One of the things I admire in the African church is the thanksgiving: when people want to publicly thank God for something in their lives. Often, when the priest announces that there will be a thanksgiving, others come up to the rail to give thanks, which involves collecting the thanksgiving, often money. Or a gift. Or a chicken that’s left in the vestry (which I saw. Once.).
This Sunday, the Provost announced that there would be a thanksgiving. I have to admit that since we started 30 minutes late, I wasn’t terribly amused. At the appropriate time, he announced the thanksgiving, and the family, and others, came up to the rail to give thanks to God.
Then the Provost said that Sarah (the woman) was giving thanks for having delivered her baby, even though the Lord took the baby just a few minutes later.
So my heart broke in a million pieces. I infer that it had been a difficult pregnancy, and that the church had been praying for her for “some good time,” as we say. But she had just delivered a baby, just to surrender him or her to God right away.
And there she was, giving thanks. For her life, for surviving the pregnancy, for the goodness of God in the face of tragedy. And I was completely humbled.
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