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Viewpoint Zambia Mass both lively and sensual
By KATHLEEN HAGE
There are no cars, no church parking
lots that dictate the schedule of Masses, no people hurrying into church out of
breath or slipping out after Communion. In Livingstone in the African country
of Zambia, the people coming to Mass walk into the churchyard, sit on the
concrete benches circled under the tree and chat with friends until it is time
for Mass to begin. Everyone has come to join in the celebration of the
liturgy.
Livingstone is a town of 100,000 people, a great many of whom are
Catholic. There are six parishes there, under the guidance of Bishop Raymond
Mpezele.
Each church has a slightly different liturgy. Each has a pastor
from a different country. There is variety in the vestments worn by the boys
serving Mass, some wearing white albs with red sashes, others the white
lace-trimmed surplices of old, and still others looking traditional in
tiger-patterned fabric. But the similarities overpower the differences and
leave an overall impression of a moving, vibrant, dynamic event that affects
all the senses.
The liturgy is celebrated in the language of the local tribe or
tribes: Nyanja, Lozi, Bimba or Tonga. There are 73 languages in this country of
10 million people.
We are made to feel welcome. Folks give us the triple handshake --
hand, thumb, hand -- or a slight curtsy-kind of movement as they offer their
hand. One priest spoke to us before Mass and introduced us at the end of the
service, urging us to come forward and say a few words. My husband managed to
oblige, but as we walked to the front I lost my composure hearing the
uproarious welcome of clapping, shouting and bird-calling, high-pitched shrieks
we had heard during the liturgy.
The celebration belongs to the people from the first to the last
song. The music is the responsibility of the choir, a group of about 20 folks
that sit together in the front seats. They are accompanied by drums of
different sizes. Sometimes a type of guitar is added or a bamboo rattle. There
is not a hymnbook in the place so there is no fumbling, page-turning or
whispering for direction. Many people in the church join in the singing, but
not all. For every song a single voice begins, all the women join in, and then
the men.
The hymns are in four-part harmony, a lively repetitive chant-like
melody, sometimes sounding like a folk song, which builds to a climax with the
drums adding their beat. Whatever the song, it is repeated over and over often
for a full 10 minutes because, as it was explained to us, the larger
congregations sing it in all four languages. Somehow they know exactly when to
quit, perfectly together.
There are extra musical selections in the Mass inserted before the
opening hymn, between the Kyrie and Gloria and before the readings. These are
necessary to the amazing processions. Those processions lead us in and they
lead us out, they enliven the Gloria, they add importance to the gospel
reading, they escort the book into the church, they accompany our offerings,
they give a throbbing, moving sensation throughout.
Nor are these solemn processions, but rather dancing, joyous
affairs that are led by several young girls all dressed alike in bright blouses
and skirts, mesh knee-high socks and no shoes. Few people wear shoes during the
service. They come in flip-flops, sandals or dress shoes, but kick them off as
soon as they are seated. These girls set the tone, doing dance steps and arm
gestures suited to the rhythm of the music. They are followed by older women,
also moving two steps forward, one step back, sideways, all in time to the
music. These women are all wearing chitenges (wraparound skirts that are
worn over their regular clothes) printed with the same religious pattern -- a
chalice, praying hands, the virgin Mary -- that distinguishes the small faith
community to which they belong. The priest and several male altar servers are
the last to come down the aisle in the grand entrance.
The Sunday liturgy is planned by one of the small base
communities, which take turns with that duty. Parishes can boast of many of
these small groups of women or men or youth or mixed members, 16 in one
congregation. They meet weekly or biweekly to reflect on the scriptures, share
personal problems, decide on a social action in the community at large, plan
the liturgy and generally keep their parish active and alive.
Because different groups plan the liturgies, each Sunday has the
benefit of that groups talents and resources. The matrons in the group,
those over 40 years old, have had many years of practice with the dancing
processions, so they are the ones chosen for major roles.
One such talented woman carried the book wrapped in bright white
linen on her head, dancing the length of the aisle to the altar where a smiling
priest unwrapped it and lifted it off her head as she knelt down. Another
brought the water and wine from the back to the front of the church, all the
while doing an elaborate dance, turning and twisting, taking her time and
causing the congregation to chuckle at her enthusiasm.
The whole church joins the offertory procession, almost every man
and woman, bringing some monetary offering, however small, which is deposited
in the box or basket at the altar. Participation in this offering outnumbers
the Communion participation by about three times. The people are generous not
only with their money but with their goods, which a second offertory procession
brings to the altar. We take special note of this second offering since it has
included -- besides the bread, produce and eggs carried forth -- a live chicken
and a trussed goat that gave a bleat upon reaching the table.
In some ways, these women and mothers are more fortunate than
their counterparts in the United States. Where they live and here in church
they are not isolated, but closely attached to women around them. They crowd
into the church benches to be close to one another, they hand their children
around, they admire hairdos and dresses, they walk home down the dirt road
together. In the neighborhoods, I have observed that they all share their day
and its problems, knowing when there is sickness, anxiety or sadness.
Here on Sunday morning all have come together to worship, yet not
only to worship but also to socialize, sing, dance, laugh and generally rise
above the daily routine. Everyone gathers in the churchyard early for Mass,
paying no attention to the length of the service, which always lasts two hours
and sometimes three. They leave as unhurried as they came, continuing their
procession down the road.
Kathleen Hage is a hospice chaplain and lives in
Washington.
National Catholic Reporter, April 12,
2002
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