The Gospel Comes Alive

While each individual mass I attended has lost its distinction in my memory, I will never forget what it felt like to attend mass in Kitale.

The Church we worshiped with in Kitale was right down the hill, about a 5-10 minute walk from the Daughters' compound. It's an outstation of a larger parish in Kitale - and as such, I can't imagine how large the parish must be! There is a large stone building that has been under construction for the last 5 years, and when it's finished it will be a beautiful church. The Daughters are hopeful that in the future it will become its own parish, and they will get a Vincentian priest to serve there - making the parish, and the neighborhood by extension, alive in the Vincentian charism.

But, the beautiful stone and brick building is still just a shell, and much work remains to be done. In the meantime, the Church (and I use capital C here intentionally, because I am not referring to a building, but to the body of Christ) gathers in a wooden shack, with mud floors and a tin sheeting roof. It's a very large shack, the largest I've ever seen - and it was filled to overflowing, standing room only, every single mass.

As a musician and a lover of church music, the first thing that I noticed about mass was the choir. No microphones, no pomp and circumstance, and virtually no instruments - the choir simply sat on the benches in the midst of the congregation. They had a few handheld percussion instruments mixed among them, and one set of congas. With "5 loaves and 2 fish," they used their voices to create some of the most beautiful music I've ever heard. I don't know the words to describe the experience of the music, other than awe-inspiring.

And, with music like that, who could help but dance for the Lord? There was a team of liturgical dancers, that I even joined (albeit, not well!) for our last mass in Kitale. I'd never seen liturgical dance used in such a way that it really brought alive the transitions of the mass. The liturgical dancers led the procession into the church, and danced among the congregation throughout the gathering song, until they surrounded the altar. Then, after the opening rite, there was a song to celebrate the Liturgy of the Word, and the liturgical dancers again danced to celebrate the Word. After the homily, there would be a liturgical dance procession to bring the gifts to the altar. It really enlivened my understanding of each part of the mass, by seeing them celebrated in such a way.

Bringing gifts to the altar. I will never think of the Gospel passage of the woman who gives her two coins because it was all she had the same way again. Again with song, rather than a collection basket, they have a procession to bring their gifts to the altar. Men, women, children, some on crutches, many without shoes, and most in the same "Sunday best" each week - nearly the entire congregation processed to the front, most covering their hand as they dropped their offering into the basket. I can't recall this story without it bringing tears to my eyes, because that level of faith, that level of trust in the Providence of the Lord, is too amazing for words.

Our first Sunday and our last Sunday, the 4 of us were brought up to the front to say hellos and goodbyes. As the leader, I was the designated spokesperson for the group - and I've never had such a large audience! The enthusiasm in the room was tangible, and their overwhelming gratitude, their smiles, laughter and cheers, were so undeserved.

Sure, the mass was long - usually 2-2.5 hours - and sure, we never understood any of it because it was all in Kiswahili, and sure, when you've got hundreds of bodies crammed into a shack where there's not enough room to sit, it gets hot and uncomfortable - but their faith didn't have a language barrier, their music swept you away, and their love was like a cool breeze for the soul.