Ethiopia: Day 5…One God

Somehow…it’s a long story…we got connected with an awesome interpreter here named Bisrat. He grew up in a monastery, his mom a nun and his dad a monk. Earning no income from this, they had to beg for anything more than their one meal per day. After Jesus saved him, he began sharing the Gospel with the people there (who by the way believe that the line to God is through angels and saints, not Jesus). So, he was thrown in jail for 3 days and, when released, literally strapped to the top of a vehicle (because if he rode inside it the van would be cursed) and dropped off in the capital city. Knowing no one, he went to a leper colony to look for food and live because he had been told it was the cheapest place. Seriously, a leper colony. (He took 2 girls from our guest house there, and one of them gave out tootsie pops.) Anyway, he started a Bible study, which grew to a church, and he served as their pastor for 7 years. Now, while he is praying and studying to plant a local church, he lives in town and works as an interpreter for whities like us, forengies, as we are called. I have no clue how to spell that. And, we affectionately call him Bizzy.

When we asked Bizzy to take us to a church on Sunday, he began telling us about the church he had in mind. What he called a traditional American-style church. Right. Like any of us would want that even in America. We’re in Ethiopia! We want to see how Ethiopians do it! So, he agreed to take us to his church.

Keith said his first impression was how amazing it is that we all serve one God through Jesus. I think it’s amazing that we were able to join them in worship having no clue what anyone was saying. The service was of course in Amharic. But after an hour or so of singing, an usher handed out headsets so we could listen to the interpreter as she paraphrased the sermon the best she could.

After the service, people lined up at a little tin shack to purchase CDs of previous weeks’ worship or sermon. No podcasts.

Accompanied by Bizzy, our group (excluding me of course) wanted to dine at an authentic Ethiopian restaurant for dinner. One where they sing and dance and parade around in different costumes and body paint. It was quite the show, but the dish that sounded the safest turned out to be what looked like a bowl of canned chili with a fatty chicken leg and boiled egg tucked inside. Yep. The chicken and the egg. Inside the bowl of chili. When I questioned the waitress, who I’m sure had no clue what I was saying, she had to dig into the bowl of chili to ensure me that I did in fact receive both the chicken and the egg that the menu promised. And, although there were plenty of forengies, we were quite the spectacle.

In the end, she brought our table one very small upside-down hat full of popcorn, which selfishly I kept all to myself.