any churchgoer feels so moved, he or she can walk to the front of the church at any time and give an offering. This may be in response to an exceptionally good song, moving prayer, or rousing sermon.

The official offertory involves a musical procession that brings each person to the front of the church. The pews are dismissed one by one and the congregation marches or dances around the aisles to the altar. There, one or more baskets await their offering. Each person’s offering is dropped into the basket in full view of the church. Everyone in attendance – including elders, choir members, and pastors – passes by the altar. When the last person has passed, the baskets are consolidated. Then, the procession is repeated, sometimes twice. The occasion is lively and people enjoy it. Offering is a dance party, resembling a Congo line. It’s a festive time; the only thing missing is high-fives. It is especially entertaining to watch the whole congregation parading by in their Sunday Best.

Colorful clothing adds to the lively atmosphere

This is how the offering works on a typical church day. There are, however, numerous other special days during the church year. There are days recognizing Mother/Father/Child of the Year, Women’s Day, Men’s’ Day, Youth Day, church conferences, and all the standard Christian holidays. Rally Sundays can pit men against women in fundraising challenges. Figures are tallied, called out, and multiple rounds held. When gifts dry up, well-to-do members can be called upon by name: “Mrs. Kollie, I know you are the head of the local Market Women’s Union, would you please come show your support (again)?” Occasionally, other fundraising tactics are employed. Small trees hung with bags of popcorn and juice are brought out. After two hours in a pew, the treats are enticing and definitely worth the small offering.

The Methodists recognize their Father of the Year

We have visited about ten different churches during our time here. We have been with the Lutherans, Pentecostals, Seventh-Day Adventists, Baptists, Methodists, and various other Christian groups. Regardless of the specific denomination, things operate pretty much the same. Liberians have created a rich and animated tradition that they love. Everyone leaves the church with a smile on their face. Angie and I usually leave the church feeling a tad bit thirsty, somewhat exhausted, and looking for any quiet place. But we feel energized knowing that we have once again participated in Liberia’s vibrant, faithful culture.

The country Lutheran church proved to be the most mellow

Ben with his host mother and father after service

Clap for Jesus!

Liberia is a religious place. Ninety-five percent of the nation is Christian, and it shows. Churches are everywhere in Liberia with new ones springing up daily. Everything from professional meetings to taxi rides start with a group prayer. Inquiries of “How are you?” are met with the standard, “Thank God!” Religion is prevalent through all aspects of the culture, including school, government, and daily life. (The other five percent is mostly Muslim with a smattering of other world religions.)

Church-going is one of the most culturally-rich activities in Liberia. Church is a lively, loud, and colorful place. Compared to a more reserved American style, the Liberian setting can be a little startling at first. And there’s no testing the waters. You have to jump right in. In a western religious service, you can be a quiet, anonymous observer. If you are visiting a Liberian church for the first time, there’s no hiding. As a guest, you are asked to stand, state your name, your home church, your position at the church, and the name of the person who invited you. Then, a lengthy “welcome song” starts. The whole church filters past each of the guests, shaking hands and singing, “You gotta find somebody, tell them that you love them. Put your hands together and praise the Lord!”

Whether you observe the Sabbath on Saturday or Sunday, it is always a big day in Liberia. Church starts around eleven o’clock in the morning and never before ten. All the day’s chores must be finished before coming to service. Water is hauled, markets are visited, and food is cooked – all before church. Church services last, on average, two hours and thirty minutes. The shortest service we ever attended was ninety minutes. The longest went four hours, thirty minutes. Angie once attended a service with our host family where she and the family left mid-way through the service to go eat lunch. After eating, they came back to their same seats and rejoined the congregation. Nobody seemed to bat an eye. The length of church can seem daunting to those accustomed to sixty-minute services. But for those living a life full of hard work and little luxury, church means something more than just spirituality. Church is a time of entertainment, learning, socializing, rest, relaxation, and fun.

Churches are fairly simple buildings. They are generally one large room built from cement blocks. There are no atria, social halls, or office spaces. The roof is usually corrugated tin (which leaves people straining to hear the sermon during a rainfall). Some churches are decidedly more simple – bamboo poles or mud brick. The style of seating can vary between churches. The more affluent churches use plastic patio chairs for seating. A step down from these are the standard, unpadded wooden church pews. Lowest on the ladder are rough-hewn, backless wooden benches.

During worship services, a typical sanctuary is divided up into several sections. The main seating is divided into three. Men sit on one side, women sit on the other. In the middle is a mixture of men, women, and a few children. Most children attend Sunday school during the worship service. When Angie and I attend church together, we sit in the middle section. When we attend separately, we gravitate to the section of our respective genders. Angie claims the womens’ section “is where the party is at.” In front of the women sit the Missionaries in their white blouses and head wraps. These are the elder women in the church. Across from the Missionaries sit the Deacons – the elder men in the church. In the front of the church is a raised platform. On the platform sit the choirs and the multiple Pastors. Having a position in the church is important, and the seating reflects your status.

When people arrive at church, they are dressed in their finest. Women wear full lappa suits. Lappa refers to the colorful printed fabric that is available all over West Africa. Local tailors fashion matching skirts, tops, and head wraps for churchgoers. Men wear their equivalent lappa shirts and trousers. Children wear their “Sunday Best” suits or dresses. All clothes are spotless and wrinkle-free. (Clothes are pressed that morning using a hot, charcoal-filled iron.) Women cover their hair inside the church. Some women use scarves. Others use lappa as head wraps. Some wear large, ornate hats that, elsewhere, would elicit shouts of, “down in front!” Those who need a modest solution will pin a washcloth, doily, or napkin to their head.

Hats and head coverings

Services are often led by an “evangelist.” This is a lay-person with a penchant for crowd-control. He will lead the congregation through the service, introducing songs, readings, announcements, etc. He is also the one who monitors the energy level in the sanctuary. If the energy in the room starts to drop or if the people get too chatty, he will use one of the standard attention-grabbers (responses in italics): “God is good! All the time! And all of the time! God is great!” “Everyone wave to Jesus!” (Congregation waves their arms in air.) “Hello! Hi! Hi! Hello!” And our personal favorite: “Let’s all clap for Jesus!” (Congregation claps vigorously.)

Music is the main focal point of the worship service. Fifty percent or more of the service can be devoted to music. A church usually has two choirs – an English choir and a second “dialect” choir. Our second choir is the Bassa choir. The English choir is accompanied by a western drum set and electronic keyboard. In long choir robes, they dance and sing western-influenced gospel music in two part harmonies, often with a soloist on the microphone. They have a big, soulful sound. The Bassa choir has two traditional drums and a sasa. The sasa is a traditional percussion instrument made from a dried gourd woven inside a net of beads or shells. The Bassa singers, in their commencement-style caps and gowns, sing in the Bassa language. The melodies are complex, with lots of blazing-fast rises and falls. A lead singer calls the words, and the choir and audience call responses. The songs are long – sometimes as long as twenty minutes. Traditional Bassa music seems to be in a minor key, but never sounds somber or dark. Everyone in church, including guests, is encouraged to stand up, clap, and dance to the music. It is a truly joyful scene. (And it requires getting out of one’s conservative shell!)

Bassa Choir left, English Choir right

A traditional sasa

Prayers in the church are impassioned and prolonged. Early in the service is the Prayer for the People, where parishioners are asked to come forward so the pastor can pray for them. We have been at services in the States where five or ten people will go to the front. In Liberia, five or ten can be the number left in the pews. During the prayer, people can listen to the pastor or put up their own prayer. Worshippers pray out loud, sharing whatever personal and private thing is in their hearts. Ten cathartic minutes later, the prayers subside and people peacefully return to their seats.

Prayers for the People

Church is a full experience. There is still more to go. To save your eyes, we have broken this post into two. The conclusion will come in a few days. Until then, stretch out, settle in, and make yourself comfortable for a marathon sermon.

Into the Bush

This week we had the chance to visit the village of one of our students.

Reginald is a senior student at our high school. He is about twenty years old. He has a wife and two children. He currently stays in the regional capital going to school while the rest of his family lives in a tiny village about an hour into the bush. Reginald sees his family only a few times during the school year.

The trip to the village involves a bush taxi ride on a dirt road followed by a vigorous 35-minute hike into the real Liberian bush. The village’s only access is by a narrow footpath – no cars or motorbikes can reach. Everything must be carried in and out, usually on top of someone’s head. Palms mingle with hardwood trees and bamboo to make a dense forest. There are clear trails, but the terrain is rough and there are numerous stream crossings. Our most recent trip was in the dry season, so only our feet, ankles, and shins got wet. In the rainy season, knees, waists and bellies can find themselves submerged.

The path to the Reginald’s village, Saypuhstown, passes through three other villages. We were greeted by the villagers in each. The adults were very welcoming. The children were friendly but wary. In the bigger cities, we are sometimes bothered by rude children shouting, “White man!” or begging us to buy them things. Here, all the smiles were genuine and friendly. In each village, as is customary, we were offered a chair to sit down. We declined politely and continued on to Saypuhstown.

Reginald’s village is similar to the other villages we passed through. It is small. There are inhabitants – six adults and seven children. Saypuhstown is basically one family unit. Reginald’s father, Alfred, has two wives. The villagers are Alfred’s wives, children, and grandchildren.

The “town” consists of four small mud-brick houses with thatched roofs. The houses are built around a shaded common space where people sit, cook, and socialize. This common area, the palaver hut, is a ubiquitous feature to every town. It is where guests are received and any meetings happen. It is also the place where disputes are formally addressed. It serves as lounge, kitchen, and courtroom. The ground around the town is hard-packed dirt, cleared of any vegetation that could harbor snakes.

Reginald’s family lives off the land. They are farmers, palm oil producers, coal manufacturers, gold miners, hunters, trappers, fisherman, bamboo harvesters, basket weavers, furniture makers, and the list goes on. The village is scattered with the tools and implements of bush industry. The villagers work every day for their food and to produce goods to sell in the market. They are nearly self-sufficient, with only a few tools and foodstuffs coming from town.

The villagers eat lots of “country” rice, which is rice they have raised themselves. It is grown on low-lying but dry areas that have been cut and cleared. Cassava, peppers, eggplant, okra, and many other vegetables are grown. Bananas, plantains, pineapple, and papayas abound. A typical meal consists of rice or pounded cassava with one of a small number of “soups” on top. The meal may feature “bush meat,” which is the catch of the day. It could be opossum, fish, groundhog, crab, deer, bat, or any other animal that was shot, trapped, lured, or snared that week. Meats are often dried to preserve them. All bones and shells are consumed with the meat. No nutrient is wasted. (I can attest that chewing shrimp and crabs whole, and grinding and swallowing bones takes some getting used to, but becomes enjoyable after a while.) A large meal is eaten early in the day and smaller meals later in the evening. Almost everything eaten comes from within a mile of the village. Those familiar with the term “food miles” can be thoroughly impressed.

Life in the village isn’t easy. Everyone works. “No food for lazy man,” is an oft-quoted Liberian proverb. It’s nowhere more true than in the village. Children carry buckets of water on their heads. Girls cook and sell in the market. Old women weave baskets and tend the garden. Men hunt and bring in the harvest. Boys cut brush and climb palm trees. It’s quite humbling to witness the industriousness and perseverance of the villagers. They are generalists and juggle many tasks simultaneously. Hard work is good for the soul, and these peoples’ souls seem at peace.

Nevertheless, it is easy to see how tragedy can strike. Money is not abundant. A bad harvest could spell disaster for the village. Healthcare is not available. Pneumonia claimed Reginald’s uncle’s life this past December. The April before that, Reginald’s brother drowned. Educational opportunities are lacking – Reginald is the first in the village to attend high school. Even in the shadow of these things, hope persists. People are close with their family and with the neighboring communities. They are close to the land. Living off the land is what these people are good at.

We were well-received by all the villagers. And in spite of us coming from the “land of plenty,” the villagers were gracious and giving at every turn. They don’t have a lot of material wealth, but what they did have they shared with us generously. We left the village carrying two enormous pineapples, a huge bunch of plantains, and a large rooster. The rooster was an especially nice gift, as it represents the “fatted calf” of the village world.

One could technically consider the village lifestyle to be subsistence living, but in Reginald’s village, it seems deliberate, graceful, and good.

Streams were crossed on rough bridges…

…or the old-fashioned way.

The hike to the village goes through the real bush.

Bamboo grows in abundance in tropical Liberia.

The “kitchen” where the family spends its day during the farm season.

Homes are mud-brick with thatched roofs

Everyone loved seeing their picture on the camera screen.

Weaving baskets to catch crayfish and crabs.

Crawfish are caught in baskets laid in the stream.

River crab and bat meat were eaten – bone, shell, and all.

Rice must be pounded to remove the hulls.

Separating the rice from the chaff.

“Country” rice

Small girl, large knife, peeling cassava.

Pounding cassava in a mortar to make dumboy.

A man, high in a palm tree, cuts the flower to harvest the kernels.

Palm kernels being removed from the husk.

Wood burned under a heap of dirt turns to charcoal.

The finished charcoal awaits transport into town.

Animal enters the trap on the right. The stick pulls the noose tight.

Dried opossum for breakfast.

Two young gold prospectors pose near the washing table

Operating the washing table is a tough job.

Panning separates the gold from the silt.

Two days’ work for a gram of glitter.

Angie beside the St. John River.

A rice farm shows its vibrant new growth.

New rice in the back, baby cassava in front.

Farming is a cut-and-burn operation.

Bath time for Small Mary.

Our bounty of gifts from the villagers

Owl in the Family

Bokum, the baby owl

Here is the latest animal in our household. We bought him from some kids who scooped him up after he dropped from a nest in a palm tree. Bokum, as we called him, from the tribal word for “owl,” spent one week with us. As you can see from the pictures, he was adorable. But he required a bit of work. I fed him fresh fish by hand two times a day, in tiny owlet-sized morsels. He started to get a bit aggressive as time went on, often using his talons to defend himself against the hand that fed him.

Bokum looks on while Angie washes clothes.

The most compelling reason for Bokum to leave was that our neighbors thought we were using the owl for witchcraft. Honestly. Witchcraft (or at least the belief therein) is alive and well in Liberia, and owls are one of the main media of evil spirits. After Bokum arrived at our house, the neighbor kids quit coming over. Passers-by would mutter things about witches and spirits. People started to talk. The few children who did come the house would stare at the owl with curiosity mixed with trepidation. The braver kids would shout, “Jesus!” at the baby owl to try and cast out whatever evil lurked inside of him.

Bokum was fun, but needed to return to the wild. He was giving us a bad name and possibly introducing bad juju into our house. Whether he is currently catching mice or casting spells, I can’t say. In any case, the children have returned to the house, which is always a good omen.