A missed celebration

Gracia just couldn't close her eyes for children's prayer.

Pastor François Tshidimu wasn’t in church that first Sunday in Kinshasa; he was already in Tshikapa. But you can tell that others are used to taking responsibility for services at Bondeko Mennonite Church. When Pastor Matala started preaching in French rather than Lingala, I realized it was entirely for my benefit. Celestin, also a gifted preacher, singer, and translator, translated to Lingala for everybody else. I then did my best to give Dwight the gist of what was being said. I couldn’t always see Pastor Matala’s face because he is short, the pulpit is greatly elevated because the cement has not yet been poured over the dirt floor in the seating area, and we were sitting as honored guests in the front row. This made him extra hard to understand. The energetic Lingala translation distracted me while I was trying to translate to English. It was pretty exhausting. But once again, the music more than made up for it.

After church we went to dinner at a nearby house. Ah-h-h pondu. How I’ve missed you! The host, a woman who sometimes comes to church, wasn’t there. Other women had prepared the dinner and carried it in. People sometimes borrow houses for special occasions.

It took two-and-a-half dusty, fumy hours to get back to the MPH guesthouse through traffic tieups.

After a shower and a nap I came out to the dining room and saw Mama Kadi and Mama Swana, two leading forces behind Congolese Mennonite women and their quest for ordination. Ordination of women is a big issue in the church. Mama Kadi, who belongs to the Mennonite Brethren, is ordained. Mama Swana, equally qualified, is not, because her branch of the church, which everyone calls CMCo (“sem-co”), Communauté Mennonite au Congo, hadn’t yet taken that step. A third branch, the CEM (“sem”), Communauté Evangelique Mennonite, was about to ordain their first female pastor, my friend Mimi Kanku. As my fellow traveler, Prof. Marlene Epp from Conrad Grebel University, had already discovered in her conversations the day before with a circle of women, the CMCo women have been downright angry about the resistance to ordaining women.

Ordination represents not only recognition of particular women’s spiritual gifts and calling. It is also a liberation leverage point, a fulcrum for increasing women’s power and leadership. Pastors are important, respected leaders in society as well as the church. Ordination constitutes admission to an exclusive club and gives a cachet of authority. The women—and men—who are ordained often wear clerical collars wherever they go.

Mama Kadi and Mama Swana had brought Marlene dinner and I joined in for another round of manioc greens and rice, which I can’t seem to get enough of. While we were eating, Charlie Ntumba Malembe, one of the journalists from the day before, showed up with a piece of news: the general assembly of the CMCo, which was meeting then in Tshikapa—the place we were headed the next day—had just approved the ordination of women.

Mama Swana, Charlie, Mama Kadi

 I immediately got the attention of our fellow diners, the nearly 30 people from North America and Europe bound for the centennial celebrations, and made the announcement. The response to my news was underwhelming. Later I learned that the rumor about this decision had been flying about for some time and there was little reason to believe that it was more than a rumor at this point, even though Charlie, a slender, passionate young woman with the instincts of an investigative reporter, said she’d gotten the news from someone at the meeting.

Oh well. I was getting used to making mistakes.

But this wasn’t a mistake. The next day in Tshikapa I learned Charlie was right but nobody was talking about the decision, at least not yet. That wouldn’t happen until a few days into the centennial program. I couldn’t help feeling, however, that by being careful about announcing this we were missing opportunities to celebrate.