Sunday in Tonga

The majority of my life was spent in Utah Valley where there is hardly anything open on Sunday, so I assumed I would be prepared for the entire country shutting down.  I wasn’t, I didn’t have an easy time adjusting to not being able to buy a drink, or go to a restaurant on Sundays.

I arrived in Tonga in the middle of the week, and was in Vava’u by Friday.  Suddenly it was Saturday night around 11 pm it was announced we needed to go to the “Chinese store.”  While walking there it was explained to me that the only thing that is allowed to be open on a Sunday are the bakeries.  We bought enough food to feed the all of the family, and carried it back to where we were staying.  The tourist shops had recently gotten into trouble for operating, and the police cracked down on businesses violating the law. 

Sunday seemed to come early, 5 am early.  Instead of the roosters that had awoken me previous mornings, it was the choirs singing beautifully and loudly that had caused me to wake up. The congregations filled the island with graceful and touching praises. 

The few Sundays I was able to spend in Tonga were relaxing, albeit were probably considered extremely sacrilegious by those observing us.  In order to buy things, we had to pay off an owner of a store to break the Sabbath laws.  We went to beaches and swam at the wharf (with those of the opposite sex no less.)  I made sure as not to laugh too loudly, and to try to be more reverent when I was walking about and saw a congregation being let out of their services.  

The last Sunday I was in Vava’u, I planned on attending the Weslayan church with the family I was staying with.  I had a shirt picked out, and a tupenu ready to be worn, that is until I became violently ill.  Being as sick as I was, I had to stay home while other members of the family went to the services. Looking back I wonder what I did to deserve not being able to attend church services--was it the swimming on a Sunday, or buying beer on a Sunday? 

It wasn’t until last Sunday that I was able to attend a Tongan church service.  I chose to go to the Tongan United Methodist Church.  While I was driving there I became lost, rendering me 30 minutes late, but thanks to everything running on Tongan Time, I was actually 40 minutes early. 

Being the only palangi on the church property, I attracted a lot of stares and pointing fingers.   I waved hello to a group of women and gave a standard greeting. They laughed and yelled “The palangi knows tongan!” Continuing into the chapel I sat in the back.   The children playing in the front stopped immediately and pointed at me exclaiming “Who’s the white skinny guy?!” I laughed, gave the peace sign and stayed in the back.  The service was filled with beautiful music, and an impassioned sermon. Definitely something that I will look forward to attending again.