Carry On and...

Christian artwork from a local archeological site

A few weeks ago we had the privilege of meeting an Egyptian pastor, Philemon*, and his wife, Pheobe*.  These dear people invited us into their homes and filled us full (to overflowing) of delicious Egyptian delicacies.

After our visit, Philemon said, "You must come to our church service."  We assured him we would be happy to come.  John had to do some traveling so it took a couple weeks for us to actually get there.

We had called our backup taxi driver and told him the approximate location.  (Sadik is in Cairo visiting his daughter…)  The driver knew the location we were talking about so he began driving through the local traffic dodging and weaving without the assistance of his horn as Sadik likes to do so much.

He pulled up in front of a place that said "church" outside.  We exited and asked him if he would be available to pick us up later.  He said he would.  We looked up at the church and John said, "I don't think this is the right one."  (When you're a Mu, all churches are the same.)

We looked around to see if we recognized anything.  Not really.  We finally called Pheobe who said we were actually quite close.  She walked out and found us looking bewildered on the street.  She immediately greeted us with a kiss for me and a handshake for John.

The church door was indistinct, no writing, no decorations.  You just had to know.  We walked into a small narrow hallway and into a long rectangular sanctuary.  Pheobe said, "Our church is very small, but I think you will like it."

I smiled as she took my hand and walked me toward the front.  There was a group of 6 who were practicing songs up at the front on the platform.  I turned back to look for John.  He was following close  behind.  She directed me to sit on the third pew in the middle.  Then she looked at John and told him to enter from the other side on the same row.  Ah, divided by gender.

I had seen this before and wondered about this practice until all the people begin to sit in sardine-like fashion.  (You do not want to be sitting long and close with an opposite gender that you do not know…)

Service technically began at 7, but as is cultural that is not when it actually started.  Around 7:30 the bulk of the group arrived and Philemon stood at the front and introduced us.  We smiled and everyone turned to smile back.  

Singing began with the Arabic lyrics on two screens on either side of the platform.  I guess I was surprised at the technically advanced setup.  The musicians were good and were doing a great job leading the group.  I didn't know any of the songs or the Arabic words to go with them so I tried feverishly to read the lyrics just so it would look like my lips were kind of moving in rhythm to everyone else.  I wasn't doing too badly until they began singing fast songs.  I switched to clapping and swaying after that.

The music continued for about an hour and my attempts at following the lyrics had turned to fascination as I watched the graphics that accompanied the songs.  First Jesus had been photoshopped into a sunset, then a black gospel choir was marching down a church aisle, then a group of cowboys sat around a campfire, then Anglo children dressed like a scene from "Grease" appeared...random scene after random scene revolved.  I say random, but maybe the Arabic songs being sung actually referred to a sunset Jesus with a black gospel choir who went to visit cowboys who then sang Greased Lightning. Not sure...

The pastor's brother was the speaker for the evening.  Of course, I didn't realize a lot of what was happening but Pheobe would explain things to me now and then.  Finally she asked, "Do you understand all of this?"  I responded, "A little bit."

She got a look on her face like, "Oh, no. I just invited these people to sit through 2 hours of something they don't understand."  I reassured her that we would be fine.

The speaker was enthusiastic and engaging.  Those in the audience responded to his questions and took notes.  I was happy to just get the "gist" of the story.

Around 9:15 pm the service concluded and I was greeted again by some of the latecomers whose curiosity about the foreigner overcame them.  Some of the kids ran up to touch my arm just so they could tell their friends that they had an interaction with the newbies.

The people lingered visiting with one another.  When we exited the building, we noticed that a parked car's windshield had been shattered and a few protesters were collecting down the street by a burning tire.  I looked at John and wondered what we should do next.  Then we both looked at the church folks for a cue.  They simply carried on.  They noticed what had happened, but they didn't shrink in fear.  They continued their conversations with smiles, hugs and kisses.  They were nonplussed.  

I was convicted.  Where is my determination?  My commitment?  My willingness to continue in dire circumstances?  

Still pondering it all, Pheobe ran out to say one more goodbye.  I had just called a taxi driver and had asked if she would tell him the exact address of where we were.  She took the phone and said, "We do not need you.  You can go home.  Khalas. (That's all.)"

I was a bit stunned.  Um…did I hear her correctly?

She turned and introduced a man standing next to her.  This is my brother.  He will take you to your house. 

We told her a sincere thanks but that he did not need to go to such trouble.

"Trouble?!" she said with a big smile, "It's our duty!"

Her brother said hello and directed us to his car which was parked in an alley.  He introduced us to his "seester" who was actually his wife, but family descriptions are very tricky in a second language.

They drove us across town to our home and bid us goodbye.

We returned to our apartment with our heads swimming in Arabic, but our hearts brimming with gratefulness for the few dear Egyptians who love and serve Jesus so well amidst such adversity.  

I went to bed thinking about our day, our new friends and a new t-shirt I mentally designed:  

Carry on and keep carrying on. 

I like it.  Now I pray I can live it.  

Religious artwork representing the Nubians

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Today's BOGO Blog:  Loving Words

* Not their real names