A Sacramental Weekend

I knew when I left Nairobi Friday afternoon that it was going to be a good weekend: the sun was shining, the traffic was light, and the matatu music was loud. Nicole and I traveled up to Gatundu to join some of the teachers from Icaciri Sec School for 3 kgs of nyama choma (roasted meat) and a night of fun. The meat-eating festivities were quickly followed by a rousing game of Go Fish and a great deal of dancing both to Kikuyu music and Michael Jackson. Saturday morning I woke early to the sound of a persistent rooster and went to have chai with the kitchen staff members. Afterwards, I was able to spend some time with the Form 4 students who are preparing to leave school when they finish their exams on Tuesday. The students at Icaciri have taught me much about how to dance, laugh, speak Kiswahili, walk with style, talk about boys, and share my faith, so I was immensely thankful for the chance to sit and share this special time with them. The morning was as full of laughter and dancing as the previous night.
At around 1 pm, it was off to Banana with some new friends for a wedding reception. Now, I had never met the bride or groom before, but upon our arrival, we were immediately whisked to the front of the venue and given seats among the members of the wedding party. So much for trying to blend into the crowd. During a series of very long speeches, Nicole and I decided to spend some time with the many children gathered around and asked if they wanted to learn a dance. They enthusiastically agreed, so we all practiced doing the Chicken Dance together - I am still laughing at the image in my mind.
Sunday was another early morning, as I headed to Kiambu to preach in the English worship service at Kangoya PCEA. I must admit that I was more than “a bit” nervous, since this was my first time preaching in Kenya, and I doubted whether I had anything relevant to say. As I looked out at the congregation during the Scripture readings, a strange thing happened, one of those moments of revelation: I realized again that preaching is not about what I say; it is about what the Spirit says in and through me. I was nervous because no one in the sanctuary looked like me or sounded like me, but as we stood to sing a hymn, it became clear that we are connected to one another. We all share this gift of life, and we all rely on God’s gracious love. It is a humbling gift to stand and proclaim the Word of God, to speak the good news of our faith, and I pray that I never lose that feeling of nervousness. Later in the service, we celebrated Communion, the physical manifestation of God’s life-affirming grace, and I was glad to be at the Table with the men and women of Kiambu. I thought over the entire weekend and the many sacred, sacramental moments I had experienced: over a plate of nyama choma, walking barefoot in the grass, taking hot chai in the cold morning, holding the hand of a child, and sharing a hug, a story, a laugh. The weekend was filled with ordinary occurrences, yet it was infused with the sacredness that comes when we share ourselves with one another.
I ended Sunday night by eating chapati pizzas in the kitchen with my roommates and watching a bootleg version of High School Musical 3. What could be better?