I live in Senegal, a country whose population is nearly 95% Muslim; so naturally, last Thursday, we had the day off for Ascension Day. Like the rest of the Christian holidays (Easter Monday, Pentecost Monday, Assumption, All-Saints, and Christmas Day), Senegal's observance of Ascension Day is a vestige of French colonialism. At the same time, these holidays function to help put flesh on Senegal's stated virtue of mutual respect and understanding among the religions, as well as its official status as a secular state. As it turns out, there are 14 public holidays each year in Senegal--six Christian, five Muslim, and three national or international.
"On est ensemble," the Senegalese are fond of saying, "we are together, and we all celebrate each others' holidays." That's true enough, but much more so for the major holidays. Christians are often invited to their Muslim neighbors' homes or receive prepared dishes delivered to their doors for Korité (the end of Ramadan) and Tabaski (the feast that celebrates God's faithfulness to Abraham). Christians, particularly from the Roman Catholic and Lutheran communities, prepare a special dish called "Ngalaax" for Good Friday and deliver it to the homes of many of their Muslim neighbors. And everybody seems to celebrate Christmas--either with the sense that it's the celebration of the birth of Jesus (the Messiah to us Christians, and a revered prophet for Muslims), or, sadly, from an increasingly commercialized and decidedly western secular celebration of conspicuous consumption.
So, how does one celebrate Ascension Day in Senegal? We went to the beach. The weather is getting warmer, there's still about six weeks of school left, and it's a rare pleasure to have a day off in the middle of an otherwise busy week. I'm sure that some people went to church--although an Ascension day worship is not big part of the tradition of the Lutheran Church of Senegal or any other Protestant community here. But I imagine that for most people--our family included--Ascension Day was more of a long-awaited break. A calm before the storm of end of year compositions and exams, before so many of our friends and colleagues leave Senegal, some for a summer's home assignment, others moving on to somewhere else.
The day after Ascension day, in a meeting of the ELS evangelism team, my colleague and friend Dirk Stadtlander read the text from Acts 1:4-10 (read it here).
This text is full of many great reminders for Christians in general, and Evangelists in particular. Sometimes we are called to wait. We wait until the Holy Spirit empowers us to act. We are witnesses to God's reign, made known to us in Jesus Christ.
What happens with that? When? To what extent? That's not always ours to know--that's God's own business.
But we will be, and we are Christ's witnesses to the ends of the earth. So we wait--but ours is an active waiting. We don't just stand there, looking up into the sky. No, we are called to gather together, to share the word, to share our meals, to share our lives, to share the good news. We wait--the calm before the storm, perhaps--in order to be gathered and scattered and gathered again.
It's tempting to laugh off the fact that a country like Senegal gives us the day off for Ascension Day. But maybe it's a good time for us to be reminded that we are Christ's witnesses to the ends of the earth. We wait for the spirit-filled and spirit-led opportunities to share the good news that we have received in Jesus, doing so in an atmosphere of deep respect and mutual understanding.
"On est ensemble," and we do celebrate with one another. Even on an otherwise random Thursday in May.
The Full Altar Tableau at the Keur Moussa Monestary
Peter