A letter from Sue and Ted Wright in Zambia
February 17, 2009
Chiwang’ombe remembered
Last month, we told about Ted’s journey to a rural prayer house. As we continue the story now, he has reached Chiwang’ombe, “the cow-place,” on Sunday morning, but the people have not yet assembled. So while he waits inside a small open structure, feeling the serenity of sunshine and breeze, a church elder goes out to strike the gong (a tire rim) to summon the faithful.
Downtown Chiwang'ombe. The house on the left belongs to a church elder.
Soon they arrive by twos and threes — barefoot toddlers in ragged shorts and dresses. Teenage girls with white dust on their smocks. (I can tell they had to pound this morning’s maize meal.) Mothers toting infants slung over their shoulders in the traditional cloth chitenge. Boys walking hand in hand. Wizened old men, whose cloudy eyes and deep-etched faces enhance their dignity. God’s people, coming to hear God’s truth. The Bible says, “You shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of the Lord.”
When 30 have gathered, my companion begins to speak. His name is Nyirongo. He is an evangelist (church-planter) who comes to this region from the mother congregation. Local people might see him three or four times per year — either here in the bush or else along the tar road, six kilometers distant, at the older prayer house. He speaks ChiNyanja, but I understand almost all of it. I am familiar with the vocabulary we often use in church. He is telling these villagers who I am and why I have come and that, sorry, I cannot stay long this morning because I must go to Lusaka to meet an incoming flight.
Mud bricks for building. Long grass for roofing. Mango trees for fruit in the rainy season.
This epitomizes the joy and frustration of our ministry! Sue and I live on the boundary of two cultures. That is our assignment: to bridge a cultural gap. We facilitate interaction between African and American Christians. Why? Because the gospel is bigger than either side alone. Since New Testament times, when Jew and Gentile first learned how to eat and pray together, the gospel has broken down man-made walls. Partnership is God’s idea, not ours.
So on some days, Sue and I can be visiting places where children run to Mama when they see our strange white color. On other days, we can be showing a guest from New York City how to connect to the Iinternet or use a local cell phone. It’s all inclusive: part of the work, part of the privilege. But it’s also disconcerting when those two kinds of days converge.
As Nyirongo prays, I feel sad and thankful, both. Thankful to be here. Sad because I know he is right. We took more than two hours just reaching this place. We will need even longer going back. Protocol dictates that we stop at the other prayer house, greet whomever we find there and accept a bite to eat.
Before he says, “Amen,” therefore, I have mentally shortened my sermon. Good enough. We do well to keep it simple anyhow. Just by our coming, the point has already been made.
But time, you know, is a strange modality and a very cultural one. Here in the bush, we can follow the sun. We can preach and pray for as long as it takes. There is nothing more important to do on a Sunday. God isn’t held within a box. The developed world runs according to a clock. Airlines keep schedules — or at least purport to. When Americans come on short-term trips, especially rookies, they want reassurance. It wouldn’t be helpful for us to be late. Time may not be everything, but timing often is.
Still, I promise myself I will come back to Chiwang’ombe. Lord willing, I will bring visitors to encourage these people more. On second thought, actually, it might work the other way: these people can encourage the visitors — because nowhere have I found greater hunger for God, nor respect, nor appreciation, than here in rural Africa.
This is the joy that overcomes our frustration.
Thank you, friends and supporters, for sharing with us.
Faithfully,
Ted Wright
The 2009 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p. 43
