On Saturday night, we were able to go to church with our hosts. They gather weekly with a few local believers, but it is hardly routine. They travel a different route each week so others will not know where they are going. They go to a house outside of town, where all of the lights are turned out. Approaching the gate, a person was watching for our arrival; otherwise, we would have used a special knock to signal them. Sometimes they meet in a room, but this night the moon was bright so we gathered in a circle of chairs in the yard. Either way, flashlights are the only light that is used, so you can see to read. After some pleasant talk, a couple of praise choruses are sung, verses are read, there is a time of teaching, prayer and worship through offering. Another prayer and we are free to move back into the night. We have heard a couple of cars go by on the road, and voices of people walking toward the town, but nobody knew what we were doing inside the walls of the compound. The vehicle moves out onto the road before the lights are turned on and we make our way back home.
On the way, we pass the home of a marabout, a religious teacher. In his yard, under a bright light, young boys are gathered to recite the verses of the Koran. Sent to study by their parents, these boys, mostly 6-10 years old, spend the day begging for coins to bring back to their teacher. Now, at 10:30 at night, they are still up doing their study and recitations. You can hear there voices chanting as you pass by on the street. Long days for such little ones, yet they are a part of the society here that is accepted and seen every day. For the people we were with, their faith must be practiced in small, private ways that will not arouse suspicion that could lead to the loss of homes, family and jobs.
A couple of weeks ago, three were baptized in the river. It was done at night, again by flashlight, far enough out of town to not be caught. To be a believer here means true commitment; making a choice to live a life that cannot be expressed in words to those around you, but knowing that you are changing on the inside. It must be a faith that grows in darkness, surrounded by silence and shrouded in secrecy, while the young boys are displayed openly as true symbols of the religion that rules here.
We did not know the language that was spoken. We knew the story that was shared, and the melodies of the songs, but not the words that were used. It did not matter that we were seated in the dark of night, or that we had to quietly come and go. Instead, we felt humbled and in awe of this group. We were allowed to be part of a corner of the kingdom that is striving to be a true light, a glimmer of hope in a great darkness, a response to a system that teaches hardship, suffering and toil.
Sunday services will never be routine again.
Ricky
