It is a beautiful Sunday morning in Tanzania. The sky is blue, the sun is shining, and right outside of the truck is the largest church I have ever been to in Africa. I can’t wait to go into the church because every other church that I’ve been to in Africa worships God in the most epic way ever. There 's usually dancing, shouting, and all of that fun stuff. I am expecting for this giant church to be the best one yet. I climb out of the truck, strut into the church, and I come to the harsh realization that this church is the most strict, God-centered church that I have ever been to...and I am a preacher 's kid. The service is filled with long, drawn-out Gregorian chants. These chants are so long and monotonous for a couple of reasons. First
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As I am feeling this intense pain, I remind myself that I can 't show any casualties from the war inside my body. I decide that the best way to hide it is to start smiling a smile that says, "Man I wish my church would serve communion like this." The congregation believes my lie and they act like nothing unusual just happened. I am now in my seat when I realize that they are about to take up an offering. Dang it! now I have to get up and walk to the front of the church again in order to give my offering. Well I am not going to make myself look bad by not giving to their offering. I get a few Tanzanian shillings in my hand, get out of the pew, and go present my gift to the church. The money is in the basket and I walk back to my seat. Success! I have officially become the greatest white man to drink whiskey in a Lutheran church in Tanzania. The service finally ends and the prison doors are opened. I walk out feeling a lot better than I was just a few minutes ago, but feeling sick to my stomach still doesn 't feel too good. As I walk to the truck I start to think back on all of the events that have just taken place this morning. I think about how different this church is from any other church I have ever been to in my entire life. I love how there are so many unique ways to worship God, even when it might cause me discomfort. As I am driving away from the church I realize that overall the service wasn’t bad. As a matter of fact I hope that I will be able to go back to this church one day in the
As I am feeling this intense pain, I remind myself that I can 't show any casualties from the war inside my body. I decide that the best way to hide it is to start smiling a smile that says, "Man I wish my church would serve communion like this." The congregation believes my lie and they act like nothing unusual just happened. I am now in my seat when I realize that they are about to take up an offering. Dang it! now I have to get up and walk to the front of the church again in order to give my offering. Well I am not going to make myself look bad by not giving to their offering. I get a few Tanzanian shillings in my hand, get out of the pew, and go present my gift to the church. The money is in the basket and I walk back to my seat. Success! I have officially become the greatest white man to drink whiskey in a Lutheran church in Tanzania. The service finally ends and the prison doors are opened. I walk out feeling a lot better than I was just a few minutes ago, but feeling sick to my stomach still doesn 't feel too good. As I walk to the truck I start to think back on all of the events that have just taken place this morning. I think about how different this church is from any other church I have ever been to in my entire life. I love how there are so many unique ways to worship God, even when it might cause me discomfort. As I am driving away from the church I realize that overall the service wasn’t bad. As a matter of fact I hope that I will be able to go back to this church one day in the