out of control

To explain this well, I need to take you back in time.  There was a six and a half year period some years ago when I served as bishop (or pastor) of a large ward (or congregation) in Anchorage.  In retrospect, I think that I was a good bishop.  I enjoyed the calling—more its ministering aspects than its administering ones—though I think that I had some gifts in both areas.  I was known for many things in those days—but one which my kids remember best was the iron hand with which I ran our Sacrament Meetings—or principal worship services.  If speakers took much more than their allotted time—or if they wandered far afield from their topic, I would rein them in with a gentle whisper or note or figurative cattle prod—depending on the individual.  Sometimes, my visible efforts to control the flow and spirit of our services were slightly embarrassing to those being shepherded—but generally people were aware that we kept a close eye on the clock, doctrine, and spirit of remarks from the pulpit and all went well.  It was mainly my children who were mortified by my efforts at control of our services. 

I fill a similar shepherd-like role here in Quelimane—the scope is greatly reduced but the calling is much the same—with a personal counselor/confessor component and an administrative one of making the church organization work (in which I receive plenty of assistance from church members, Debbie and the young missionaries assigned here).   Now, with this background, I’d like to describe our services yesterday:  We had a record crowd of 56.  The mission president and his wife were in attendance (it is he to whom we report and he is the presiding leader of the church in Mozambique)—which puts a little more pressure on us for everything to look good and work out well.  The first Sunday of the month is always “Fast and Testimony” meeting, in which, instead of scheduled speakers, members of the church may stand and express their faith and testify of gospel truths—as moved upon by the spirit.  Because our congregation was made up of 43 non-members, three members and 10 missionaries, I took some time to explain the order and nature of what we were seeking by way of “testimonies”.  

Well, we are teaching (as you know if you read this blog) many who come from a Pentecostal tradition these days—and several of those are actually preachers in their congregations.  Many of these people were in attendance on Sunday.  All went well for a while (actually very well, and the spirit was very strong and many spoke, expressing great faith).  Then one of the zoramite (pseudo-LDS) ministers arose and began to work the crowd.  ----I should pause here and tell non-Mormons that our services may be on the stodgy side—we do not clap, dance, nor use tambourines nor drums in our services.  A dignified event is what we strive for—we do not do the AMEN nor Hallelujah thing during someone’s talk.-----  Well the minister began to clap a little and stroll down the center isle—he wasn’t saying anything unbecoming, just wandering a bit.  I gently helped him back to his place behind the pulpit (eliciting smiles from the congregation) and he soon closed and we felt like we were ok.  A couple of people later, the wife of another preacher arose—and she REALLY wanted to liven things up—she kept soliciting (and receiving) amens and hallelujahs.  Then she started singing and clapping and jiving—with way too much audience participation.  Gone was old bishop Osborn who always knew what to do to maintain order (ok, maybe control too).  I had no idea what to do.  I mainly just prayed for her to be done quickly (an unanswered prayer).  I just didn’t feel like grabbing her by the scruff of the neck and sitting her down.  It wasn’t like she was spouting false doctrine, though her lively song was somewhat when I thought about it afterward.  I have no idea what the right thing was to do in the circumstance.  We do make some allowances for where we are--but sometimes maybe too much.  The mission president did not fire me after the service—but he did smile a bit.  I think that I have some remedial instruction to do with our congregants.  As I explained to the president—there is so much worse that could (and has) happened in church services before.

At the close of services, the heavens opened and the rains fell in great abundance.  It rained heavily for well over an hour and a half.  During that time, no one would leave the chapel.  I had heard that Mozambicans were generally fearful of rain (or at least, uncomfortable with it)--that is definitely the case.  They wouldn't budge and we had an hour and a half hymn practice.

This is our ever-alert guard/gardener Bernardo