What is your priority during Christmas break?  I doubt the local schools call the winter holiday “Christmas” any more, but the administrators probably remember when it was.  Thanksgiving is becoming “Turkey Day” and holiday shopping begins as soon the marketing experts can motivate the consumer to buy, now shortly after the consumption of the turkey.  Black Friday starts Thursday.

What has happened to marvel of the virgin birth in a stable?

Christmas is now celebrated in so many ways that the historic event that initiated this holiday, is forgotten.  Add “Merry” to Christmas and you get Merry Christmas!  Have a fat man in red add, “Ho, Ho, Ho”; say it in a jolly voice, “Merry, Christmas! Ho, Ho, Ho,” and you have the first ingredients for a party.  Have a big meal, distribute gifts found under an elaborately decorated Christmas tree, and there you have it!  Maybe it is Happy Holiday, Merry X-Mass, or Happy Honika, but at least we are celebrating Christmas, not just a Winter Holiday, right!?

Let me tell you about a Christmas in Zaire, Africa, at a place called Kwandruma.

Christmas might even be called “Kwanza” somewhere.  Now, in Swahili, Kwanza means “first”, Siku means “day” and in Zaire, “Siku ya Kwanza” has no correlation with celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ.  The Kwanza festivities begin December 31^st and go through the night into the first day of the new year.  Consumption of Maloufu and Kaikpo is central to the celebrations. Maloufu is an alcoholic gruel, made of aged, fermented corn, drunk slowly from a half-calabash.  Kaikpo is distilled from the same raw materials with added sugar and yeast.  A distiller told me that a bottle of the carefully collected drops of the liqueur is sufficient to put down three men.  The celebration is to welcome in the first day of the new year.

Some of the celebrants were still able to walk on “Siku ya Kwanza” as they shuffled down the dusty road waving banana leaves and chanting in Kilendu to the beat of the driving drum.  In their wake were fallen, broken leaves and an occasional inert comrade, lying in his own vomit by the side of the road.  I was riding my motorcycle on the way to preach at the Kokpa church.  The evil in the air was palpable as I passed this exhibition of tribal tradition and Satan worship. Had seventy-five years of gospel witness failed to change these people?  Had Christianity just been added to their animistic beliefs?

A couple weeks earlier I had been handed a small folded invitation to preach at the Kwandruma Christmas celebrations.  My invitation stated that the service was to start at 9:00 am, “kamili”.  There was to be a meal following the service.  Since I was one of the speakers I was not to pay the registration fee.  The invitation had been printed on very cheap duplicator paper using some kind of ink stencil machine and my name, Rev Brandi, had been filed in with a blue ball point pen.  Several invitations had been printed on each sheet of paper since mine had clearly been cut off the top of a sheet.  Apparently this was to be a very special event with a large attendance anticipated.  In Zaire, when preaching at a small local church where a meal was served to the guest speaker after the service, I rarely got home before 4:00 p.m.  Nevertheless, I informed the messenger that I would be there.

“Kamili” is a Swahili word used to emphasize arriving on time.  Since the position of the sun was the most common way to tell time, Pastor Laleni would later tell me to come to a Rehty station leaders meeting at ten thirty, rather than at nine as announced at the church.  On a cloudy day I might still be the first arrival, on a rainy day even wrist watches didn’t seem to work.

For the Kwandruma Christmas celebrations I left Rethy and headed out in time to arrive at 9:00 a.m., “kamili”.

Even the mud-hole near the soldier’s camp was dry on that bright sunny day.  I easily found the site selected for the Christmas celebrations.  I was directed to park my motorcycle behind a small registration booth where I showed my invitation to Beteweli, a man who had once been a good carpenter at Rethy.  He now worked for Mbikpa at Kwandruma managing a number of Mbikpa’s business ventures, including the brothel behind his store.

The soccer field near where the Kwandruma church was planning to build their new brick building was being set up for the meeting.  Wood-fire smoke drifted up from several enclosures adjacent to the field.  The women were starting food preparations for a large crowd, judging from the number of benches the young men were setting up to face the booth for the speakers and distinguished guests.  The collection of chairs for the guests included several with cushions and arm rests, but most were straight backed chairs carefully arranged in a couple rows beneath the booth’s sun shade.  The pulpit had been carried out from the church and was at the front of the booth facing the arc of partially filled benches. 

Some young men were at work connecting a truck battery on the ground to their amplifier on top of one of the tables.  Wires led to microphones attached somewhere near the strings of their home-made guitars.  Thinner wires were attached to the small box speakers on the table.  Their singing group had electric guitars.  There were several brass instruments on chairs in the booth, to be used to lead the congregational singing.  A happy group of ladies all dressed in new colorful Kikwembies wore the identical head scarves of the Wanawaka wa Habari Njema.  The leader of a mixed group of young people was giving instructions to them.  Some kinubi players, plucking at the strings of their hand crafted harps, stopped playing to make room for two men carrying in a huge bass kinubi.  Clearly, a lot of special music was to be part of the celebrations.

I was handed a mimeographed sheet of paper and shown where to sit in the shaded booth.  The collection of old truck canvases used to cover the booth was obviously not expected to protect from rain.  Beams of sunlight shining down through the holes made bright spots on the empty chairs and on my paper.  I saw on the program that I was to be the third speaker.  The first speaker was to have started about half an hour ago, but with the long list of special guests to be welcomed by the Pastor Responsible, and the names of all the guest singing groups, it was certain that the women would have plenty of time to prepare the meal, scheduled for 4:00 p.m.

After the third speaker the offering was to be collected from each group in turn.  Next on the schedule was to be the announcement of the results with an award given to those groups who gave the most.  The table laden with sufferias, colorful enamel mugs, a large bowl, and a big, highly ornamented, enamel teapot must be the display of prizes.  The large goat tied to a nearby tree could be there for the afternoon meal, but more likely he was the grand prize.  He could still become a meal.  The proceeds were to help the Kwandruma church build a new brick building with a Manzanza roof. 

The three arm chairs near me were still vacant.  I speculated that they were for a political leader from the Zone, the chief of the Kwandruma Local, and for Mbikpa, the richest man in Kwandruma.  I still had plenty of time to review what I had prepared to share, giving the true Christmas focus.  “Mungu alikuwa Mutu”, Mungu means God, and alikua mutu, becomes man.

The focus in Philippians chapter two isn’t to celebrate that Jesus was born, but rather to command that we have the mind of Christ; that our attitude, our motives, our thoughts and our love for others should be the same as Christ’s.  His mind is revealed here in the Bible as we follow his descent from being one with God to becoming man, “Mungu alikuwa Mutu”, humbling himself and being obedient unto death, even the death of the cross.  God’s plan from before the foundation of the world wasn’t yet complete when Jesus cried out at the cross, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”  Sin, our sin, which He took on himself there, had separated Jesus from His Father. 

Yet Jesus conquered death, was reunited with God, and given a name above every name.  All will bow down to be judged by Him, some to eternal life, some to everlasting death.  We only have the mind of Christ when we die to self, respond to His call, receive the Holy Spirit, and do what He commands us to do.

Christmas celebrations often reveal more about our inner thoughts and motives, than we might realize.  It isn’t hard to condemn the motives of those celebrating “Siku ya Kwanza,” becoming so drunk they could hardly shuffle.  Was there any thought of anyone but themselves?  Was there any comprehension, at all, that they will someday be compelled to answer to an Almighty God as to how they responded to the Gospel?

Those celebrating with Malofu and Kaikpo dancing through the night to the music plucked from the strings of their Kinubies had no thought of God.  They were giving themselves totally to the pleasure they derived from moving together, feeling the rhythm of the throbbing drums.  The new year dawned as they celebrated Kwanza.

What were the motives of those celebrating Christmas at Kwandruma?  We find them much harder to judge since we can easily recognize that the Kwandruma celebration program was designed to attract an audience to raise money for building a new church.

The welcomes had all been made, the distinguished guests recognized, the three preachers had presented the messages prepared.  The horns had played loudly while the people who were there sang, each singing group had sung at least one special song, most several with multiple verses.  No group just stood there and sang for they had music in their blood and in their feet.

The competition for prizes was a compelling motivation to try to give as much as they could.  The meal being prepared in the booths around that soccer field was certainly on the minds of all those assembled for the Christmas assembly.  The sun was descending in the sky and it was now long past four o’clock.  The roasting meat smelled good.  Everyone had certainly arrived by now.  It was time to collect the offering.

The distinguished guests and the missionary were the first to give.  In turn, the givers from the various other churches in the area came forward from all over the crowd, each conscious that they were being seen in the best cloths they had!

The ladies in their new Kikwembies had sung of the birth of Jesus.  They were the “Wanawake wa Haberi Njema”, the women of the good news, the Gospel.  They met regularly learning how to put into practice what the Bible taught about serving others and helping the poor.  They swayed and joyfully sang as the entire group followed their leader who was holding high the flower covered basket containing their offering. 

The other groups kept coming three at a time as the leader announced which of the offering baskets was for which group.  The name of each group was placed in their basket so the counters could tabulate the results while the singing went on and on.

I had no further responsibility listed on the program so I asked, Laleni, the Pasteur Responsible, if I could leave and return to care for my children at home.  I pushed my motorcycle down the slope from the soccer field and then coasted as far as possible before starting the motor.  I have no idea who won the goat!

Where was the focus of the Kwandruma church?

Mungu alikuwa Mutu, (God became man), is where our mind ought to be that we might have the mind of Jesus, not clinging tightly to what we have, but dying to self that we might truly live in Him as we, in love, serve one another and preach the Gospel.  May we focus on that which is not seen.

May His work in us bring Glory to his son Jesus.