A Dance Called Gratitude

The worship space of Rwamagana Lutheran Church

Going to church in Rwanda is pretty much just like going to church in Minnesota.

... Just kidding. Church here isn’t exactly like what I grew up with.  There is spontaneous singing, impromptu dance parties, people standing to proclaim their testimonies of gratitude, and pastors that loudly shout their message without any need for a microphone.  In fact, some of the Rwandan worship traditions had to nudge this Norwegian Lutheran girl outside her worship comfort zone.  But in this grace-filled place I have learned to love these new ways to worship and I admire the faith of my brothers and sisters here.  For example, during Sunday worship we always have a time for testimonies.  Members of the church can get up front during the service and proclaim how God has been at work in their life.  (We don’t do this where I’m from.)  The first time this happened I was like, “Whoa dude! Aren’t you supposed to close your eyes and bow your head and just think your thanks to God?”  But as the weeks wore on, I began to marvel at their capacity for gratitude and what a wonderful gift it was to share this gratitude with others.  They were proclaiming things I often take for granted.  Some would stand to tell how a family member was sick but now had recovered.  Many of my students stood up to give thanks for doing well on a test that week.  Others would simply stand and tell how they were grateful to be alive another day.  To be alive and healthy, to have the ability to study and learn – what wonderful gifts indeed!  How often do I attribute my health to an efficient immune system or academic success to my own hard work?  But soli deo Gloria, man. To God be the glory.  That is one of the things I am learning every Sunday here in Rwanda.

Another thing I am learning is how to dance.  I like to think I’ve always had pretty sweet dance moves, but when it comes to church I have often opted for the moves of my Scandinavian elders – the “stand still and look pretty serious” move.  And there’s nothing wrong with this. I have worshiped fully and deeply this way.  I have been moved by the Holy Spirit in this stillness.  But here in Rwandan I get to bear witness to the liveliness of a congregation that lets the Holy Spirit move them literally.  The beat of the drum and the syncopation of the lilting Kinyarwanda verses alone are enough to get anyone up and off the pew – add the Holy Spirit to that and it’s a pretty good time.  (We have even broken out into a mid-service conga line on more than one occasion.)  

These sounds of worship are hard to contain within the walls of the churches.  When I walk to church, the streets are busier than any other time of the week.  Sunday mornings are the closest thing Rwamagana has to a rush hour.  The streets are full of men in suits and women in brightly colored dresses coming and going from church.  I can hear the drums or choirs of various churches as I pass.  And as I approach my church, I can usually hear it before I see it.  Our choir is smaller than most but their strong voices still echo under the tin roof and spill out onto the hillside.

Churchgoers wander into our worship space slowly as the choir sings.  The sign outside says that the service begins at 9:00 but, true to African time, the service usually gets going around 10:15.  Although my neighbors don’t seem to be in a rush to get to church, they are also never in a rush to leave.  Most services are two hours long at the very least and I have been to some that lasted six.  But no one seems to mind.  No one is anxious to get home and start their yard work or watch the big football game.  Sundays, here in Rwanda, are for church.

I must confess that I miss the worship experiences that I grew up with more deeply and intensely than I expected to.  Although I am learning to celebrate, give thanks, and worship in new ways; the worship that I grew up with will always be part of me and feed my soul in a way that nothing else can quite match.  But I am lucky because part of me is also being taken over by Rwanda, it’s people and it’s traditions.  And I get to take all that back with me (all the traditions, not all the people… although that would be fun.)  My faith and my capacity for worship will forever be stronger because of the mornings I have spent at Rwamagana Lutheran Church.  And my life will be perpetually blessed by these people who have an attitude of gratitude worthy of dance.

This video is not one of the full-fledged dance parties I 

was talking about but it still has a pretty sweet beat.