WORSHIP AND CULTURE
In Kenya I worked with the Theological Advisory Group Research Team on worship. Of all the various research teams this was my favorite. It was composed of pastors and Bible College teachers from many backgrounds, including Gikuyu, Luo, Akamba, Kalenjin, a white South African and an American. In our discussion it was apparent that culture affects one’s style of worship. To think that all Africans are the same is a major error. The Gikuyu and Luo are much more emotional in their expression of worship. The Kalenjin kept saying, we need a balance between the emotions and the mind. And of course many white Americans are even less emotional outwardly.
The most important biblical teaching on worship are Jesus’s words to the Samaritan woman, “God is Spirit, and his worshipers must worship in spirit and in truth” (Jn 4:24). Indeed, the Kalenjin were right, we need a balance between “spirit” and “truth.”
“Truth” is the objective element in worship that guides us in worship that is acceptable to God according to his revealed Word. Truth must continually shape our forms, expressions and modes of worship. Who is God? What does He require of us? What pleases him? How can I worship God in a manner that honors him? This is a fundamental issue.
This means that the Word of God must play a formative role in all of our worship. Tragically, this is often not the case. Where the reading and preaching and teaching of Scripture is sidelined, people may lose their moorings and move into troubled areas that do not honor the Lord.
But worship that honors God must not only be “in truth” but also “in spirit.” This refers to the inner part of our human nature. Worship is not formal and external ceremonies. Many have the erroneous notion that when they participate in all the elements of worship on Sunday morning they have worshipped. The service may be rich in truth with great hymns of the faith, Scripture reading and expository preaching. And yet the person has not truly honored God because he has not worshipped “in spirit.” To worship God “in spirit” means that we must worship God with our whole inner person, sincerely and from our heart. We must mean and feel what we sing and pray. We must be real and genuine.
Our “spirit” is taught and molded by many factors, including our naturally born temperaments and personalities, our traditions of worship and the cultural milieu in which we grew. Culture is all learned behavior, values and traditions. Our spirits are deeply affected by what we learn. That is the reason there is such a deep divide between the youth who have grown up with one form of music and the adults who have learned to appreciate a different form of music. If you think there are music wars in the American church, “you ain’t seen nothing.” Adults in Kenya grew up with a worship experience shaped by the missionaries. The youth today have grown up with Christian Unions in their schools. We need to learn from each other.
Music is a form of language. Just as we learn Kiswahili or English, we learn different forms of worship. I am able to worship with certain forms of music. Other music simply turns me off. But I recognize that my “spirit” has been nurtured by my past church and cultural experience growing up. I need to learn to respect and accept others who feel they need other forms of music to worship and they need to understand and respect me.
Worship that pleases God is worship that is “in spirit” and “in truth.” We cannot truly worship unless God’s Word shapes our worship so that we honor God in ways that He has revealed. Neither can we worship “in spirit,” from our hearts, unless we consider the cultural factors which make worship meaningful to the worshipper.
In the end we can only worship God truly when the Spirit of God energizes, motivates and enables us to worship. In this sense we worship God “in Spirit” as the Spirit of God enables our spirits to worship.
Showing posts with label Cross Cultural Learning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cross Cultural Learning. Show all posts
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
A Funeral in Kenya
A FUNERAL IN KENYA
Jack, one of our seniors at Scott Theological College in Kenya, had lost his mother and then six weeks later his father passed away suddenly. Over a number of months he met with me on numerous occasions for comfort and encouragement. Jack was essentially an orphan and began to look up to me as his father.
The College staff felt that they should send some student and teacher representatives to attend the funeral which was hundreds of miles west in the Lake Victoria basin. I was one of two teachers sent to attend the funeral. Jack and other students drove in my car while the other teacher drove his own car packed with students. It was a three day journey (two days of travel and one day for the funeral) squeezed into our jam-packed school week.
On Saturday after the noon meal we left on our journey. Passing through Nairobi we climbed up the Central Highlands to the top of the escarpment overlooking the Great Rift Valley, driving on the upper road above Kijabe, then droping into the Rift Valley, passing various lakes adorned with the crimson of a million flamingoes. Then we climbed once again up into the “white highlands” and traveled into the heart of the Kenya’s tea country in Kericho. We stayed that evening at Sitotwet Training Center where an exciting Bible teaching ministry was taking place for lay people. Sunday morning we left the highlands and once again dropped precipitously into the Lake Basin, reaching Jack’s home on the plains around Lake Victoria at 9:15 A.M.
Jack and his late mother and most of his brothers and sisters are strong Christians. But the father was a nominal SDA adherent along with his uncles. The Seventh Day Adventists dominate the area along with several African Independent Churches. So the funeral was a vivid case study of syncretism.
On the one hand, the SDA minister and elders presided. Familiar Christian hymns were sung. Scripture was read and prayers made. Dr. Mark Shaw from Scott gave a brief talk, full of the gospel and hope. The congregation responded with “Amen” and support. The grave side ceremony resembled ceremonies in other Christian churches.
On the other hand, the deep seated worldview of the Luo was ever visible. The Luo believe that no one dies without a reason. Some person (a living person or a spirit) caused the death. The departed dead must be appeased and satisfied with his burial. Saturday night when the body arrived at home from Nairobi where he died, the compound was filled with loud wailing and utter confusion as they tried to demonstrate to the departed their grief over his death. Even on Sunday as the memorial service was held, mourners drifted in from the villages, wailing and crying, going to the coffin and wailing as they gazed at the corpse’s face. After the burial various ones did the same, walking back and forth, entering the house, then approaching the coffin, always trying to impress the departed of their genuine grief over his death. If someone did not express grief in this way, he might be suspected of being the cause of death.
This worldview of the Luo and most other Kenyan communities reminds me of the Roman worldview two thousand years ago. Describing the beliefs of the Romans, we read, “The supreme duty towards the dead was burial, the fundamental motive was one of self-protection, on the principle that the ghost of the dead would continue to haunt the living until a place was provided for it.”
Because of this traditional belief of the Luo, traditions remain strong. No one dare change the customs because the spirits of the dead will haunt them, punishing them for neglecting the traditions of their elders. This traditional belief exercises a conservative restraint on many Africans, deterring change and progress. No traditional rites were performed when Jack’s mother died and the funeral was led by the Africa Inland Church. Perhaps this was the cause of her husband’s death, some said. The father had not rebuilt his house after his wife died as is the custom. Perhaps that failure brought on the curse leading to the father’s death, some thought. Therefore, the family placed the casket right in front of Jack’s late father’s house, under the grass thatched eaves and with a mat in front in order to have a make-shift house to appease the departed.
Jack’s faith had always impressed me. He was always rejoicing in the Lord despite his problems. Jack had no real sponsor for his fees at Scott Theological College and often lacked fees. But his faith and Christian courage was exemplary. As we drove to the funeral and then later returned home, we sang hymns in the car. In fact, the students purposely carried College hymn books in order to sing.
Jack’s uncles had met the night before and determined that Jack should build a house the day of the funeral in order to inherit his step mother, another one of the traditions. But Jack refused. According to tradition all members of the family must remain for three days to perform various rites for the dead. When the uncle requested Jack to meet with him in the house to talk over these matters, Jack excused himself and literally ran away. He ran to the car and ordered us to leave promptly. We left immediately post haste so that he would not be forced to participate in these proceedings. Since he is the first born everything depended on Jack, according to tradition. Because Jack refused to take part in these traditional ceremonies, no doubt any future family crisis will be blamed on this failure to follow tradition.
Because we left the place of burial at 4:30 P.M., we had arranged to sleep in Nakuru, some three hours before reaching Scott Theological College in Machakos. We always tried by all means to avoid driving in the dark in Kenya. Nakuru was one of the centers for the European settlers since it had rich soil and plenty of rain. When we arrived at Nakuru around 7:30 P.M., just after dark, we found the rains had been falling in abundance and the road to the house where we planned to stay that night was deep in mud. In my thirty years of missionary service, I have never been on such roads, simply because I never ventured out on such roads in the rain because my car was only a two wheel drive station wagon with a low under carriage. When we finally got stuck, some students walked on ahead to call for help. Our host had a tractor which came to pull us out. What a sight! The big wheels of the tractor spun around, throwing huge chunks of must on our car. For one or two kilometers the tractor pulled each car, slipping and sliding, falling into ruts and ditches, and crossing over little streams of water. The terrible part was that the car was pulled through the deep ruts and on occasion it was yanked rapidly over rocks protruding in the road which wrecked the underside of the car. The other teacher’s car had to be towed away to a garage on Monday for repair before they could return home. My car was also damaged but fortunately, they were minor ones.
Back at Scott, despite losing his father and mother, Jack expressed gratitude and praise for the way the Lord had helped. He continued to come to our house periodically to share and pray as he tried to come to terms with the loss of his parents, and to find ways of meeting the needs of his younger brothers and sisters. The weekend was taxing but such experiences have always drawn me nearer to the students and helped all of grow together in the Lord.
Jack, one of our seniors at Scott Theological College in Kenya, had lost his mother and then six weeks later his father passed away suddenly. Over a number of months he met with me on numerous occasions for comfort and encouragement. Jack was essentially an orphan and began to look up to me as his father.
The College staff felt that they should send some student and teacher representatives to attend the funeral which was hundreds of miles west in the Lake Victoria basin. I was one of two teachers sent to attend the funeral. Jack and other students drove in my car while the other teacher drove his own car packed with students. It was a three day journey (two days of travel and one day for the funeral) squeezed into our jam-packed school week.
On Saturday after the noon meal we left on our journey. Passing through Nairobi we climbed up the Central Highlands to the top of the escarpment overlooking the Great Rift Valley, driving on the upper road above Kijabe, then droping into the Rift Valley, passing various lakes adorned with the crimson of a million flamingoes. Then we climbed once again up into the “white highlands” and traveled into the heart of the Kenya’s tea country in Kericho. We stayed that evening at Sitotwet Training Center where an exciting Bible teaching ministry was taking place for lay people. Sunday morning we left the highlands and once again dropped precipitously into the Lake Basin, reaching Jack’s home on the plains around Lake Victoria at 9:15 A.M.
Jack and his late mother and most of his brothers and sisters are strong Christians. But the father was a nominal SDA adherent along with his uncles. The Seventh Day Adventists dominate the area along with several African Independent Churches. So the funeral was a vivid case study of syncretism.
On the one hand, the SDA minister and elders presided. Familiar Christian hymns were sung. Scripture was read and prayers made. Dr. Mark Shaw from Scott gave a brief talk, full of the gospel and hope. The congregation responded with “Amen” and support. The grave side ceremony resembled ceremonies in other Christian churches.
On the other hand, the deep seated worldview of the Luo was ever visible. The Luo believe that no one dies without a reason. Some person (a living person or a spirit) caused the death. The departed dead must be appeased and satisfied with his burial. Saturday night when the body arrived at home from Nairobi where he died, the compound was filled with loud wailing and utter confusion as they tried to demonstrate to the departed their grief over his death. Even on Sunday as the memorial service was held, mourners drifted in from the villages, wailing and crying, going to the coffin and wailing as they gazed at the corpse’s face. After the burial various ones did the same, walking back and forth, entering the house, then approaching the coffin, always trying to impress the departed of their genuine grief over his death. If someone did not express grief in this way, he might be suspected of being the cause of death.
This worldview of the Luo and most other Kenyan communities reminds me of the Roman worldview two thousand years ago. Describing the beliefs of the Romans, we read, “The supreme duty towards the dead was burial, the fundamental motive was one of self-protection, on the principle that the ghost of the dead would continue to haunt the living until a place was provided for it.”
Because of this traditional belief of the Luo, traditions remain strong. No one dare change the customs because the spirits of the dead will haunt them, punishing them for neglecting the traditions of their elders. This traditional belief exercises a conservative restraint on many Africans, deterring change and progress. No traditional rites were performed when Jack’s mother died and the funeral was led by the Africa Inland Church. Perhaps this was the cause of her husband’s death, some said. The father had not rebuilt his house after his wife died as is the custom. Perhaps that failure brought on the curse leading to the father’s death, some thought. Therefore, the family placed the casket right in front of Jack’s late father’s house, under the grass thatched eaves and with a mat in front in order to have a make-shift house to appease the departed.
Jack’s faith had always impressed me. He was always rejoicing in the Lord despite his problems. Jack had no real sponsor for his fees at Scott Theological College and often lacked fees. But his faith and Christian courage was exemplary. As we drove to the funeral and then later returned home, we sang hymns in the car. In fact, the students purposely carried College hymn books in order to sing.
Jack’s uncles had met the night before and determined that Jack should build a house the day of the funeral in order to inherit his step mother, another one of the traditions. But Jack refused. According to tradition all members of the family must remain for three days to perform various rites for the dead. When the uncle requested Jack to meet with him in the house to talk over these matters, Jack excused himself and literally ran away. He ran to the car and ordered us to leave promptly. We left immediately post haste so that he would not be forced to participate in these proceedings. Since he is the first born everything depended on Jack, according to tradition. Because Jack refused to take part in these traditional ceremonies, no doubt any future family crisis will be blamed on this failure to follow tradition.
Because we left the place of burial at 4:30 P.M., we had arranged to sleep in Nakuru, some three hours before reaching Scott Theological College in Machakos. We always tried by all means to avoid driving in the dark in Kenya. Nakuru was one of the centers for the European settlers since it had rich soil and plenty of rain. When we arrived at Nakuru around 7:30 P.M., just after dark, we found the rains had been falling in abundance and the road to the house where we planned to stay that night was deep in mud. In my thirty years of missionary service, I have never been on such roads, simply because I never ventured out on such roads in the rain because my car was only a two wheel drive station wagon with a low under carriage. When we finally got stuck, some students walked on ahead to call for help. Our host had a tractor which came to pull us out. What a sight! The big wheels of the tractor spun around, throwing huge chunks of must on our car. For one or two kilometers the tractor pulled each car, slipping and sliding, falling into ruts and ditches, and crossing over little streams of water. The terrible part was that the car was pulled through the deep ruts and on occasion it was yanked rapidly over rocks protruding in the road which wrecked the underside of the car. The other teacher’s car had to be towed away to a garage on Monday for repair before they could return home. My car was also damaged but fortunately, they were minor ones.
Back at Scott, despite losing his father and mother, Jack expressed gratitude and praise for the way the Lord had helped. He continued to come to our house periodically to share and pray as he tried to come to terms with the loss of his parents, and to find ways of meeting the needs of his younger brothers and sisters. The weekend was taxing but such experiences have always drawn me nearer to the students and helped all of grow together in the Lord.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Driving Fearlessly in Kenya
DRIVING IN KENYA
Many would testify that the best place to witness for the gospel in Kenya is in a speeding bus or “matatu” (private commercial vehicle). In these “flying coffins,” as they are called, one quickly draws near to God. Several years ago when riding one bus I discovered to my horror that the bus driver began to race another bus. Losing all sense of caution he drove furiously, passing around curves and on the crest of a hill without any visibility of oncoming traffic. Never have I prayed more earnestly in my life. Suddenly, the other bus left the scene and our bus driver settled down to a comfortable pace.
Therefore, it was with mixed reactions that we read in the Kenyan newspaper years ago concerning an international breakthrough for Kenyan matatu drivers. It seems that European motor racing companies have approached matatu owners in Kenya to secure test drivers for the 1996 season models. During the visit of one European engineer, he was impressed with the matatu drivers. “Wherever I went I was tremendously impressed by the sort of driving displayed by the matatus…I saw young Kenyans handling these overflowing buses, matatus as they call them, with tremendous speed, élan and bravery” that would make European drivers “very impressed, indeed envious.”
“Sources in the industry said there had been concern that European mechanics and test drivers lacked the stamina, imagination and courage to test prototypes to their utmost, that is, to sideswipe other vehicles, swerve into the path of oncoming cars, drive on footpaths and without lights, force pedestrians to run at high speed and test the effects of head-on crashes. ‘These were abilities I saw in no small measure in Kenya,’ the engineer said. ‘Caution is not a quality to be admired in a racing driver and these matatu men have none of it – they displayed a wonderfully carefree approach to driving, a truly spirit-releasing devil-may-care attitude.”
Two days after publishing this news report I read what I had suspected. This was an April Fool’s Day joke. Though the international aspect was imagined, the vivid description of the matatu driver was very real and true to life. No wonder that on our last Home Assignment we decided that it would be prudent to increase our life insurance policy.
Strange enough, when we retired in 2002 and began driving on America’s interstate highways with cars hurtling down these ten lane highways, I felt more fear than in Kenya with its narrow two lane highways. It is all a matter of perspective. I learned years ago that a Christian is indestructible until his work on earth is finished. Therefore, we always drove the roads in Kenya with great exhilaration and joy, and by God’s grace, we are learning to do the same here in the States.
Many would testify that the best place to witness for the gospel in Kenya is in a speeding bus or “matatu” (private commercial vehicle). In these “flying coffins,” as they are called, one quickly draws near to God. Several years ago when riding one bus I discovered to my horror that the bus driver began to race another bus. Losing all sense of caution he drove furiously, passing around curves and on the crest of a hill without any visibility of oncoming traffic. Never have I prayed more earnestly in my life. Suddenly, the other bus left the scene and our bus driver settled down to a comfortable pace.
Therefore, it was with mixed reactions that we read in the Kenyan newspaper years ago concerning an international breakthrough for Kenyan matatu drivers. It seems that European motor racing companies have approached matatu owners in Kenya to secure test drivers for the 1996 season models. During the visit of one European engineer, he was impressed with the matatu drivers. “Wherever I went I was tremendously impressed by the sort of driving displayed by the matatus…I saw young Kenyans handling these overflowing buses, matatus as they call them, with tremendous speed, élan and bravery” that would make European drivers “very impressed, indeed envious.”
“Sources in the industry said there had been concern that European mechanics and test drivers lacked the stamina, imagination and courage to test prototypes to their utmost, that is, to sideswipe other vehicles, swerve into the path of oncoming cars, drive on footpaths and without lights, force pedestrians to run at high speed and test the effects of head-on crashes. ‘These were abilities I saw in no small measure in Kenya,’ the engineer said. ‘Caution is not a quality to be admired in a racing driver and these matatu men have none of it – they displayed a wonderfully carefree approach to driving, a truly spirit-releasing devil-may-care attitude.”
Two days after publishing this news report I read what I had suspected. This was an April Fool’s Day joke. Though the international aspect was imagined, the vivid description of the matatu driver was very real and true to life. No wonder that on our last Home Assignment we decided that it would be prudent to increase our life insurance policy.
Strange enough, when we retired in 2002 and began driving on America’s interstate highways with cars hurtling down these ten lane highways, I felt more fear than in Kenya with its narrow two lane highways. It is all a matter of perspective. I learned years ago that a Christian is indestructible until his work on earth is finished. Therefore, we always drove the roads in Kenya with great exhilaration and joy, and by God’s grace, we are learning to do the same here in the States.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Occasional Musings
A hearty thanks to our son, Nathan Gehman, for helping me to become a blogger with my own blogspot, something I never contemplated before. We are currently on a month’s safari to see family. When we return home the end of June I hope to post another article or two.
Until then here are a few more reflections. Yesterday I posted an article on culture shock which we received on returning to the USA. As any bi-cultural person can tell you, when living overseas and immersed in another culture for several decades your worldview changes. Someone has said that a bicultural person is happiest when he is in an airplane traveling from one home to another.
The article on culture shock stressed how Africa had changed me. My values and outlook are no longer purely American but are a combination of American and African. To suggest that I have been transformed into an African in my thinking would be grossly in error. No African could be persuaded of that. The article posted should not mislead anyone to thinking that I am not deeply rooted in American outlook and values. After all, the first thirty years of my life were spent in America and it is impossible, maybe even undesirable, to jettison the many values I imbibed during that time.
For any cross-cultural missionary this is a constant struggle to live in two worlds. One of the most embarrassing experiences of cross-cultural misunderstanding occurred just months before our retirement. It pains me even today. Many of the teachers and students from Scott Theological College in Machakos, Kenya, had traveled some ninety minutes through the rural country side to celebrate with one of our colleagues in his wedding.
On the way back I was driving our car at a moderate speed on a dirt road and entering a market area with a gathering of people. A matatu (taxie) had stopped on the road to pick up passengers. I drove slowly past this van when, suddenly, a man riding his bicycle abruptly appeared before me, driving from the front of the van. I hit the bicycle gently and threw the man to the ground.
In my opinion it was not a serious accident and I was not in the wrong. The man got up and could walk. The bicycle was damaged only slightly. And the blame was clearly on this man who drove out right in front of me. A crowd gathered. Soon other Scott friends from the wedding appeared at the spot and saw my dilemma. They stopped to help me.
Here is where the cultural problem arose. In my thinking this was no big deal. Further, I did not want to bother others with my own problem. I felt I could handle this myself. I did not want to burden them with my dilemma. Here was my American self-reliance rearing its head. But these African friends wanted to help me. When I declined their offer I learned later that they were deeply hurt. As African friends they wanted to come to my aid and assist me in community fashion. As it turned out I could have used their help. But more importantly, I should have welcomed their love and concern and accepted their offers of help. Instead, I relied on myself to deal with the problem. It was African values versus American values.
It would appear that we are vessels in the process of being molded into what we should be. Not only is this true as Christians in our walk with the Lord; it is also true with our learning to relate to others in a cross cultural situation. We can never be too old to keep learning.
Until then here are a few more reflections. Yesterday I posted an article on culture shock which we received on returning to the USA. As any bi-cultural person can tell you, when living overseas and immersed in another culture for several decades your worldview changes. Someone has said that a bicultural person is happiest when he is in an airplane traveling from one home to another.
The article on culture shock stressed how Africa had changed me. My values and outlook are no longer purely American but are a combination of American and African. To suggest that I have been transformed into an African in my thinking would be grossly in error. No African could be persuaded of that. The article posted should not mislead anyone to thinking that I am not deeply rooted in American outlook and values. After all, the first thirty years of my life were spent in America and it is impossible, maybe even undesirable, to jettison the many values I imbibed during that time.
For any cross-cultural missionary this is a constant struggle to live in two worlds. One of the most embarrassing experiences of cross-cultural misunderstanding occurred just months before our retirement. It pains me even today. Many of the teachers and students from Scott Theological College in Machakos, Kenya, had traveled some ninety minutes through the rural country side to celebrate with one of our colleagues in his wedding.
On the way back I was driving our car at a moderate speed on a dirt road and entering a market area with a gathering of people. A matatu (taxie) had stopped on the road to pick up passengers. I drove slowly past this van when, suddenly, a man riding his bicycle abruptly appeared before me, driving from the front of the van. I hit the bicycle gently and threw the man to the ground.
In my opinion it was not a serious accident and I was not in the wrong. The man got up and could walk. The bicycle was damaged only slightly. And the blame was clearly on this man who drove out right in front of me. A crowd gathered. Soon other Scott friends from the wedding appeared at the spot and saw my dilemma. They stopped to help me.
Here is where the cultural problem arose. In my thinking this was no big deal. Further, I did not want to bother others with my own problem. I felt I could handle this myself. I did not want to burden them with my dilemma. Here was my American self-reliance rearing its head. But these African friends wanted to help me. When I declined their offer I learned later that they were deeply hurt. As African friends they wanted to come to my aid and assist me in community fashion. As it turned out I could have used their help. But more importantly, I should have welcomed their love and concern and accepted their offers of help. Instead, I relied on myself to deal with the problem. It was African values versus American values.
It would appear that we are vessels in the process of being molded into what we should be. Not only is this true as Christians in our walk with the Lord; it is also true with our learning to relate to others in a cross cultural situation. We can never be too old to keep learning.
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