That Old Time Religion
Sundays in Haiti mean Church. Catholics, Baptists, Evangelicals, Pentecostals, Holy-Rollers, Mormons, Jehovah Witnesses, even Vodouisants, head to church on Sunday; or Friday, if you are an Adventist and your Sunday falls on a Friday. On Sunday it seems that Mon Sejou, our little section of town, takes a collective bath, puts on its collective best, and heads down the dusty lane to its houses of worship.
In the US, Sunday mass is usually dispatched in about an hour or so, and even less time in Green Bay in September when we* have an early kick-off. In Aquin, where the soccer games don’t start until late afternoon and there is no TV, Sunday services are the only show in town, and they don’t disappoint. From 8:00 to noon nary a soul crosses the main square, as the Aquinoisie are either in church praying to God or at home recovering from a Saturday night of ginnin’ and sinnin’, and doing their praying in bed.
As for the different churches, Salvation Army has the best band and uniforms, and they show ecumenical acumen by showing up for funerals no matter where they are held. Baptists win for sheer length, and the Evangelicals clinch on the voices. They practice, and it shows. The Catholic Church is the 800-pound gorilla. Any civic or official event begins with a crowded mass, with members of the other churches coming to listen to the mass, talk to their friends, and press the flesh with the mayor. During the coup years the former priest, an outspoken Frenchman, led prayer processions through town, defying the edicts of the army.
Underneath it all are the Vodouisants, ostensibly Catholic or another denomination, but also followers of Vodou. Vodou has been an embattled religion in Haiti, banned, then used as inspiration during the revolution, then banned again, then resurrected, banned again, tolerated, then co-opted by Duvalier as a method of control, and finally, officially recognized as a legitimate religion just a few months ago, giving vodou adherents a right to lawful marriages.
The Catholic mass for us is always an event. Mass is scheduled to begin at 8:00, which means anytime between sunup and sundown. The majority of the churchgoers just come when the final bell is rung, kind of like a two-minute warning for the faithful. As foreigners we aren’t dogged by the realities of the culture and leave our house at 7:30 a.m. every Sunday, picking up a few church ladies on the way. When we walk in the church door at ten to eight we are greeted by a couple of stray dogs, the occasional sleepy bat, and The One-Legged Guy With The Crutches, whom we’ve greeted far too many times to tell him we’ve forgotten his name.
And then we sit. By 8:20 people are straggling in, and one of the choir guys is starting to plug in the microphones, set up the drums and fiddle with the amplifier. By 8:30 the guitar guy shows up, and Father drives by the side door of the church, going away from the church. No one but us seems worried. Soon the choir assembles, the dogs circulate, unattended children in their school uniforms file in, and the deacon is spied putting on his vestments. Father drives back, with another choir guy in the back of the pick-up, steadying the generator. The generator gets set up, the extension cords are run through the church, the two-minute warning bell rings, Father is seen putting on his vestments and then… we wait. After a while the microphone guy comes out to talk to Sr. Althea, saying that the generator has died again and can she go back to her house and let them borrow her generator? So Sister and the microphone guy go fetch the other, hopefully functional generator while the rest of us... wait. Serenity prayers are mumbled through clenched teeth in our row; the rest of the assemblage just keeps visiting. Finally, after everything is in place and we are all ready and the second generator is plugged in, mass begins promptly ay 9:10, just like always. The microphones promptly fail.
St. Toma D’Aquin, our church, is the main one for the area, but there are many little chapels all over the hills and out on the islands that share the priest. Because of this, we have a rotating cast of priests and deacons that preach when Father is off doing mass elsewhere. Each has their own unique style, but almost all of them are loud or louder. Because the microphones aren’t always working, they have to fall back on wild gestures to be the latter part of their A/V presentation.
Tim’s favorite priest looks like he’s directing a Wagnerian symphony when he preaches. He even has a stock set of motions that he uses:
“Whole World in His Hands” – makes a circle with arms in front of chest
“The Options Trader” – raises and drops hands, two or three fingers extended
“Mea Culpa” – beats chest so as to risk contusions
“Albatross” – flaps both arms to the side
“Q.E.D.” - emphatic pointing to lectern with index finger
“Mike Tyson” – jab air in front of podium
“Yogi”- levitate, both feet leaving ground
“Supremes”- sweep arm in front of podium, back and forth
So, a typical sermon might progress as so: Introduce ideas with Options, Albatross and Tyson; augment observations with Supremes, Yogi, Options; provide back-up evidence with Mea Culpa, Whole World, Albatross, Albatross; wander off on a tangent with Yogi, Tyson, Tyson, Supremes, and bring it all to a deafening crescendo with Options, Whole World, Whole World, Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Tyson, Supremes, Tyson, Albatross, Albatross, and QED! AMEN!
The congregation doesn’t seem to notice all the yelling and screeching of the microphones. In fact, they become so pious and reverent during the forty-five minute sermons that they bow their heads against the pews in front of them, eyes closed tightly in deep meditation.
After communion comes the second “sermon”, this time about some problem in the church or the community, and is often provided by Deacon Renee. Renee really knows how to get the church pumped up, and though these sermons can be long as well, they are never dull. Midway through a point he’ll start up a song, and start clapping his hands, and next thing you know you got a bunch of sedate Catholics acting like it’s revival time, jumping up and down and dancing generally making a joyful noise unto the Lord. It’s great fun, and since everyone is singing and clapping, the music is infinitely better than the French stuff the choir sings.
Finally, after all the announcements from both the lectern and those yelled out from the congregation, Father says the final blessing, we all say Amen in Kreyol (Amen) and we talk to our friends as we head back home, followed by the stray dogs. The bat goes back to sleep.
Amen!
*As if I need to explain who “we” are.
News from the House
We dodged a bullet here as Hurricane Fabian turned away from the Greater Antilles and instead headed north, bringing it onto a path with Bermuda. Every beat of a butterfly’s wings off the west coast of Africa is watched carefully by the Caribbean, as a landfall by a hurricane on the islands can be devastating. We hope that we can be content hearing other people tell us about hurricanes instead of having to see one up close. We pray that Bermuda will be okay.
Thanks for all your support and prayers,
Tim and Christy
Ps- Don’t forget to see www.squarefour.com/haiti for all the updates as well as pictures.
Posted by Christy and Tim at 01:49 PM on September 05, 2003 :: Permanent link
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Sr. Althea Jonis, Born to Eternal Life 9/9/03That Old Time Religion
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