Three Stones Support the Pot

(Photo by Michael K. Nichols, http://travel.nationalgeographic.com/places/photos/photo_congo_congo.html)

I mentioned in a previous post that Barbara Kingsolver's The Poisonwood Bible had influenced my thinking about our recent church survey. Read on to see how.

Kingsolver's novel imagines the clash of cultures that occurs when a Georgia preacher intent on saving Congolese souls drags his wife and four girls to the village of Kilanga on the Kwili river. Nathan, a tireless proclaimer of the gospel with a forehead of flint, stubbornly insists on imposing his understanding of the world on the Congolese villagers. From his first attempt at a garden (which is promptly washed away by the first rain because he refuses to use the Congolese method of mounding his seed beds), Nathan tries to raise the Congo to his higher, American standards. As his daughter notes, however, "It's like he's trying to put rubber tires on a horse" (284).

Of course, Nathan's struggle with the Congo is a microcosm of what happens on a much larger scale when the Congo is opened to the West. As the West, blinded by cultural elitism, imposes its ways of thinking and acting on the Congo, its people must decide to resist or acquiesce. Both decisions yield dire results.

In the novel, "elections" are a flash point for this conflict. When the Belgians grant independence to the Congo, they organize an election so that the people can choose their new leader. But Belgium's idea of a fair election defies Congolese sensibilities. "To the Congolese," one of the daughters narrates, "it seems odd that if one man gets fifty votes and the other gets forty-nine, the first one wins altogether and the second one plumb loses. That means almost half the people will be unhappy, and in a village that's left halfway unhappy you haven't heard the end of it. There is sure to be trouble somewhere down the line" (265).

The Congolese system of reaching consensus through extensive dialogue could never adequately decide nation-wide elections, of course. But the Congolese don't think in nation-wide terms; they think on a village-sized scale.

In one scene, the chief of Kilanga, Tata Ndu, tries to use Western ways to achieve his ends. He opposes the missionaries' attempts to convert his village to Christianity. He worries that their actions are angering the gods and prolonging a deadly drought. So, he appears in church one Sunday, interrupts the sermon, and announces, "Now it is time for the people to have an election." The subject of this impromptu act of democracy? "We are making a vote for Jesus Christ in the office of personal God, Kilanga village" (330).

Nathan objects to the blasphemy, but the villagers respond, "you thatched your roof and now you must not run out of your house if it rains."

While the "parishioners" are casting their votes by placing pebbles in voting bowls, one for Jesus and one against, Tata Ndu drives home his point:

"Our way was to share a fire until it burned down, ayi? To speak to each other until every person was satisfied. Younger men listened to older men. Now the Beelezi tell us the vote of a young, careless man counts the same as the vote of an elder."

In the hazy heat Tata Ndu paused to take off his hat, turn it carefully in his hands, then replace it above the high dome of his forehead. No one breathed. "White men tell us: Vote, bantu! They tell us: You do not all have to agree, ce n'est pas necessaire! If two men vote yes and one says no, the matter is finished. A bu, even a child can see how that will end. It takes three stones in the fire to hold up the pot. Take one away, leave the other two, and what? The pot will spill into the fire" (333).

* * *

I suppose you can see why my interest in the whole idea of a "church survey" soured after reading this. We needed to make a decision: would we have Bible class first or worship first? And we choose to address that decision with a "vote," a survey that would determine what the majority of people wanted and thereby what the proper decision and course of action would be. That seems to me a gross misapplication of a nation-wide system for a village-sized issue.

A 2-to-1 result in our survey would be a substantial majority. So, do we follow the will of the majority, make the decision, discard one stone, and watch the pot spill? I've seen decisions happen that way in churches. In this case, I think we have something to learn from our "unsophisticated," un-industrialized, un-democratized brothers in the Congo. Having long talks until the fire burns down, giving weight to the words of our elders, and waiting for consensus to build seems like a wise course of action.

Of course, that calls for patience atypical of "a young, careless man." I see a problem, a way to make it better, and I want to act immediately. Waiting only allows the problem to persist! Ponderously discussing the problem only delays the remedy. I must realize that I may be wrong about the solution, however; and even if I am right, swift action may leave half the village unsettled and unhappy.

I hope our "church survey" results in the best possible outcome (more on this in the next post). For now, we've made an initial decision. It's a decision that defied the majority, and maybe that's a good sign (though I wouldn't want to make that a rule!). But the decision also encouraged further conversation, and that's probably the best sign. Our little village will continue to talk and argue together, balancing the pot in the fire, and I suppose that's even more important than agreement.