It seems strange and a bit sad to realize that my Ghanaian adventure is nearly over. Two more days, and I will be heading back to Accra for the long trip home. This past week or so has been full of last-minute scrambles to try and make the most of the little time that remains. This past weekend, I was in Accra with one of my friends (Haruna) from the institute. It was a very interesting, but nonetheless exhausting, experience, as he wanted to introduce me to a wide variety of churches and people at all parts of the city in order to familiarize me with the situation of the “Charismatic move of God in Africa” on the ground, as it were. After this whirlwind tour of Accra, I caught a Trotro back to Akropong, spent the night there, and the next morning, caught a Trotro back to Accra for another full day of running around chasing interviews. Sitting in the Trotro on the way back, wedged between two people (one of whom had a seat by the window, which he had closed) as the old vehicle struggled its way up the hill, I thought for the first time really that I’m going to be ready to be going back home.

On further reflection, it’s with decidedly mixed feelings that I contemplate my homecoming. To be sure, there are many things that I look forward to, and after this exhausting week, I don’t think I could really sustain this pace much longer.

It will be nice to see family and friends. It will be nice to be able to escape notice when I want to, and not be chased by catcalls of “Oburoni!” every time I go outside. (When it’s young children who are simply curious because they’ve never seen such a strange creature in person, then I don’t mind, but I find it a bit irritating coming from older people.) It will be nice to be able to sleep through the night [God willing] without waking up at two in the morning to lie on the tile floor beneath the ceiling fan for 45 minutes in an attempt to cool off. It will be nice to eat the occasional meal that does not consist of watery porridge and/or fried fish (although I will sorely miss the fresh pineapple; I’ve never had anything quite like it). It will be nice to take a hot shower, and what’s more, it will be nice to want to take a hot shower. It will be nice to exercise again without quickly feeling the onset of heatstroke. And, despite my general technophobic outlook, it will be nice to have a reliable power grid so that I don’t lose my work at unpredictable intervals.

On the other hand, there are many things that I have experienced in Africa that I am quite sad—even frightened, in a sense—to leave behind. Speaking in broad generalities, but nonetheless, generalities that reflect my own experience and perception, I feel that in America, ‘faith’ is something that for most people only has any real significance for about two hours a week (if at all); in Africa, by and large, it is a 24/7 affair, and there is, in the words of Abraham Kuyper, “Not one square inch of human endeavor over which God does not plant His flag and declare, ‘This too is mine.’” In America, the Bible is an ancient book that reflects the events and situations that occurred 2,000 to 3,500 years ago (or 1,800 to 2,400 years ago, or never, depending on which scholars one gives credence). As such, even for those who accept it as in some sense authoritative, it often has little relevance to daily life, and academic study will generally only increase this sense of irrelevancy by emphasizing (and, in my opinion, often inventing) ways in which the text cannot be accurately read in a straightforward manner. In Africa, the Bible is a book that happened yesterday—it describes present realities, and further study only deepens that perception of relevance and immediacy. In America, “mission” is a term that has little meaning outside of video games; in Africa, at least among the African Christians that I’ve encountered, it’s a way of life. In America, “religion” and “faith” are “head” words, describing intellectual opinions regarding abstract metaphysical concepts; in Africa, these words are “heart” words, describing the totality of one’s identity and life experience.

Now, as I said, these are generalities, and I am aware of the danger of projecting my own notions of an evangelical utopia or a Christian version of the “noble savage” onto my African experience. There are certainly many things about African culture, and African Christianity, that I find puzzling or troubling. It is strange to be in a place where such figures as Joel Osteen and Oral Roberts are spiritual heroes rather than the butt of condescending jokes. I still don’t know what to do theologically with the prominence of Mega-church prosperity teaching here, particularly as the largest churches in Ghana often seem to center more upon the worship of the lead pastor rather than the worship of God. I think that the notion of “Your Best Life Now!” sounds more like wishful thinking than anything I take out of the Bible. And although my firsthand experience of “primal” culture has certainly broadened my perception of the spiritual forces at work in the world, it is hard for me to tell where such legitimate practices end and superstition begins; the self-proclaimed “prophets” selling “blessed” bottles of oil guaranteed to cure what ails you are a rampant phenomenon in African Christianity, which strikes me as particularly troublesome.

Nonetheless, all my reservations aside, I have to face up to the fact that, where Christianity is alive—where lives are changing—where the Spirit is moving—this is what it looks like. I’m not sure what to make of this. The best I can do right now is that maybe these mega-churches are one example of God “using the foolish things of the world to shame the wise,” and that maybe such men are whom Christ had his mind with his “Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name cast out demons?” in Matthew 25. The fact that He “never knew” them does not mean that he is not willing to use them in order that others might know Him. In any case, it occurs to me that perhaps the central issue is that God prefers “selfish” but sincere requests to pious-sounding ones that do not spring from any sincere desire. When African Christians come to pray for deliverance from demons and blessings on bank accounts and healing of sicknesses and favor with prospective employers, it’s because they really want those things, and really believe that God can provide them. When western Christians (myself included) ask for “an increase of grace,” or “humility,” or “guidance,” or other such requests, more often than not I get the impression that it is out of a sense of obligation than any real expectation of response, or even desire to actually receive the thing requested. “God” is understood to be the underlying justification for what I do myself; after all, “heaven helps those who help themselves.” Perhaps if we start by telling God what we really want, that will begin a relationship whereby we can be transformed into people who actually want what we should want; whereas, starting as though we had already finished, we do not bring our real desires—our real selves—to the table, and thus prevent any real chance for encounter with God.

As I go back, I would appreciate your continued prayers; honestly, I am far more nervous about going home than I was about coming. Please pray for wisdom, discernment, and guidance in analyzing and compiling my findings, and then submitting them and trying to figure out what next to do. (I realize that this is the class of “pious” request I mentioned above, but for some reason, it seems easier to sincerely ask these things for others than for oneself). Please pray for financial provision to finish up my degree. Please pray for the church in Africa, that God would guide and sustain what is happening here, and use it as an instrument of blessing to the world. And please pray especially for America. One of the students that I interviewed—a Canadian—said that it’s “often hardest to see what God is doing in your own back yard.” On the homecoming, that’s definitely how I feel. There are many wonderful people in North America—loving, compassionate, conscientious, faithful. However, as a culture, it feels to me that what binds us together is increasingly destructive and corrupted, bringing out the worst rather than the best in these people, and it is difficult to perceive where God might be at work in that. Kwame Bediako—the founder of ACI—said that the key to “mission” is to “find what God is already doing, and then do it with Him.” Please pray for me—for all of us—that we will be able to do this.