Jesus Film

September in Zambia isn’t technically the cold season. People plant crops in the morning and the afternoons begin to get hot. I try to stay inside during the afternoons. The grass-thatched roof of my hut insulates the interior from the heat as well as anything else available and I am- for a change- thankful to live there.
The nights are still chilly, however, and it was quite cold the night the Jesus Film came to Nselauke. I was given a seat of honor next to the reel-to-reel projector that night- a wooden bench. Although elevated, the bench somehow managed to be less comfortable than the ground. Even so, I sat still and tried my best to look content. I knew that if I were to lower myself to the ground I would have to answer to the guardians of my perceived comfort, so I smiled and focused on maintaining the circulation in my legs. The hardest part was looking non-chalant.
The film was to begin at around 1900 hours, as the projector needed the sun to go down before it could work its magic. The standard operating procedure in Zambia is for a meeting of this nature to start at least an hour late- two hours late if at all possible- but the Bearer of the Jesus Film wasn’t a Zambian. She was a small, stern-looking Canadian woman with white hair and spectacles. She looked on with authority as a group from the Evangelical Church of Zambia erected a large white screen in the middle of the football pitch that was our theater. The screen was composed in a way that allowed the image to be projected on one side and still visible- as a mirror image- on the opposite side.
A compromise was reached between the Standard Zambian Operating Procedure and the Bearer of the Jesus Film and the projector whirred to life at exactly 1930. A string of lights that had been strung near the screen to help with setup was extinguished. Familiar faces from the village began to appear all around. Smiles were lit by the glow from the projector as they played on happy expectant faces. I could see people talking excitedly in the local language and I forgot for a second that my legs were numb. I just listened to the crowd noise and allowed myself to be excited about the idea of the Jesus Film.
Between the projector and the screen there was a cone of white light shining on swirling dust and nighttime bugs. Through the dust and bugs, I saw a man stand up. The command was given for prayer and the crowed quieted and bowed their heads. After the “Amen,” the general noise of the crowd returned until the cone of light changed from white to a series of moving colors and the Jesus Film began.
The film showed the story of Jesus’ life from birth to resurrection. It was basically a film version of the book of Luke. I had seen the film before, although I couldn’t really say where or when. It must have been shown in a catechism class, but I don’t remember for sure. First communion, youth group, confirmation- all seemed to melt together and I couldn’t really remember what I had learned where.
The credits finished and the film opened on a countryside that looked biblical, but was probably in California somewhere. Still, I couldn’t help the feeling that I was back in the basement of St. Joe’s in Bertha, Minnesota, trying my best to get a handle on this subject that seemed to mean so much to everyone else and feeling like maybe I had missed something. When the characters spoke, it threw me. I knew that the film was overdubbed in kiikaonde, but it was still a bit of a shock the first time Jesus said, “muji byepi” (How are you?). The crowd around and on both sides of the screen loved it, though. They cheered when Jesus, after being found alone in the temple, said that obviously He was in His father’s house. When Jesus encountered the devil (a snake in the film) in the wilderness, a wave of boos and hisses rippled over the crowd, and there was clapping at every miracle.
My mind remained in the basement of St. Joe’s. I thought about those days of prayer memorization and Bible verses. I remembered the nuns that came to teach us in the summer and suddenly remembered how every one of them thought that I would make a good priest. I didn’t think so. I wanted things that I knew a priest couldn’t have. How to get those things was a mystery to me, but less of a mystery than the idea of being “called” to the faith, so I forgot that notion. It was never really mine anyway. The thing was- I was sure that I wasn’t good enough to be a priest.
My mind came back to the Jesus Film. I could see the Bearer of the Jesus Film behind the projector. She looked very contented and I knew that she was satisfied with the way the film was being received. I had talked to her earlier in the day and listened as she told me that the film would be shown at 1900 hours unless the devil did something to interfere. When she mentioned the devil, an image of a man in a red suit with a pitchfork fiddling with the reel-to-reel projector appeared in my mind. It was the same way that Santa Claus in a bathrobe appeared every time God was mentioned during catechism.
I didn’t laugh when the Bearer of the Jesus Film mentioned the devil as if he were some shady character in the neighborhood. I didn’t even smirk. I looked her in the eye and nodded like it was the most normal conversation topic there could be. A pang of guilt went off inside me. I didn’t feel guilty because I didn’t really believe in the devil. I had come to terms with that a long time ago. I felt guilty because I was lying about what I believed. Here was the Bearer of the Jesus Film- someone who had come to Zambia to give people spiritual guidance- and I was giving her a false impression of my spirituality. I felt very guilty.
As I looked at the Bearer of the Jesus Film in the light of the projector, I began to realize that lying about my spirituality had been the problem all along. That’s why the nuns had thought that I would be a good priest. I had allowed them that impression. I had thought differently from the very beginning, but I had never shared my thoughts with them. I sat on a bench in Sub-Saharan Africa and wondered why the film didn’t really mean anything to me, but I didn’t tell anyone that it meant nothing to me. I remembered sitting in the basement of St. Joe’s thinking that everyone else was privy to information that I didn’t have. Maybe the others didn’t have the information either.
How could the priest or anyone else help us to believe if we never showed our doubts? We were a flock of sheep too afraid to let on to the shepherd that we were bleeding to death.

Three reel changes later, the Jesus Film ended. There was much clapping and then a prayer. After the prayer, everyone just sort of stood around looking cold and didn’t seem to know what to do next. The local pastors moved through the crowd filling out forms recording any spiritual awakening that might have happened during the film. I talked with the Bearer of the Jesus Film. I told her that I had enjoyed the film very much. She told me about where she had been with the film and some of the difficulties she had faced. I looked her in the eye and nodded. She gave me a booklet on interpreting Bible verse, and I smiled and accepted it. I walked the three kilometers home to my hut in the dark and put the booklet on my nightstand.