For most Ghanaian Christian youth, there’s the church your parent attend which you used to attend and there’s the church you started attending when you went to school. The two churches are so different, sometimes it hard to believe they are the same religion.
In your parent’s church, the
choir still wears robes and sings hymn, the instruments include a trumpet, very
old drums and probably even an accordion. The Priest still dresses in black,
has that white collar thing around his neck and has “back-bush” hair cut. His
title is a mere Pastor or at best Reverend and he still gives sermons in King
James. During service, half the congregation is fast asleep or engaged in some
frivolous conversation. Worst of all, during collection, the church manages to
raise only a few hundred Ghana
cedis.
Your church,
Something-Something-International, is so cool you don’t even have to call it by
its full name; everyone calls it by its acronym, XYZ. The choir is so hip that
sometimes the choir master raps during the song. The Bass Guitarist has dreads
and wears a pink top. The ladies in the church wear trousers that are one size
too small and no skirt drops below the knees. Your Pastor drives an expensive
car (by the grace of God) is a Reverend Doctor or maybe even a Reverend Doctor
Doctor but he’s so humble he allows everyone to call him by his nickname.
During fund raising the church raises more that a few thousand cedis.
I hadn’t seen my parents in a
while so when I had one free weekend I decided to visit them. There is no way I
was going home for the weekend without going to church. My Dear Mom is one of
those super-Christians and staying at home on Sunday is somewhere down there
close to first degree murder. I had to psyche myself and prepare for a boring
service at my old church.
Sunday morning and I was dressed
up looking very holy. See, you can’t go to one of those old churches looking
like you are going to a new church. Some random old person would call you aside
and give you some words of advice.
The first thing I noticed after
being away for two years was that there was a huge colourful sign outside. That
wasn’t there the last time. There were lots of new people in the church who
thought I was new. Can you imagine that? Where were there when we were still under
a shed? I actually noticed a lady wearing trousers! It was baggy but still, trousers all the same. What was going on? The Usher even distributed a program
sheet that said service would end at 11:30!! Things had changed in the two
years I had been away.
Sermon started and the preacher
was teaching on “7 Ways to Financial Success” and everyone was busy writing
note. Gone were the boring, “Love your neighbor as yourself” sermons. The
Pastor was hyperactive and shouting the sermon. (Why do preachers shout into
microphones anyway? Why not just increase the volume?) The sermon was being
interjected by random loud “Hallelujahs” and “Preach On”. All this felt strange
to me. I was used to this in my new church but not in my old church.
Soon it was offering time and in
the queue to the bowl there was this guy dancing like his life depended on it.
He would go a few steps forward, twirl, jump and perform all sort of complex
feet movement. The problem with this is that, I’m one of those guys who can’t
dance. Yep, black man with no rhythm (this is actually considered a disability by some people).
This guy was making me look really bad and I couldn’t wait to drop my
money into the bin and hurry to my seat. A few years ago, it would have been a
solemn march to the offering bowl.
Offering time in an African Church
Offering time in an African Church
It was past 12:00 and it didn’t
look like we would close soon. I kept stealing glances at my mobile phone and
the program line up. It seems I was the only one worried about the time.
Everyone else seemed to be “In the Spirit”.
Finally, it was time for announcements. That
is always the last thing so you know closing time was just around the corner.
It seemed they had not yet found a way to make announcements a bit more
exciting. It was the old boring funerals, mid-week meetings etc all read in a
very boring voice. I wouldn’t help but notice that the mid-week activities had
increase. Apart from Saturday, every other day was occupied.
I was in a hurry to go home right
after the closing prayer but that didn’t happen. Everyone wanted to talk to me.
The old-timers in the church would stop me only to talk about my embarrassing
childhood moment and tell me how old I had grown. Everyone wanted to know when
I was getting married. I spent another 45minutes before finally leaving.
On my way home I noticed another
church that hadn’t closed yet. It didn’t look like they would be closing
anytime soon. I couldn’t help thinking to myself that I seriously needed to
synchronize my watch to God’s time which was obviously the best and had a few
extra hours.
