Back in the States, I’d recently resumed going to Mass.  I’d spent some time away to mull the scandals of my Catholic church.  Upon return, I was lucky to find a good parish with a delightfully cynical pastor who really makes me think.  Well worth the price of admission.  I’d hoped I could find something like that in Ghana.

When you get off the airplane in Accra, religion is right out there. Many of the taxicabs have inspirational messages stuck to the back window.  “Nyame Adom” (By the grace of God) or “Nyame Bekyere” (God will provide) are popular expressions.  While it is comforting to see a fellow motorist with such devotion, they still drive like cabbies.

The storefronts also demonstrate the strong devotion of Ghanaians.  “Faithful Is the Lord Cold Store,” and the “Pray Hard Provision Store” are good examples.  The “God Is Great Beauty Salon” implies a lot of faith by some patrons. The “Trust Nobody Cool Spot and Pepper Soup Joint” is there for balance.

In my very limited mastery of Twi (i.e. greetings), I’ve learned that Ghanaians don’t really say “hello.”  Instead, the greeting is “ete sehn?,” or “how are you?  A common reply is “Nyame adom, mehoye,” or “by God’s grace, I’m well.”  The first time a business meeting started with a prayer, it kind of surprised me.  Not wear-it-on-your-sleeve devotion, but ever-present and a cornerstone of this culture.

In my quest for a parish that felt like home, I attended an interdenominational service which set the bar pretty high. This was my first of this type, and it was inspiring.  Music, testimonials and laying on of hands.  Powerful, but I’d grown up with a different structure that sort of defined my religious comfort zone.

My next attempt was a parish that was dominated by an Irish pastor.  My roots are predominantly Irish and I served a sentence in a Catholic boys’ high school run by Irish priests.  So this wasn’t really something I wanted to repeat.  I soon found that I just couldn’t pick the right Masses to avoid this guy.  His sermon (lecture) to first communicants about the evils of not making your bed and to their parents about the perfidy of eating kabobs finally put me over the edge.  Time to go shopping again.

I checked some other places out that didn’t really ring my chimes, but learned a lot.  Catholic Masses in Ghana are much more invigorating than in the States.  People get up at random and dance in the pews to compelling, inspirational, rock-out music.  Communion is relatively disorganized – no orderly pew by pew march.  Folks get up as they like, and the priest keeps going until no one is left.  Offertory (collection) is another story.  Pews are emptied in order, EVERYONE queues and dances up the aisles to put something in the baskets at the front of the church.  Maybe a bit of peer pressure?

In the USA, most Masses I’ve attended take about 1 hour, tops.  Then squirming ensues.  We’ll tolerate a bit longer for Easter and Christmas.  In Ghana, don’t expect to get out in under 2 hours, 3 if there’s a veneration or a lot of parish announcements.  I’m always faced with a dilemma:  do I duck an accounting of last week’s collection proceeds or sit tight knowing that because I stick out, EVERYONE will notice me departing early.  Oh, and never choose the last Mass of the day.  They can go on and on…  In the end I decided that Mass length would not be (much of) a criteria for parish selection.

Finally, I found the military barracks church.  The Reverend Doctor Philip Mensah is just what you’d expect of a priest who is also a Wing Commander.  I’d put him up against any Baptist minister in full swing.  His voice, his command of the congregation, and most important, his message brings it all home.  No kabob lectures here.  He doesn’t mince words about the corrupt aspects of the government either, and charges the parishioners to force the change that’s needed in this country.  My kind of guy.

One of our local SEED staff, a pastor in his own right, pointed out that without strong faith, Ghana would be a “burning inferno.”  It’s an understatement to say that Ghanaians have been kicked in the teeth a lot.  They have put up with everything from massive slave export to colonial brutality, vicious despots, military coups, and a very corrupt government.  I don’t begin to understand their tolerance and patience, although I see it every day.  When I tried to describe their spirit to a fellow American, she concluded, “so they’re happy.”  No, I told her, not always and not enough.  The life for so many folks here is very hard.  But they persevere and grow and have their joys and tragedies, more than their share of tears, lots of laughter and of course, that deep faith.