Homecoming

This past Saturday I assisted at the funeral of a young woman—she was 29. Her baby had been delivered stillborn six weeks before. Due to complications from the birth, she went into a coma. She died on January 2. A week prior to that I assisted at the funeral of a young man—26—the victim of a gang-related shooting in the township of Bonteheuwel where I have been based. I also recently visited the Slave Lodge Museum which chronicles the history of slavery in the Cape, as well as the struggle against apartheid in later years. On Wednesday I will visit Robben Island where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for 18 of his 27 years of incarceration. These events circle in my mind, connected somehow. What is the thread?



As I near the end of my time here in Cape Town I have mixed feelings; I am ready to come home and start a new semester at seminary, but I also feel like a part of me will always remain in Cape Town. The ministry work that I’ve been able to participate in here has been absolutely invaluable—an experience that will continue to inform me long after the plane touches down at JFK on January 21st, long after ordination, and beyond. Life-changing. I am so grateful to the Seminary Consultation on Mission for choosing my ministry proposal and awarding me the grant which enabled me to travel here to serve God alongside the people of Bonteheuwel township at the Church of the Resurrection. One of the friends I made here said last Sunday about my ministry at the church, "We put you in the deep end, and you did the backstroke!" High praise, indeed. I thank God for the courage and grace to serve. Having the experience of serving within the Anglican Communion in Cape Town makes me excited for the future of the church in South Africa, and beyond its borders. I'm excited for my future priesthood and where God will have me minister to his people. The practical church experience coupled with the exploration of Cape Town and the beautiful natural surroundings has made such an




impression on me that one of my Uber drivers just flat-out said, “I think you just need to move here!” He might be right. Cape Town—nicknamed “The Mother City”— with its difficult history, beautiful landscape, challenging problems, spirit of celebration, struggle for justice, fascinating culture, deep pride and wisdom and faith of its people is a tough one to let go of.


But more than that, it has been the stories of people that I’ve heard, been a part of and witnessed, and have allowed to settle in my soul. The stories of the lives I’ve been honored to know about. That’s the enduring thread for me. Each story of apartheid, each celebration, each discovery, each loss has instilled a new understanding, a new beginning, a richness within me. It has reminded me that God is present in it all— tempests and all. All you need to do is look up at Table Mountain to remember that all of it—the mysterious mix of life, death, struggle, joy and triumph— is all being held together by the One who created that glorious, majestic and marvelous massif. Table Mountain is a symbol of Cape Town, rising up from the landscape, strong and brilliant and dignified. Leaving will be hard, but I can just imagine the homecoming when I return—my mountain will welcome me back with open arms.

New Year, New Adventures

Happy New Year from Cape Town! Or, as they say here now, "Compliments of the season to you!"

Well, let’s back up a bit—Merry Christmas! At Church of the Resurrection, things were very busy. Cradled between a funeral on December 23rd and a wedding on Boxing Day, December 26, there were four Christmas services. Christmas Eve at 5pm was the Crib Service, where the children placed the creche figures into the manger scene. Then 10pm Christmas Eve was the first mass of Christmas, which ended at 12:30am. When I finally got to bed at 2am— and was forced to listen to the drunken revelers outside my window— I then woke at 6am for the 7am Christmas Day service where I preached. Then there was the 8:30am service, beginning eight minutes after the 7am service ended. Needless to say, I and the clergy team were tired. But not without them doing a few hospital visits after the services. Then it was time for Christmas dinner—well worth the wait! After visiting two homes for dinner and socializing, I finally crashed at 9pm. 

Our New Year’s Eve service was at 6pm. Lovely way to begin a new year. And I also visited Table Mountain by cable car that day. Lovely way to end the old year. 

On January 2 each year the Kaapse Klopse (or simply Klopse) minstrel festival takes place and it is also referred to as Tweede Nuwe Jaar (Second New Year) in Cape Town, South Africa. Tweede Nuwe Jaar is a day that is unique to Cape Town and stems from practices associated with slavery and its history and is linked with the Carnival. In the mid-nineteenth century the Cape slaves were given a day off from their duties on January 2 every year. During this alternate New Year celebration, the slaves would dress up as minstrels and dance rhythmically to the sounds of banjos, guitars, ghoema drums, whistles, trombones and tubas. 

Tweede Nuwe Jaar is a celebration of a community’s survival. It illustrates the continuity between its past, present and future. It is a day when the local working class community which survived slavery, segregation and apartheid celebrates its existence and perseverance. As many as 13,000 minstrels take to the streets garbed in bright colors, either carrying colorful umbrellas or playing an array of musical instruments. The minstrels are self organized into klopse ("clubs" in Afrikaans, but more accurately translated as “troupes” in English). Participants are typically from Afrikaans-speaking working class Cape families who have preserved the custom since the mid-19th century. I went downtown with some friends to witness the lively tradition and was not disappointed! 

Starting a new calendar year in South Africa is definitely a wonder. Political, social, and economic burning issues in the country continue into 2016. Yet, standing on the top of Table Mountain on New Year’s Eve day, and looking down over the beauty of Cape Town I was also struck by the wonder of the past year in my life— all the surprises, sorrow, rapture, and sure redemption. Journeying forward I pray: “Abba Father, enable us to live each day by Your grace— and in the strength of Your love— the small moments of this life we have been given with open eyes and humble, expectant hearts.”

  

The Legacy of Apartheid

In 1652 the Dutch arrived from the Netherlands to what is now the country of South Africa. They encountered the indigenous Khoisan people (made up of two separate tribal groups), much like those who encountered the Native Americans in North America. At first, the indigenous community assisted the grateful and weary travelers, but they soon realized that this was not how it would continue. Sound familiar?

Fast-forward to the implementation of dozens of apartheid laws of which the Group Areas Act of 1950 was one. Repealed in 1991, it assigned racial groups to various residential and business sections in urban areas in a system of urban apartheid. All individuals living in South Africa were required to register as a member of one of four officially defined racial groups— White, Indian, Colored and Black. Basically, the effect of the law was to exclude non-whites from living in the most developed areas and caused many non-whites to have to commute large distances from their homes in order to be able to work. It became a criminal offense to remain in occupation of property from which you were forced to leave with the punishment potentially being a fine and two years' imprisonment.

Mandela on the Cape Town Municipal Building downtown

The most famous of these historic uprootings happened in the District Six area. One person I spoke with was relocated from her home in District Six in the late Sixties when she was two-years-old. A letter was sent to the home and the family was told to vacate. The areas where uprooted residents were sent were mostly undeveloped, with just a few houses and sand everywhere—the Cape Flats. She was too young to remember the details of the forced move, but does remember her mother “crying and crying.” As she grew older she recalled her father speaking of the sense of community that was lost and the loss of freedom.

Present-day racial tensions have resulted from the Group Areas Act. It used to be that black and colored people lived together in racial harmony before the apartheid government so violently and ruthlessly kicked out families and bulldozed homes so that whites could move in. Although there is the painful memory of a shared struggle, the people and communities who were subsequently scattered across the Cape Flats often seem to be worlds apart. Transplanted to suburbs around Cape Town, their common uprooting instead created a divide. Bonteheuwel, where I am living, is mostly a colored community, while Langa is mostly black—and tensions exist.

Similarly diabolical was the Prohibition of Mixed Marriages Act of 1949 —repealed in 1985— which was an apartheid law in South Africa that prohibited marriages between people of different races. It was among the first pieces of apartheid legislation to be passed following the National Party's rise to power in 1948. Often those who were already in mixed marriages before the Act was put into effect had to be “reclassified” to another race in order to be in compliance. Since I’ve been here in Cape Town, I’ve listened to stories about family members passing each other on the street—people who lived in the same house!—who wouldn't acknowledge one another as they passed each other in public because one family member was classified white, while the other was classified colored. It tore families apart.

Just last week I read in the paper about how the Western Cape Khoisan have called for a reclassification of their race and the dismantling of references to groupings according to race. The Khoisan want to be acknowledged for who they are as a cultural group, recognized for their rich heritage, own distinct language, culture, and traditions, and for people to remember that their land was taken away. Otherwise, they feel that they cannot become part of a democratic South Africa if their voices are not heard. The apartheid government classified the Khoisan as colored, but reclassifying the Khoisan as aboriginal Khoisan would show future generations the importance of their particular aborigine culture.

Tutu's timeless message

Unfortunately, the legacy of apartheid still rears its ugly head, just as the legacy of slavery does the same in the United States. As I hear more and more stories of lives affected in Cape Town by this legacy, I ponder how we can find more that unites us rather than what keeps us apart.

Mandela, Tutu, and so many others fought for that very cause. 

Will we continue the fight?

Preaching Day

"Huiya mooura al mal!” I said as I stood in the pulpit. I had decided to take a risk and incorporate some of the Afrikaans language into my sermon, and “Good morning, everyone!” seemed like a good place to start. Lots and lots of good-natured laughter ensued from the congregation at my attempt. Although I love foreign languages, my American accent did not translate so easily into the lilt of Afrikaans. But it was my first Sunday preaching at the church and the congregation was smiling, so I was thrilled that I had them at hello.

From November 20, 2015 to January 20, 2016 I have the privilege of completing part of my General Theological Seminary field-work through participating in ministry for two months at The Church of the Resurrection in the township of Bonteheuwel (yeah, it’s taken me awhile to pronounce that one!) which is located in an area called Cape Flats in the city of Cape Town, South Africa. The church is part of the Anglican Church in Southern Africa which is comprised of several countries. South Africa itself has three dioceses, and The Church of the Resurrection belongs to the Diocese of Cape Town. Tommie and I were happy to learn that the current Archbishop of Cape Town, Archbishop Thabo, received an honorary doctorate from General Theological Seminary in 2009! We saw his degree hanging on the wall when we were invited to visit Bishopscourt, the Archbishop’s residence in Cape Town. 

On any given Sunday, the parish attendance at Church of the Resurrection can be between 500 to 600; on feast days such as Christmas and Easter there can be 800, or more. Father Terrence and Deacon Shaun put me to work at once— I was assigned to preach at a Sunday and at a Wednesday Eucharist. In addition to serving at the altar and preaching, so far I’ve assisted with hospital visits, home visits, house blessings, prayer meetings and funerals. Needless to say, there is no shortage of work, and this is perfect training ground for a priest-to-be. The clergy team is constantly on-the-go with much help from a strong lay-leadership ministry team, and I’m learning a lot about the life of a priest in an extremely busy and large urban parish. The people are warm, welcoming, dedicated, tenacious, kindhearted, hardworking, and so forgiving when I am forgetful of names. All the older women I call “Auntie.” 

But it is their faith which amazes and inspires me the most—their devotion to God and love of Jesus and commitment to the spiritual life of the parish is marvelous to behold and experience. It is such a vibrant and active parish, full of the love of the Lord and the working of the Holy Spirit. I’ve been a witness to their laughter, tears, dancing, and everything in between. The other night I attended a prayer meeting which always occurs a few days before a funeral. Lay-leaders of the congregation will come to the home of the bereaved family, and friends and other family members will gather to sing hymns, pray, comfort and encourage each other to strengthen the family as the funeral preparations are being made in the days ahead. The closeness of this community is so apparent in how they take care of one another, loving one another in difficult and painful times. It is a community of believers who know they are held and loved by God.

I had never before preached to such a large congregation, but in this community—my new church family— I didn’t feel nervous during it all. (Well…maybe just a little!) Just as they are held and loved by God, I also sensed that they in turn held and loved me as I stood at that pulpit. I remember climbing the three steps to the microphone thinking, “Okay, Deborah—deep breath.” But when I looked out over all of the faces, I knew there was nothing to fear. Afterwards they responded to me and to the message with great enthusiasm. And that had been my prayer all along—that whatever message God wanted them to hear would settle in their hearts. 

There is a saying here in Cape Town—“to be on your bicycle.” When you are are about to leave and go somewhere you say, “Okay, I’m going to be on my bicycle, now.” Even if you are driving away in your car. Or taking the bus. Or walking. It just means that you are about to leave for your next destination. I love that phrase because I feel as though I am “on my bicycle” in regard to my preparation for the priesthood; here in Cape Town I am on my way, learning and moving forward, step-by-step to the next place, being prepared for the next adventure in the journey. Yes, I know I will have some flat tires along the way, but by God’s grace, all shall be well.

Meeting The Arch

Hello everyone! Greetings from Cape Town! I have been here for a week (and finally have internet access at the house) and am absolutely in love with being here. Before I left, Bishop Dietsche expressly told me that I must come back to the States in January, but....ummm....well....(Don't worry, Bishop!) After a fifteen-hour flight to Johannesburg and a two-hour connecting flight to Cape Town, I made it--thanks be to God! My classmate Tommie came to pick me up from the airport, and the adventure continued. There are so many stories to tell, but the biggest highlight thus far was meeting Archbishop Desmond Tutu yesterday morning.

It was quite an auspicious day. “Arch,” as he is affectionately called, conducts a Eucharist service at St. George’s Anglican Cathedral in Cape Town every Friday morning at 7:15 am. Thanks be to God, we got through the morass of morning traffic and made it with eight minutes to spare. Tommie and I were greeted by the dean of the Cathedral, who immediately put us to work by assigning us scripture to read during the service. There were about 60 people of all nationalities in the side chapel sitting in the simple wooden chairs that surrounded the altar. Arch entered the chapel soon thereafter. Here I was before one of the greatest human beings I knew of in my lifetime. He began the service from South Africa’s An Anglican Prayer Book, saying "The Lord be with you..." in his distinctive voice. When it was time for the first lesson to be read, I got up and made my way to the podium and microphone. It was a reading from the book of Daniel. As I read Daniel’s vision that was so otherworldly, I realized that described my experience at the moment; never in a million years had I thought that I would be in such an intimate setting participating in a Eucharist celebrated by the venerable Archbishop Emeritus of Cape Town, Desmond Tutu! I finished reading and the service continued.

At the time of the exchanging of the Peace, Tutu asked all the visitors to stand and say where they were from. When he heard I was a student from The General Theological Seminary in NYC, his eyes lit up in wide delight. After all, we do have the Desmond Tutu center on the seminary campus. From Denmark to Minnesota, New York City to Sri Lanka people from all over the world were represented in that chapel. “You read wonderfully!” he said to me. A compliment from the Arch!

After the Peace, he celebrated the Eucharist in English, isiXhosa and Afrikaans. It was a beautiful and sacred service, for the Holy Spirit was keenly experienced in the presence of this man, in the prayers and in those gathered for the Eucharist. Afterwards there was time for pictures and autographs. Following the service, the Arch usually walks two blocks to a coffee shop where visitors can come and have coffee with him. Sitting mere inches from him over a cup of joe and talking about such things as how he keeps in shape by doing water aerobics made me chuckle and also be in awe of him at the same time. His infectious laugh and gracious spirit pervaded the room. The morning sun was shining on him through the plate glass window and his small frame looked resplendent in his simple herringbone cap, glasses, and African-print shirt. Calm beauty and wisdom exuding from this strong fighter for freedom and justice, lover of God and follower of Jesus.

There was such a gracious presence about him—in his authentic hospitality as he welcomed each person; in his hands as he reverently touched the bread and wine; the timbre of his voice; the strength evident in his spirit; that smile. Looking into my eyes he said, “God bless you” when we parted. Yes, truly, God has.