When I go to Mass and learn that the presider is an African — as in, a priest from Africa, usually in the US for studies of some sort — the automatic response is a broad, goofy ginger smile.
I love African priests. They come from such a different cultural template than what Americans are used to — different stories, different taboos, different everything — that they can’t help but be interesting. People sometimes complain about their accents but the struggle to understand them worth the effort.
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