This past Thursday night Jon and I were provided the opportunity to have dinner with a local Angolan family. They wanted to cook for us a traditional meal, and then following it we would start the Easter weekend by sharing communion together.

On our way there we noticed dark clouds in the distance, not all too uncommon these days as it seems to rain regularly. In our minds we worried a bit, knowing that we would be eating outside since their stick homes are not really set up for indoor fellowship.

Upon arrival we saw a beautiful covered shelter, complete with a lovely cloth back wall, a plastic table covered in a nice table cloth, and many chairs seated around. You must understand, the father in his late 60’s or early 70’s had made this shelter that very day specifically for our meal because he was concerned about the rain coming.

Humbling.

The daughter, Tchihinga, had worked hard to prepare their local meal for all of us. We ate a porridge called ‘funge’, which is a bit sticky, almost reminding me of a dumpling; I would cut mine with my fork. Before when I had this, I gagged, but this time I actually enjoyed it mixed with the other foods. Along with the funge, we had some leafy greens which are cut in strips and cooked with tomatoes and onions. I personally really enjoy them. For the main dish Tchihinga made chicken, which was also in a nice sauce.

We were so blessed.

As the meal was ending, the winds started to pick up and the clouds continued with their daunting presence. We decided we should take communion. After some difficulty getting our hands on some bread, Tchihinga’s father gave a small message. He spoke of the Passover and while some of the message was lost in translation (he does not speak Portuguese, but N’Kangela, which was translated to English) his heart could not be mistaken.

This passionate old Angolan man, complete with his big black glasses, needing to practically shout over the wind, which threatened to tear his hand built shelter down… this man, he loved Jesus, and he wanted to remember what He had done. And he chose to do that with us.

Unforgettable.

Tonight we took communion again, and it had such meaning. Christ’s death and His resurrection are hope for me. It means that I am able, through the precious blood that was spilt by my Savior, to enter into the next life miraculously pure and spotless, dressed in white and ready for my groom. I can have hope that this present world is not my home; it is not the end. These present afflictions are but momentary.

Hosanna.