It's Ash Wednesday

A blessed Lent to all.

At dinner a few days ago Ruth asked, “Where are you from?”  This was information that I thought she well knew. I said, “Well, mostly Idaho. Most of my growing up years were there, and ten years of Sam and the boys and my life.”  Raphael said, “That’s what all Americans say. You ask them where they are FROM and they tell you where they have LIVED.”  Ruth said, “My kids have never lived in Mangamba (Raphael’s home village) but if you ask them where they are from, they will say, ‘Mangamba.’ If you ask where I am from, I will say, 'Vanga.'" It’s the Congolese village that Ruth’s parents – who were both orphaned – were from.

I said, “Well, what am I to say? Three of my four grandparents were from England, with at least two ancestors on the Mayflower in 1620. The fourth grandparent’s parents came from Germany, but I don’t know where.”

I added that having been raised in the West of the U.S, I’m even more removed from somewhere to really be FROM. My father’s parents came from Vermont to Montana in 1903. My mother’s parents came to Oregon from Ohio before that, and to there from Connecticut before that.

In my experience we Caucasian Westerners are also far removed from our ethnicities. When Sam and I lived in Scranton, PA it was far more important whether you were Irish, Welsh, Italian, Polish, or Russian. As a “Smith” I always felt pretty vanilla.

Both Ruth and Raphael reflected how different Americans’ way of looking at their origins is –  how different the meaning of the word FROM really is. Again, I was reminded of the Navajo. They are much more deeply rooted to a piece of land which is the place they come from – and the place they return to for major family events and ceremonies.

ORDINATION

I went to an ordination on Sunday. Since our arrival in January the church has been preparing for the ordination of its young pastoral interne. Raphael, as a church elder, helped plan the events. There was even a special theme fabric for the event, so I had a kaba (a traditional dress) made. There were eleven people (10 men and one woman) being ordained at the close of the annual synod meeting of the church. It was held at the larger Evangelical church where I went for New Year’s Eve two years ago. When Ruth, Raphael and I arrived in the crowded church yard, we were singled out and escorted past all the outdoor tents and chairs into the side door of the church and seated at the very front, in the row right behind the ordinands’ wives – and the one husband. (Though retired, Raphael is still a recognized important person.)  As usual, the service started a good 45 minutes to an hour late.  There were lots of choirs in the balcony behind us, including drumming and traditional “hooting.” Some high officials arrived late, including the vice prime minister of the country. Everyone cheered as a group of small children escorted the ordinands to the front. The sermon was preached by a German official of the church in English and then translated into French. Ruth and Raphael were again disappointed in the translation. The translator’s refusal to translate the part about corruption in Cameroon stood out like a sore thumb!  It was nice, for once, to be able to understand the sermon. He spoke of the importance of clergy as servants of Christ and of the people.

When it came time for the ordination we couldn’t actually see it because 400 black robed pastors gathered around the ordinands. (Among the 400 there were only about a dozen women pastors.) The most touching part came after they knelt and had hands laid upon them. Our church’s young ordinand, very tall and slender, openly wept. He has been working towards this since he was three. All of them had completed at least three years of seminary following college.

Following the ordination, the service dragged on and on. They were actually closing the synod meeting so there were lots of closing speeches and thanks. It had become very hot. Churches are not air-conditioned and electric fans can only do so much. We came home and cooled off and then left for the second phase of the celebration – an event at our young ordinand’s sponsoring church. The Titis thought it was a feast but it turned out being another long church service, mostly spoken in Douala. I loved when the small children danced into the church in traditional Douala style. One high point for the ordinand was when he climbed the long steps up into the pulpit. As you see in U.S. colonial Protestant churches, the pulpits are “high and lifted up.” Raphael says that only ordained people are allowed to preach from up there, so it was a big moment and everyone cheered. When the service was over we just came home. Though there would have been some food served then, none of us were in the mood for another mad food line.

Festivities will continue for the duration of the month. Next week I think the ordinand will be preaching at our church and the week after that there will be a big party. We do not yet know to what church he will be assigned.