The Mentis Seminarist

EXTRACT

book COMING OUT IN JULY...

The church was filled more than other Sundays. She knew, it was because everyone anticipated the arrival of the priest from Monze, but to her understanding, he was not going to come again. Mukamuntu was losing faith in the church. Tebule the catechist was the most disappointed of them all. He couldn’t understand that, after making all those efforts to have the priest visit their outstation after a long time, he couldn’t still come.

“Sorry fellow congregants, it looks like the priest won’t make it again. Since we didn’t prepare any homily knowing that he was going to come, it’s as well better that we just disperse and go home do something worthwhile”, Tebule announced.

“Does anyone in Monze even know that we exist? Maybe we are just doing things without anyone knowing our presence here. When was the last time a priest came here?” Mukamuntu asked. And everyone looked back at her.

“Who can dream of a priest coming here? Do they even count us? We are only known and important when there are contributions needed to build a bishop’s house”, another woman backed up.

“I was in Monze two weeks ago my sister and I met the parish priest himself who assured me that, this week is ours”, Tebule explained with a furious face.

“Why doesn’t the church just allow us women get ordained as priests. At least we can walk long distances to church. These men are just after driving posh cars and running away from family responsibilities in the name of becoming priests”, Mukamuntu reiterated.

“You are right my sister. But Jesus used to walk”, another man picked it up and there was disdained unhappy murmurs in the church. Then suddenly there was a shocker.

“But are you here to be addressed by a priest or to pray for your own salvation?” a young man seated at the back shouted bringing everyone to silence.

“And who could you be sir?” Tebule asked, and the young man stood up.

“Oh, Buumba, it has been a long time”, Tebule exclaimed and everyone paid their attention to him.

Buumba walked a similar distance from home as that of Mukamuntu to come to the church from down the plains of Kaumuzya.

“Well maybe I am just like the absent priest too”, he joked as he walked to the front. He was a regular attendant, who mostly came to spend worthwhile time unlike staying home sleeping when he was tired of reading his books. That Sunday his mother couldn’t come along because she wasn’t feeling well and his father was busy with his own teaching business. It was so important for him to attend because, meeting the priest before he travelled to school, was going to be a great opportunity for him to inquire on seminary life, but alas, the priest had his own errands. But this gave him an opportunity to show his church that they were sending to a seminary someone who won’t disappoint them when the days of reckoning came. The spirits of the lord filled his courage, and he stood there to complete his thoughts. And everyone lent him their ears.

“What is it that you don’t have, that the priest has; that makes you feel so bad that you want to abandon your faith?” Buumba started talking.

“A priest was trained to preach to us. That’s his job. He must come here and interpret the bible for us. Why did he go to college to train if not for preaching? We are not trained to do so”, Mukamuntu who spoke while standing, sat down. Buumba’s throat ran dry. He was meeting her for the first time. Beautiful was an understatement. She wore a white and black stripped sleeveless dress, with black sandals. Her face, though with a few pimples on her forehead, had smooth and radiant looks. Her hair was neatly knotted with mukule, with big thin iron-made ear rings hanging on either side of her ears. When she talked, her gap on her front teeth revealed the reeling mettle winding in her blood. It was so common with children of such upbringing, they attained maturity fast and refused to be wooed towards things they did not agree with. Buumba’s thoughts at her sight got confused. Such daring challenge, was unexpected, worse still charming, coming from such a gorgeous and smart young lady.

“I thought I heard earlier on someone saying that Jesus used to walk and not travel in a car? If I may ask, did Jesus go to college to be trained as a priest so that he could interpret the bible well?” Buumba asked. And immediately Mukamuntu stood up.

“When was the bible written?” she asked and sat down. Buumba’s face fell below his nose. What he first thought was a genuine ignorance from her, realized it was a challenge of his knowledge.

“My point is that, you don’t need a priest to go to heaven. Your faith is personal. When you come here to pray, you don’t do it for the priest. You do it for yourself, because we are all one; created in God’s image. No one is superior to the other, the priest inclusive. If you want to know what the bible says, read it”, Buumba spoke. Everyone in the church was silent and looked tangled.

“But you didn’t answer her question”, Tebule remarked.

“But is it necessary?”

“Yes it is necessary”, Mukamuntu said, as she stood up again. “If the bible was not there during Jesus’ time, then it means, there was nothing biblical to interpret but just scriptural!”

“But we are told of scriptures being interpreted by Jesus, aren’t we?”

“Yes scriptural, not biblical. And are those scriptures the same as the ones in the bible?”

“Where is this discussion going?” Tebule joined in. And there was a murmur from others, agreeing with him that the talk be stopped before some committed a sin. But Mukamuntu was far from ending it mid-way. She couldn’t just walk for more than five hours to come to worship and be sent back home because a priest wasn’t around.