the mission

Church of St. Michael and All Angels

The day we spent on Blantyre Mission was a cocktail of church and memory lane.

These types of experiences are not easily shared as they are layered with meaning, partly personal but large chunks of this, constructed in community. The communities I refer to are big and small, here and there, of the present and of the past, they include people I know intimately and strangers too. But through all those differences, sharing and singing are an important part of both and they bind it all together for me, for us. They also bind me to you and therefore you to this place.

This Blantyre Mission.

We shared
Hymn books were passed along to us and in the white cubes of bread and little plastic glasses of wine there were memories of people and places where we had shared these same things before. Being asked to come up to tell everyone where we were from maybe didn't feel as 'welcoming' as it was meant to (rather overwhelming) but it did give everybody a good look at us. And afterwards there was one couple that came and said to me "you look like your father."  I had not expected that that 'commonality' would get attention on this day. Sitting out on the grass afterwards Stephen and I shared a packet of crisps and an apple. Wow. Finally, a chance to share this place. Later JanJaap pointed towards a house just up the road from there: "That is where your mother welcomed us with tea on the verandah. It was there that we first met." (The funny thing with memories is that they're quite generous towards inconsistencies. The "when we first met" actually happened before I was born so that would've been my sister maybe. Small technicality! *)
 
We sang
Not always texts that are easy to understand (they are in Chichewa or they are theologically complex, convoluted, etc) but melodies weave together the cells and bones, organs and vessels of my life. They're never shy, almost always jumping up out of a memory drawer with unprecedented enthusiasm. Yes! Let's sing that song! Together! Not all the singing was amazing. The visiting choir was, but some of the older hymns ... well, let's just say not everything the Presbyterians brought from Scotland should have stuck around for so long. Some songs are cheesy, some songs are strange but it was good to sing together. There were songs we have sung on three continents; songs we have sung on buses or in cathedrals; there were songs we have woken up with without reason or run into when we least expected it. These are things that unite us.

I hope you feel it: this Blantyre Mission is common ground.

When this day drew to a close a thunderstorm rolled over Blantyre. The spirit of God? The spirit of ... ? Strong winds and hard rain came down. It cut the electricity at Grace Bandawe and we were grateful that our tent was not being put to the test in this.

*David Livingstone would also listen to our podcast and say: Hm, actually, I did not start that place. It may have been named in memory of me and my place of birth (Blantyre, Scotland) and I may have passed by there on my travels (between 1859 and 1861) but I believe it was well after my passing (in 1873✝) that the mission was established (in 1876) by the Church of Scotland East Africa Mission.