First Impressions: Sunday, 8 June 2008: Sunday in Sudan

It's late afternoon on the Lord's day, and I'm back in the compound after spending most of the day in town. On my way back I walked all the way along the river, and was able to photo a tukul in a more advanced stage of construction than when I passed yesterday.




I realized yesterday that I could walk all the way along the river between here and downtown, so I made the trek on my way back today. I was amazed to see the quantity (hundreds) of tukuls that house thousands of people. There are a few wells along the way, but many people still use the unsanitary river water for drinking, bathing and clothes washing. The lack of sanitary facilities was also disturbing. Given the number of people living closely together with very limited resources the situation seems to be a public health disaster waiting to happen.

Yesterday afternoon I was able to visit the only place where the Blessed Sacrament is reserved in the whole town - the sacristy of the damaged parish church (the next five photos). As you can see, part of the roof is missing, leaving the place partially exposed to the heavy rainfalls of this season. I found two sacristans preparing carefully for the next day's liturgy. I was shocked to realize that the iron they were using on the vestments and sacristy linen was of a type that would be considered an antique in the US - it is filled with hot coals to provide the heat, and is the only way to iron in a place where there is no regular electric power. There was a faded poster commemorating John Paul II's visit to Sudan in 1993 hanging on the wall.










This morning I concelebrated the 10:00 am Mass in English. The earlier Mass at 8:00 am is in the local dialect. Four to five-hundred people show up for each Mass, and the first ones get plastic seats under the provisional shelter, while the rest stand for the two hour celebration, because the roofless church building itself offers no shelter (ninth photo from top, fourth from bottom). Everything that can be sung is sung, and sung at length with gusto, harmonies and drums. There are several processions (including the offeratory) and tribal dancing by a troupe of trained children with bells on their ankles at key moments. The homily was substantial (probably the length of an entire average Sunday Mass in the US), and at the second Mass was given in both Sudanese Arabic and English.

At the end of the Mass there were two additional addresses, both related to the same delicate and tragic situation: fighting related to cattle rustling between two nearby villages that claimed 14 lives (8 soldiers and 6 civilians - 3 from each village) and left the women and children from both villages (which have since been disbanded) homeless and without personal possessions. The first address was by the vicar general of the diocese announcing a special collection next Sunday of clothing and other household goods for those displaced by the violence. The second, by the regional governor, proclaimed a mandatory disarmament of all civilians in the area to avoid future violence.

It was a stark contrast: the vibrancy and beauty of the liturgy and the somber seriousness of the two announcements. And yet I can't help but think they're related. The urgency of the social situation faced by the South Sudanese impels them to pray with their whole heart, soul, mind and body, with fervor and verve. They know they need God, and that need is expressed in extended joyful Sunday worship. Perhaps the banal liturgies that are often experienced in developed countries is because we are no longer aware of how deeply we need Him, and that ambivalence is expressed in flabby, half-hearted worship.