Finding a New Church Home

The pavilion tents tower above me and stretches into the distance. There are still fifteen minutes until the service starts, but already the parking lot is filling and people are streaming through the gates past two security guards. My host father and sisters break off to the left toward the Sunday School tent. My host mother and I continue towards the massive tent in front of us; she carries her infant son while I carry her bag. We pass by two smaller tents, one serves as a creche, the other is a welcome tent for first and second time visitors. Entering the main pavilion, I realize that, amazingly, it actually seems larger from the inside. In the front is a massive dais set up for a band. Speakers and lights hang from the pavilions support pillars, and above the dais is a substantial screen. We sit near the center, and I can see two camera operators in front of me, one to each side.

Upbeat and uplifting music begins to play from the speakers as the screen comes to life. A variety of names for God appear on the screen, each one disappearing into the background to make room for the next. God. Father. Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer and myriad others. This transitions into a request to get involved and "join the revival."  The video cross fades to close ups of the praise band as they take the dais and begin to play. Worship leaders dance their way up and begin to lead the congregation in song.

Several songs later, the congregation settles down as a pastor and worship assistant take over. This is no North Atlantic, formal service. The two people now leading worship do not merely take turns reading prayers or from scripture, but engage in a dialogue with each other, and periodically pause to encourage the congregation to turn and discuss things with each other. They joke and laugh, but through it all, they guide the congregation toward deeper understanding of God. This is worship at Nairobi Chapel. Intermixed with the dialogue are videos and a rousing introduction of three representatives from the recently completed "Plug In" class--as best I can tell, a sort of new member course. These three each share 10 verses they have memorized. One even memorized her verses in Kiswahili, although English is the primary language of worship.

Later, the entire class, which includes members of several different churches come forward and together lead the congregation in several songs. They are all dressed in red and black, and collectively are quite striking. We learn that a new class is starting shortly, and new members are encouraged to sign up.The service concludes with the sermon. In all, the service has lasted about 2 hours, but owing to the vibrancy has felt quite a bit shorter.

Following the service, I step into their Karibu tent, where first time visitors are served tea and light snacks around several tables. Each table has one church member to answer questions and to seek to make the visitors feel welcome. There is another space set aside for second-time visitors. We introduce ourselves around our table, but I struggle to hear most of the names. We chat for a bit, and are encouraged to come again, and to look into the Plug-In class--we could even begin next week with the new class. A few minutes later we take our leave, and I go to find my host family.

That was my first worship experience in Nairobi, and the beginning of my first hunt for a Church home. I grew up and went to University in the same town, and so kept going to the same Church. When I served in Northern Ireland, I was working in a church, so that was also my church home. In Richmond, I consider the Seminary my church home. Thus far, every place I have lived has had a community ready built for me. This has led to my really having to think about my church community for the first time. Fortunately, this is generally true of YAVs in Kenya, so our month of orientation included visits to several different churches in order that we may get a sense of what the spectrum is.

On my second week, several of us went to one of Nairobi Chapel's daughter churches, called Mavuno (which means 'harvest' in Kiswahili), with one of last years YAVs who had not yet returned to the States. Mavuno looks and feels very much like it's parent, Nairobi Chapel--very youth focused, very vibrant, and a similar dialogue based approach to conducting the service. It is slightly smaller, but still quite large, and is also under a pavilion. Nairobi Chapel was in the middle of a sermon series on leadership, Mavuno has been focusing on Kenya. Both sermons were very outspoken and neither shied away from addressing political issues or challenging, sometimes quite directly, the members of the congregation.

On our third Sunday, we went to Loresho Presbyterian Church, a PCEA congregation which was an interesting blend, combining aspects of the style of worship represented by Nairobi Chapel and Mavuno with some more North Atlantic elements. The sermon here was less focused on politics and current events, and while there were some theological points and emphases with which I disagree, it was underpinned by some excellent work with the Hebrew of one of the Old Testament passages.

Our fourth weekend was spent in the countryside, where we stayed in the village home of one of Phyllis' co-workers (you can see photos in my last post) who also oversees several congregations in the African Independent Pentecostal Church of Africa. On that Sunday, we went with him to one of those churches. On this particular Sunday, one congregation was hosting several others, because immediately following the service was a fundraiser to buy transportation for the pastor. This service was almost entirely in Kikuyu, one of Kenya's tribal languages, and so while it was aesthetically interesting, I can't really comment on the service because I don't really know what was going on.
On our fifth Sunday, three of us went to hear our site coordinator preach (the Tanzania ladies, who had already left for their placements were very disappointed to miss that, and are going to be upset with me for not talking about it at greater length here) at Christ Church, an Anglican Church of Kenya congregation which is just around the corner from my flat. The service is much like the worship at Loresho, with the addition of the frequent references to a prayer book which seems common in Anglican churches.

I am still searching, still trying to decide what factors are important to me, and how to weigh them, but for now Christ Church is looking pretty good.

Weekend near Mt. Kenya

The past several weeks have been nuts.  This has meant little time to write, and less time to get online, but I've got several posts in the works about some of the things we've been doing, and I should start at my placement next week--I'm hoping that will mean a more stable schedule in the near future.  In the mean time, here are some pictures from this past weekend.

Mt. Kenya, in the distance

Zoomed in on Mt. Kenya

The dog sleeping outside the kitchen.

Coffee.

Red Coffee

Behind me is a natural lime-spring, with human-consumable mineral water. It was tasty.

The group descending down to our first waterfall of the day.

Foliage and a waterfall.

Yeah, I'm cheesy.

The second waterfall.

The fire for heating our bath-water.

Sunset

Sunset

Catherine and Nicole with the Javocado (Giant-Avocado)

Gina and rice fields.

A Saturday in Mathare

 “The guillotine is the concretion of the law; it is called vindicte; it is not neutral and does not permit you to remain neutral.”

     -Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

Pulling into the parking lot, my eyes are irresistibly drawn to the bright light of the blow torch.  My sunglasses do little to protect my eyes, but despite the pain and my best efforts, each new burst brings fresh temptation to look right into the flame that forms the burning heart of this outdoor metal shop where craftsmen make decorative bars for windows and other pieces of useful, industrial art.

Past the metal shop is a concrete block of a building, some three stories tall, with several shops lining the ground level advertising mobile telephone airtime, produce, and Coca-Cola.  To my left is a butcher shop, a leg of beef hanging in the window.  We park and proceed into an unlit hallway between two of the shops, stepping over puddles created by water flow.  Later, when we leave, I see people washing dishes with this water, using one of the larger pools as a basin, filling the others with soapy foam as the dirty water flows away.

We turn left and emerge into a dim room, where goat is being cooked over one of the small charcoal grills so common here.  To my right is a large door open to the outside.  Exchanging greetings and handshakes with the many people in the room, we make our way through the room toward the door.

Now on the other side of the concrete building, we hop down to the packed dirt street—the building is apparently built into a slight hill.  In front of me are two double lines of children, holding plates and spoons.  At the head of each line, adults serve them a creamy looking soup with beans and some of the already cooked goat meat.  At the back, the line bends to avoid a large pile of rocks.  I climb up it just enough to peer over.  The other side runs steeply downhill into the Mathare Valley, filled with a sea of corrugated metal roofs.

For a while, I stand, nearly frozen, trying to take it all in. Eventually, I am interrupted by a small child in a yellow shirt, perhaps about four years old.  He comes up and takes hold of my leg, looking up and smiling.  I smile back and ask him his name, but get no response—it seems he speaks about as much English as I do Kiswahili.  After a while, he points at my sunglasses, now hanging from my shirt.  I kneel down and put them on him.  He smiles wider; my host father notices and snaps a quick picture. 

Within moments, the other children also notice.  They come over, each wanting a turn with the glasses.  Each child who puts them on is greeted by smiles and a chorus of “Mizungu!” (white-person).  Soon, however, they press a bit too tightly and begin to fight over the glasses.  Reluctantly I stand and extract them from the crowd.  Music has started, and the children quickly disperse and begin to dance.  My yellow-shirted friend looks at me, betrayed.

I look away, toward the source of the music and see that speakers and an amp have emerged from the room.  Painted around the door is a brightly colored mural showcasing the vibrancy of the community.  At the top, framed by two arms holding hands, is the name of the organization we are visiting: “Inspiration Ministry.”

One of the leaders of Inspiration Ministry has recently been married, and today is celebrating his wedding with the children he serves.  I get the chance to speak to him a bit and discover that he grew up in this neighborhood, and was one of few to have the opportunity to attend school and university.  Now he leads this organization, ministering specifically to the children who are ignored by many of the other churches in the settlement, seeking to give them hope for a future unrestricted by the hard conditions of their upbringing. He tells me that many of the children there are being raised by single mothers, so he provides child care and a free lunch so their mothers can go to work. He tells me that many of the families survive on less than a dollar a day. 

I wonder if they know the glasses I briefly let them play with could feed them for a month.

From the Plane

What's below was originally written on the flight in to Nairobi, but I haven't really had the chance to post it until now.  As a teaser, today was also eventful, however I still need some time to process before I post anything about it.  Hopefully more will come soon.

Kenya now lies below me, or at so the least the flight tracker on the screen in front of me says.  I am unable to verify this fact, partly due to my aisle seat, but even standing to give myself a better angle, nothing is distinguishable below.  I see neither lights nor roads, and given the darkness, have no way of knowing if this is simply because there isn’t anything to see, or if cloud cover obscures my view.

I desperately want to see something.  Anything to prove to myself that after four years it is really Kenya which lies below, that we are in fact only about 40 minutes from landing in Nairobi.  Alas, my field of view is too limited.  I am tempted to ask the amiable Danish couple sitting to my left, but then the map displays again, and it looks like we are over a large lake, whose name, to my chagrin, is unknown to me. It appears to be part of the greater rift valley—a long and comparatively narrow body of water running roughly North-North-West.

 

I find myself for the first time really wishing that our original flight plans had held—not to say that we had any choice, and certainly it seemed a blessing at the time—one fewer layover in exchange for only an extra two hours of total travel time.  Alas, I did not think about the setting of the sun, nor do I think anyone else much considered the idea. 

I have been struggling to maintain consciousness throughout this flight, but have been doing my best to force myself through so that I might wake tomorrow largely synchronized to Nairobi time—we should be landing at around 8:10 PM, so hopefully there will be no plans for the night, and I can just concentrate on hanging on for a few more hours, though at this moment I am not sure how I will do so; caffeine seems to have lost its effectiveness for the moment, but at least I was able to make it through The Hunger Games—both the first book at the movie.

Yes, I know, I am WAY behind.

Regardless, I suppose that begins both the book and movie list for the year.  Hopefully no more than one of those lists will get too much more serious.

Arrival

We are here, all is well.  More info to follow once I'm not limited to an internet cafe.

Travels and Travails

Van from Stony Point

Orientation is over and we are now really on our way to Nairobi.  We had a delightful and crises van ride to the airport, where we arrived at the wrong terminal, but we made it to the correct terminal and through security just in time...to discover our flight had been cancelled.

Thanks to the efforts of two very patient United Agents, the five of us were succesfully re-booked and re-routed.  No longer would we be flying through both Montreal and Zurich, now we were to bravely depart to Amsterdam.  This had the immediate positive effect of reducing the number of layovers we would have to 1.  It also meant that we got to hang out in the Newark Airport for 5 hours.  On the whole this was no enourmous loss; the extra airport time allowed us time to share one final American meal at an airport diner, and to engage some acts of self-care.

Kenya YAVs in Schipol.

We have now arrived in Amsterdam and are awaiting our next and final flight which will take us the rest of the way to Nairobi and will only arrive 2 hours later than expected.  On the whole, I think it's a fair trade.

Orientation

Yesterday I said many goodbyes.

Today I was blessed by my home church.

In about 12 hours I will board the first of the six flights which will eventually deposit me in Nairobi, and will head to Stony Point for a week of orientation prior to my arrival in Nairobi on the 28th.

Slowly this is becoming real.  This summer has presented incredible opportunities for me to avoid thinking about going.  I spent three weeks travelling the Mid-East in May. In June I watched my youngest nephew graduate from pre-school, and visited friends in three states.  July sent me to Texas for a wedding, and this month I spent a week at the beach with my family, visited both my grandmothers, and went to an amazing concert.

I have also had meetings with various people at Union and the Presbytery in preparation for my departure, but those were small events in comparison to all the things I have had to distract me.

This is something I have felt called to do for longer than I can remember, and something that I have been concretely working toward and planning for since 2008. My first attempt was redirected to Northern Ireland, and that was a powerful training ground and opportunity to grow a bit more.  Northern Ireland is where I finally acceded to God's call for me to attend seminary, and my experiences there opened many doors to me.

I fully expect that working in Nairobi will challenge and change me, and that I will ultimately be stronger for it.  Stronger because I will be rebuilt of stronger substance.

I am simultaneously desperately seeking one last distraction, and giddy about the upcoming journey.  Frightened of losing what I leave behind and giddy about what I may gain.

Time to finish packing.

Photo taken at John Calvin Presbyterian Church
in San Antonio Texas