jason price
sounds shape our experiences of place, but how we use sounds for our own subjective purposes, and how those purposes, taken collectively, shape historical formations. I was thinking along these lines, kind of, when “ Holy Ghost…FIRE! ” first crept into our lives – “What are they doing over there? Why does it have to be so loud? Is this what people mean when they call Malawi a ‘God-fearing nation’? What kind of people go to that church? What kind of people come out? What does the Holy Ghost have to do with it? And what’s with all the fire and burning?” – but time passed, and the questions faded. As is sometimes the case when everyday things are obscured by seemingly high walls of cultural difference or inconvenience, the sounds from over the hedge eventually melded into the white noise of our everyday lives, and any serious attempt to find out what was going on down there was consigned to a lark. That is, until one Sunday morning when a student of ours stopped by, a brand new Bible in hand. “Where do you worship?” I asked. “HOGEM, this church just here” he said. “I’d love to visit some time” I said. “You are most welcome” he replied. I went the following week. The worship team had already begun. I found a place on a bench at the back beside a stack of speakers. The bass battered my chest. Parishioners materialsed from the bright outside carrying bibles and notepads. Some had dressed up, others had not. I was surprised how many women appeared to have come alone. By nine, the children had been ushered off to Sunday school, and most everyone had taken their seats. Golden drapes covered the walls. Light poured in from outside. Fluorescents shone from above. The stage up ahead was
set with a burgundy carpet. The worship team were stationed to the left, amid a jumble of instruments and electronics. The pastors were stationed to the right, in a den behind a coffee table with a vase of plastic flowers perched on top. Between them, on a slightly vaulted platform, stood a shiny glass podium. Embossed on the podium was the church emblem: a blood red cross under a royal blue sky where a white dove emits red-yellow rays of light onto a single white sheep with the acronym, HOGEM, in bold blue letters below. The Holy Ghost and Evangelism Ministries Inc. (HOGEM) moved to this location about eight years ago. One reason they moved was because of noise complaints coming from the congested, high-density area where they used to operate. The shift was a step up to a more urbane environment that yielded a more cosmopolitan congregation. The proximity to the main road meant that pilgrims who got wind of the healing power of HOGEM’s Senior Pastor, Allan Jiya, would have easier access when coming in search of miracles. Every charismatic church has its Man of God, and each Man of God is endowed with special gifts. Pastor Jiya’s is that of deliverance – a form of spiritual healing akin to exorcism. Pastor Jiya didn’t appear straight away that day. Instead, a junior pastor in an oversized suit delivered the opening sermon. He preached in Chichewa while a tall professional woman with pitch-perfect posture translated into English. This is important. It demonstrates a degree of cosmopolitan sophistication found in the globalised charismatic Christianity so popular on the free-to-air satellite
television channels – which Malawians seem to watch with the same kind of numb commitment that Americans do cable news, and I’m told that it opens things up to a more international audience as well. After the sermon, the worship team broke into something resembling slow jazz or muzak, a large lace doily was laid out before the podium, and the ushers circulated brown paper envelopes throughout the congregation. It was time for the offerings. This was the moment Pastor Jiya alighted. He called a group of people forward for the tithe and asked them to form a line. Arms raised and envelopes in hand, they closed their eyes, prayed, and waited for his anointing. He set down his microphone, then set off down the line. He placed his right hand gently on the first supplicant’s forehead and she softly collapsed into the expectant arms of the attendant usher behind her. It was then that Pastor Jiya picked the brown envelope from her fingers. He did this, one-by- one, until the line was felled. The rest of us were then encouraged to come. A line formed. It circled around the hall. We each dropped our envelopes onto the doily as we passed the podium. Then we returned to our seats, where nobody sat down. The ushers raked in the the envelopes. The band picked up the pace. Hands were raised to Jesus. Murmurs of prayer grew louder. Some people began to convulse. Pastor Jiya started pacing across the stage saying something about giving and receiving. And then, just before the sound reached a critical mass, Pastor Jiya rallied us to, “PRAY!! PRAY!! PRAY!!” It was at that moment that the whole church began speaking in tongues.
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