On Sunday, I drove from the Central worship service to our
second site at Kuomba, a congregation made of up refugees from the Congo. These
faithful families are led in worship by Mama Riziki, and it is my privilege to
share communion with them each month, arriving well into their almost-three-hour-long worship service. When I arrive each month, I am welcomed warmly
and ushered up to the worship platform mid-service.
This week, a wonderful scene unfolded in front of me as a
young woman preached her first sermon. I had to smile as the young child tugged
on her mother’s skirt while she was preaching. Immersed in her message, the
mother ignored the child and kept going, while the child, undeterred, kept
following behind until being scooped up by someone else.
Almost exactly the
same thing had happened to me once when I was preaching, when one of my young children "helped" me during my sermon. As the preacher
continued her sermon in Swahili, happy memories filled my brain.
When it was my turn, I stood up to officiate communion. My
blessings in English were translated into Swahili, yet as I pressed the bread
into the hands of members of the congregation, no translation was needed. “The
body of Christ, given for you” became real as I looked into the eyes of each
person who came forward.
After the sermon was more singing. We all sang a familiar
gospel tune, with the verses alternating between Swahili and English. Those of
us who knew only one of the languages sang along in the language we knew, while
many shifted seamlessly between the two.
In the handshaking line (a tradition that seems to transcend
cultures), every person came up to me. Many of the children knew English well,
often speaking without accent. The older members with whom I did not share a
common language blessed me with their smiles and hand clasps. I walked out
after that service, rejoicing how God’s grace works across cultural and
language barriers.
In our long-term relationship with this church, Kuomba blesses
Central with their choir in worship monthly. They allow us to be in ministry
with people that we would never be able to know otherwise. We bless them with
mentoring, tutoring their children in English skills, and some financial
support. We care for each other and pray for each other. We are one body
in Christ in ways that are so very real.
People ask me often about the future of the UMC, and I can’t
help but think about Kuomba. Not once have they asked me about my views on
sexual orientation, nor I theirs. It is a safe assumption that we are in very
different places, especially with the Congolese cultural understandings from
which they come. They know that Central is a Reconciling congregation and what
that means. Yet we worship the same Christ. We pray for one another, support
one another, sing with and for each other. There are other, subtler gifts that
we give each other. When we at Central are tempted to see immigration as a
faraway issue, they offer real lives that are impacted by political policy. When
one of their children comes out as gay, the folks from Central will provide a
safe place. Each one of our congregations are richer for being in relationship
with one another.
None of us knows where the UMC will be a year from now. Many
groups have provided thoughtful pathways for our future. However, I can’t help
but think about last Sunday at Kuomba, and that preacher whose child was
clinging to her skirts. When it all comes down to it, aren’t we all just doing
our best to share God’s love through Christ as mothers, fathers, sons,
daughters, and preachers?
