An American friend asked me what would have been the most foreign aspect of our Christmas celebration this year. I was hard pressed to answer: the all-night Christmas Eve service? the all-night dancing? the miracles shared in the testimonies? eating on the benches and the floor? freezing in 57 degree weather? the way baptisms are applauded through singing and dance? the plastic mug we all share for communion? the “poyoyo” celebration dance of all that God has done for us this Christmas?????

Maybe you can tell me what you think.

Another friend asked me for an account, so that she could compare Christmas over here and in the Americas. So here it is: the story of the most joyous Christmas celebration I have ever attended anywhere (except maybe at the Christmas Day birth of my first child, but that is a whole other story).

Glenn and I filled the Prado with people, other Ferke town friends on the motorcycles preceding us so that they wouldn’t have to eat our dust. We were also pulling a trailer holding the bigger generator from our courtyard—the Tiepogovogo village does not have electricity, and they wanted to take advantage of all the new lights recently installed in their new church building. Their own generator can only run a couple of the lights at a time.

We drove out the 17 km, delighted that the first part of the road is now really smooth. It helps that the Prime Minister’s birth village is out that direction! Then we turned onto the small path-road that leads to the village, catching up with the motorcycles (one of which was now being towed by another). Once at the church building, Glenn and the men began what became a two-hour effort to get the generator to run. The village children and I waited inside, enjoying listening to the musicians practicing on the new church balaphones. About 10 pm they gave up, set up the small generator and lit a couple of lights, and the meeting began as the adults began to arrive. Looking back, I realize that there was an undercurrent of excitement that was palpable. It was all a prelude to the joy that would come in the morning when we would see 16 people baptized, people who meant a lot to us.

After the brief official welcome as people entered, moving aside the children who had fallen asleep on the benches while waiting, the women brought in huge pans of riz gras (fat rice) with beef and vegetables. We ate wherever we were sitting.

And the festivities began. All night long it was basically the same kind of program: about an hour of singing (with most of the congregation dancing in a circle that had been cleared in front of the benches), then a brief message or some testimonies, more singing and dancing, then prayer for various subjects, then more singing and dancing. Perhaps it would be good to explain that when the Nyarafolo believers dance, they form a circle and move counterclockwise together in rhythm. “Music” in Nyarafolo is the word “hitting things”:  percussion. And the dance is like an orchestra playing impromptu jazz improvisation, the people taking cues from one another to match their steps and gestures. It is based on community, and depending on the song, the dance may express worship, praise, petition, or service (as in a group coming together to plow a field). Sometimes the more energetic dancers will form an inner or outer circle, with the older or calmer women (including yours truly) maintaining the main circle with dignity. All are welcome to join, even the little ones mimicking the steps as they swirl around beside their elders. And during the all-night festivities, it does help people stay awake.

At one point Pastor Fuhoton asked about the significance of the incarnation, and one of the elders (Sikatchi, one of the first believers) gave a fabulous summary of how Jesus came to be our Savior, to take the punishment we all deserved. One of the favorite new songs was sung several times that night and the next morning at communion: “The blood of animals cannot take away sin, so God sent Jesus to be our sacrifice.” It was composed by one of the most creative singers in the Nyarafolo community, a member of the church, Kufanhawori. In a society where people are still constantly trying to repair their missteps (transgressions) by sacrificing animals to the spirits, the concept of substitutionary sacrifice (once for all!!) is deeply meaningful.

Testimonies told of healing that only Jesus could accomplish, all of the occult practitioners having been consulted but with no result; they also spoke of the goodness of God in bringing people into the Family. And we sang, and we danced, and we nodded off when we sat down to pray sometimes, but got up and danced again. It got VERY cold, so some of the kids and young men built fires outside the building and huddled around them. Many of us pulled on sweaters or coats we had brought along for just this reason. When the temperatures get into the 90’s during the day, the chilly 50’s or 60’s at night during this harmattan season are enough to turn many of us into huddled shivering hulks. Some of the used parkas that many Americans ditch do find their way to the African bush, and we are grateful.

Certain people did eventually retreat somewhere to snooze (including the weary Glenn), but at least a third of the group held out until the early pre-dawn. One of the women who would soon be baptized, Minata, never sat out a dance. She is in her fifties, and nearly died last year after suffering a compression fracture in her spine, with osteoporosis and other issues exacerbated by delayed treatment. It was about that time, with death looking into her eyes, that she and her husband finally quit struggling against the Good News and declared their faith in Jesus. Several of her 11 kids were already strong believers, but Fulokuo, her husband, was a very strong Muslim and had not wanted to change “paths.” When his children had chosen to attend Sunday School, he had beaten them and withheld that day’s food, trying stubbornly to turn them away from the Jesus Road. But in the end he became convinced of the truth in the Good News. Within months of coming to Jesus and getting treatment at the mission hospital, both of the parents have regained their physical strength. Both were to be baptized on Christmas morning. And Minata could not stop rejoicing all night long.

In the pre-dawn light, the women went to work hauling water from the new pump donated to the village by one of our supporters last year for Christmas. They fed breakfast (riz gras that had “slept over”, or millet porridge) to their families, and people bathed and put on good clothes for the holiday. Then everyone gathered in the church again for singing and a brief message. At about 10 a.m. we all walked over to the old little church, closer to the village, where there is an outdoor baptismal tank, shallow since the women fill it by bringing water in basins on their heads to the site. Because of the chilly weather, they also heated some of the water to take the edge off the cold.

And the amazing baptismal service began.

Watch the videos posted on our website to get a little more feel of the raucous joy that erupted as the congregation watched their dear ones declare publicly their allegiance to Jesus. These were people that they loved. Each candidate had chosen a relative or friend to welcome them as they climbed out of the tank, a special companion. Many of the candidates were the children of some of the first believers, some were friends that they had seen turn away from darkness into light, and Fulokuo and Minata were the “old people” who had shocked the world by changing “paths” in their old age. In spite of social ostracism by their former cohorts, and much criticism, they were doing the unheard-of: following their sons into a different path, the Jesus Road. 

It was also Pastor Fuhoton’s first time to officiate at a baptism, since he had been ordained earlier this year. Most of these people he had led to Christ, or had discipled in the past years. He was exuding fulfillment as he asked each one to declare their decision to follow Jesus, and then immersed them.

As each person came up out of the water the musicians led out in a song: “I believe in you, Jesus, I believe in you today, turning my back on all the old ways, “ and later on “Nothing can divide me from Jesus!” The crowd spontaneously began to celebrate in dance as Fulokuo came up out of the water, and his son Jakarija (the holdout true believer from his childhood) broke into enthusiastic praise, leading them in worship. Jakarija also helped his dear mother up the steps to the tank and received her into his embrace as she came out. He had told us earlier that although he had prayed for it, he had never thought he would actually see this day. Parents exulted similarly for their teenagers who were professing their faith. It was indeed raucous joy.

When the last person had been baptized, the crowd personally celebrated them, especially raising high the arms of each of the older couple and of the pastor as they danced.

We moved back into the church for communion, and as we shared the common cup (a plastic mug filled with “da”, a cold tea that in the U.S. is called “hibiscus”) and then the broken bread, we calmed our hearts to thank the Lord for his sacrifice and resurrection that make us free.

And then Pastor Fuhoton reminded us that, before Jesus and his disciples left that first “Last Supper,” they had sung one more hymn. He urged us to sing with gratitude and joy, and added that he thinks that when we dance, Jesus dances with us.

So this time as the group began to circle in the space between the podium and the benches, they chose a special step, something Abdoulaye tells me is a “poyoyo,” a leaping dance. It is unleashed joy expressed in hops and in arm movements suggesting working together. It was, for us, a dramatic group declaration of our gratitude as a community. Raucous joy.

And of course we ate more riz gras together again before taking our leave. But we heard that those who had been baptized were planning to reconvene for another all-nighter of celebration at the end of Christmas Day.

So do you think we might all get to celebrate like this, and in countless other cultural ways, when we all get to heaven? And wouldn’t you like to join us in Tiepogovogo next Christmas