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.”