Church in the Village of Chabagan

Today is Bangladesh’s Sunday.  The Muslim holy day of worship is on Friday and the dokans (shops and stores) and most businesses are closed on this day for a day of rest and worship.  This was something that was established while I was still here as a kid and the hospital  resisted for a while in order to keep the first day of the week the celebration of Christ’s resurrection.  However, this made it difficult for the Bangladeshis to be able to attend church if they were employed by anyone other than our hospital.  They would have to miss the weekly gathering for worship because Sunday is the first day of the work week here.  To create more issues, the Muslim Bangladeshis who were employed by the hospital wouldn’t show up for work on their holy day.  It created a conflict for both sides.  It was decided all those years ago to align the work week with the Muslim work week and that simplified the issue once again.  Therefore, on Friday mornings we attend church in the village and in the evening we enjoy an English service with the foreigners (expatriates) in Malumghat.  Then on Sunday we enjoy a weekly evening service and prayer meeting as well in order to celebrate the Resurrection on the scripturally mandated day.

That makes today the day of worship and we are off to the village Chabagan (Cha means “tea” and bagan means “garden”, making the village name “Tea Garden”).  It was wonderful to walk the path back to the village (about a 1.5 mile hike) and see all the development and changes along the way.  New homes made of cement surrounded by walls, many new shops, and even a cell phone tower were some of the new sights I had to process along the way.  The village of Chabagan has over 1 million people living on a piece of land that is smaller than the town of Erie.  It is truly mind-boggling to Americans.

I snapped few pictures of some kiddos along the way and showed them their image in the display screen.  They were delighted to see themselves, but the funniest part was that they would point to each other in the same picture and say “Ata Tumi!  Ata Tumi!”  (That’s you!  That’s you!)  They didn’t look at themselves and say, “That’s me!”.  

The bell for church began to ring so we started walking a little faster and made it just as the songs were starting. It was so beautiful to see the church ahead of us and hear the Bangladeshi Christians lifting their voices in praise.  I felt so happy to be in that very spot at that moment.  We slipped off our shoes and slid into the first open pew.  When it was time to pray we lifted our scarves over our head for prayer and whispered to the girls that we would follow the lead of the women in front of us.  When they start to cover their heads, we should too.  When the sermon began, the lady in front of us was able to show me her Bible and I remembered enough Bangla script to be able to read the book headings and numbers for chapter and verse.  (It has been fun for me to have the Bangla recalled to my memory both in speaking and reading.  I don’t have any opportunities to practice in Denver because there are very few Bangladeshis that live in northwest Denver.  I am better at understanding them than speaking it, but the combination of my limited Bangla and their limited English vocabulary, I am getting by.  They are, of course, tickled that I remember as much as I do but I feel frustrated that I don’t remember more!  Oh, how I wish I had been more diligent in my Bangla classes as a kid instead of playing hookie!)

We didn’t know the songs, of course, but the Lord gave us a blessing when in closing the song leader chose “He Leadeth Me”.  We knew that one and even though the English words don’t line up very well, we were able to think of the message of that song as the Bangladeshis lifted the roof.  It was just beautiful!  I remember the church services feeling impossibly long when I was a kid, probably because I didn’t know the language and it felt like forever that I sat there alone with my imagination.  Of course, it didn’t help that we had to sit on straw mats on the floor in a hot and crowed room with no air circulation.  Today’s service was short (an hour long), we sat on a pew with a fan whirring overhead.  There was also plenty of elbow room as they have re-built the church since my childhood into a much larger room.  It was quite pleasant and even the kids didn’t have time to grow bored.  I asked the missionaries if church was always that short and their response was, “Depends on who is preaching.”  Hmm….sounds familiar.

At the close of the service the pastor welcomed my parents and myself back to Bangladesh after many years.  They had us  and our families stand so everyone could see us (as if we didn’t already stand out in the crowd).  Afterward, we were bombarded with old friends and loved ones as they hugged us and squeezed the children’s cheeks exclaiming how cute they were.  It was so special to see so many of them and of course we received a lot of invitations for tea and dinner in the village.  Hooray!  That’s the BEST food ever and quite the cultural experience for those in our group who have never been here before.

I will share more as I have time…. the internet is difficult and unreliable so each blog entry is a long process.  Love to all!