It is the season of miseka here in Malawi. Miseka is the chichewa word for harvest. The maize crop, the staple food of Malawi has been harvested, and now is the time for celebrating. Unfortunately, mainly due to a three week drought in the middle of the rainy season, this year’s harvest was not as plentiful as last year’s bumper crop. But there is still much to celebrate as families who had run out of food are now able to feed their children.
In the churches they celebrate miseka by asking the members to bring a portion of their crop to the church as a special offering. This is a practice dating back to the time of the Old Testament. The miseka offering is taken for several weeks on Sunday morning and is then distributed to the poor and to the pastors. Here in Blantyre, most people make their miseka offering in the form of cash as they are no longer living directly off of the land. But not so in the villages.
This past Sunday we worshipped in a village for the first time. I was invited by one of my colleagues at the Theological School to preach at his church outside of Zomba. It was actually the prayer house of the main church. (A prayer house is a smaller group of Christians from a larger church who meet together regularly at a separate location, usually because the distance from the main church makes it difficult to get there. As the prayer house grows it can eventually become a separate congregation. This prayer house will become an independent congregation in August.) We drove up a dusty road to a dilapidated brick building--the church. Across the street there was a prison. Each and every window pane was broken. The roof was sagging. A few women greeted us with singing as we arrived. After meeting with the elders and planing the service we went inside. There were no pews; just simple wooden benches with no backs. The church began to fill with people of all ages. The faces of the elderly betrayed a life of hard work and toil. The children looked on in mute curiosity at the faces of the strangers. Eventually the building was packed with over 100 worshipers. It was a typical Malawian service with hymns, prayers, beautiful singing, the reading of scripture and announcements including the introduction of the visitors from America. When it was time for the sermon, I stood in the pulpit-a simple brick structure built on the side of the room. The wind coming through the broken windows blew my notes around as my friend interpreted my words. The place was filled with the presence of Christ making everything and everyone feel holy to me.
After the sermon it was time for the miseka. About half of the congregants emptied as singing began-the chichewan version of “Bringing in the Sheaves”. Then, one by one, the villagers re-entered their house of God with gifts. Bags of maize were carried in by pairs of men. Other women carried the maize in tubs on their heads. Cassava roots, sweet potatoes, bags of rice and sugar cane also appeared. The contents of the bags and tubs of maize were emptied right onto the floor. Soon there was a small mountain of maize in the front of the church. Prayers were said thanking God for the harvest and asking for His blessing upon the gifts and the givers.
Following the service we were invited up the street to the home of the prison warden who was a member of the prayer house. We had a simple traditional Malawian meal of nsima-maize flour mixed with water, relish (some kind of green vegetable), chicken and rice. Afterwards we loaded our truck with some of the miseka food, and also about 15 Malawians looking for a ride down the dusty road.
Just another day filled with amazing grace and moments of holiness.
