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Mali Trip: Please Silence Cell Phones In Church

Church went as usual this Sunday. An active, sweat pouring, xylophone banging, Hallelujah singing, old lady fan waving, whole church clapping, praise service! The prayer request time intrigued me. Some asked for crops so their family could eat and others asked for their family to understand the new ways of the Christians (i.e. themselves). There are misunderstandings of why the Christians go to church on Sunday instead of working in the fields, of why the young girls should be taught to read and write instead of work in the fields, or why the Christians put their families at risk by not worshiping the family fetishes and potentially angering the spirits. For example: What should a Christian do when the head of the family orders the Christians to work in the fields instead of go to church? Do they forsake the family (which is the Senoufo’s source of life and protection; to be kicked out of the family is a certain death), or do they honor the family authority above them and work instead of Sabbath?

The message was on Ephesians 2:19-20. Mamado spoke in the local dialect and Douda translated it into Bambara, Mali’s trade language. As I was intently listening to Mamado and trying my hardest to learn his language in a sermon's time (which only made my head hurt), I heard a familiar sound that was out of the ordinary. The sound waves echoed to my ears and at once I knew the old familiar tune. “Should auld acquaintance be forgot…” It was the New Years tune Auld Land Syne. Mamado then scrambled feeling his pockets and chest. He found his cell phone, whipped it out, silenced it and kept preaching all with one fluid motion. His black skin did not allow for color variation, but I can assume from his reaction and crackled voice that his face was flushed red with embarrassment.

The service went on, the mothers *** feed their babies as they became fussy, the blind xylophone player sat intently toward the wall with a face of concentration and an occasional smile expressing his delight of the message, and sweat continued to pour from faces creating little puddles on the concrete slab floor. This church is so different from the ones I am used to in the States, but it is full of people who truly love Jesus and pay a price for it in life. I love these people here and their style of church. Praise God that His children have the freedom to worship Him in each of our prospective cultures, styles, and language.