One Sunday after the Baptism of his child, I was eating at the home of Masanja, one of the Sukuma people in Nata, Tanzania.  His house, a mud hut with a grass roof.  His bed, a cow skin on the floor.  We ate with our fingers, no silverware.  Even while eating I was bitten by some ticks. "Masanja," I asked him, "your wife is a Catholic; your seven children have all been baptized. When will you start to pray?"  "Padri," Masanja responded, "I have cows, I have a good wife, many children.  I have everything!  What else can I pray for?"

"Masanja," I answered, "Did your wife and children greet you this morning?"  "Of course!" Masanja exclaimed.  I asked, "What would you do if tomorrow morning your son walks right by you without greeting you?"  Masanja answered, "If he would refuse to greet me, I’d beat him."  "But, Masanja," I told him, "you are that son.  You say we are all God’s children; yet, morning after morning you don’t pray, you don’t greet your Father in heaven who gave you all that you have.  To pray is more than to ask for something."