September 19

What does one do on Sunday? Why go to church, of course. Huh? Those who know me well are checking a calendar for April first. It was Methodist. Mom would be so proud.

While the speaker was droning on in Tongan (much of it while wiping away tears), many in the congregation had heads bowed on the pew in front ostensibly praying, but I'm thinking nap, knowing that loud music would immediately follow to awaken them and maintain their cover.

There is a big clock in front which seems odd. Guess they want to know how long the good news will last. Despite reports of some island services extending for two and a half hours, we were released in just 55 minutes.

One woman in the congregation stood up midway and with great emotion spoke for a few minutes. She seemed very taken with the spirit, but it was evocative of an AA meeting. "Hi, my name is Jack and I have sinned. I haven't had an impure thought in three minutes and 27 seconds. Oh, hello sister Myra... oops."

Interestingly, because Oceanians were not particularly religious before missionaries, there is a native word for God (Atua), but not for 'Amen', which was the only one understandable during the entire proceeding.

Music was divine, so to speak. Everyone from this part of the world must be born with the singing-in-harmony gene. Songs were in Tongan with Polynesian harmonies, but pace and composition obviously made them hymns. It really was remarkably beautiful.

In the afternoon was myself so taken with some kind of spirit decided to rebuild the head, which had been showing minor signs of distress for several months. Except for joker valve, all used parts are serviceable should any new ones poop out.

Jack