Consecrated Elements, Healing Prayer, Dogs and Chickens in Mortal Combat

I am preaching in the village church of Miirya tomorrow.  Part of the program set up by Rev. Francis (my Dear Brother and fabulous mentor) has us going on Thursdays and Fridays, for pastoral visits, to the village area where I will be preaching on Sunday. There are many delightful elements to these visits, many very interesting elements, some humorous, and some just downright intimidating.  

Yesterday we arrived at the village church to meet the Lay Leader in charge so that he could go with us and direct us to the homes of elderly Christians who are not able to get to church. The Lay Leaders are trained by pastors to function in planted churches as worship leaders until ordained pastors can be placed in them.  

As we went to our first stop we turned off of the red dirt road onto a path which was straddled by the car. I could tell by the window high grass on each side that it had been a while since a vehicle had passed this way. We came to a clearing which held several mud hut dwellings (one of brick), 3 small boys, a couple of older children, a middle aged man and woman, various chickens, and two small and undernourished dogs of undeterminable breed.  

All properties containing homes here are completely cleared of grass around and between the dwellings. This leaves a yard of hard packed red dirt which is swept daily of leaves and any foreign matter. 

We are expected by this family, and the couple comes up to us, with smiles and extended hands. This mother’s name is Ruth. Francis and I are both wearing clergy shirts and collars, mine being a seminary collar. It is customary for women and children to greet clergy by taking his hand and dropping down to one knee in respect. Children in school also greet their teachers this way.  I have tried to prevent them from doing this for me, but it is only makes for an awkward moment. So now as Ruth bends her knee to greet me I accept it and am humbled by it. 

I have greeted the 3 small boys who are covered with a film of the light colored dirt they have been playing in all day. I have taken their picture with my phone camera and shown it to them. They continue to stare at me, though now they are smiling. They are young enough and rural enough that I may be the first “Muzungu” they have seen.  

 

It is the woman’s mother who is the focus of our visit, and when she is made aware of our presence she walks to us with the aid of a stick, and bows at the waist to greet us, though I can tell she too would prefer kneel in reverence to Him whom we represent. Her name is Serena. 

We are ushered into the small brick dwelling containing an entry room and two smaller rooms to the side and back which are for sleeping. The floor is dirt and I look up to see the underside of a tin roof. There are 2 chairs side by side against the end wall with a small table in front of them, and a 3rd chair against the front wall. Francis and I sit in the 2 chairs and he drapes the table with a small “altar linen” embroidered with a cross. On this he places the chalice and patent which will contain the elements for the Eucharist. Serena sits on the floor as do the mother and father of the children.  

Francis begins singing a hymn, in Runyoro, as he opens his hymn book so that I can join with them. I am the only one needing this as the others have it written already on their hearts and minds. He goes through the service in the native language and as he raises the wafers and wine to bless them I know the meaning of the words he says even though I do not recognize them 

Other than the very few times I have brought communion to my own elderly parents or have taken it to residents of a retirement home, I have made very few pastoral visits like this. If any who read this have the opportunity to bring the Eucharist to those who otherwise would not receive it, let me encourage you to get beyond what ever might hinder you, and be the vessel of God’s Grace that this ministry allows. 

Those in this family who welcomed us and received the Body and Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, and our prayers for healing and blessing, appreciated and benefitted greatly from it as did we who conveyed it to them. I remember Bishop Fitzsimmons Allison, in one of his teachings, asking his clergy, “Have you ever been fatigued at the end of a day and really wished you did not have to make that pastoral visit to the home or hospital that still lay in front of you?” Then he asked, “Were you ever sorry that you did make that visit?” This day I would said emphatically, "No!"

Whenever people are invited into a home or gathering in Uganda, they are fed. These are people who share whatever they have. They all have plots of ground that they dig in and produce some form of food. So following the Eucharist we were brought hot milk mixed with tea in a thermos which was poured into ceramic cups and also matoke and brown rice with a "sauce" on it. 

I have eaten much of this menu as it is the standard in the Masindi District. However, for me this was the intimidating part. It is impolite to refuse what is being offered. I know that intestinal parasites are common among these people. I am comforted by the warmth of the food, and the knowledge that heat kills parasites. In a month of being here, I have not had one day of illness. So I pray a serious blessing over the food I am served as well as a silent prayer for protection. 24 hours later I can report a clean bill of health.

As we walk to the car to go to the next pastoral visit one of the small dogs takes off behind a brown hen, and catches the most hind part in its teeth. A white rooster runs in and jumps on the dog’s head scratching with its feet and pecking; flapping its wings yet clearly remaining in harm’s way. The dog has released the hen to give attention to the rooster. The mayhem tumbles to the base of a tree which has a divided trunk yielding a small opening at its base. The hen and rooster shoot through this opening which is too small for the dog. A smaller dog has come up behind the first at this point which motivates dog #1 (chicken feathers still hanging out of its mouth) to turn on it. This altercation is short lived as hierarchy is re-established. I have to send a text to Patti which says “Pastoral visit to small village successful. Ends with small dog seeking meal of live chicken. Rooster jumps small dog and wins. Dog saves face by whipping smaller dog.”

Our other visits to bring prayer and the Eucharist were in similar scenarios, minus the animal entertainment, but including the blessings.

 

We had been invited to Bishop Kasangaki’s home in the evening to greet some visitors from Durham, England. There was a tent erected, the Mother’s Union from St. Matthews was there to sponsor, welcome, and sing joyously. A caterer arrived, late, to offer dinner of the standard fare, which I had eaten at lunch and seemingly all afternoon. Near the end of the event, during which everyone in attendance was either introduced or introduced themselves, a large goat ran around the side of the house, increasing Patti’s concern with each running step. It paid us no attention as it ran bleating and dragging 15 feet of tether rope behind, disappearing into the night. We the Muzungus were the only ones who took notice.

 Wishing you God's Peace, and with many thanks for the continuing prayers of you saints, we are In His Grip, By His Grace, and for His Glory,

 

John And Patti Sos