Sivuyila National Baptist Church

I don’t go to church. As a matter of fact I can’t even remember the last time I enjoyed going to church. For many reasons, I’ve decided it’s not for me, but today I had the most incredible experience at church. Our group spent the morning at Sivuyila National Baptist Church in the township of Guguletu. We were the only light skinned people there, and the service was almost entirely in Xhosa, one of the local languages, yet it was easily my most powerful experience so far this trip. I’m not sure even combining the museums, breathtaking views, and Nelson Mandela’s cell could equate to it.

As the service started, I realized how different it was from the services I was used to as a kid. When the congregation prayed, they didn’t just pray. They didn’t just stand in the front and talk like I’m used to. No, the priest moved around. He gestured with his hands, to the congregation, to the sky, using his fists and pointing his finger; he shouted until his voice became hoarse. And the congregation didn’t just stand there and bow their heads to listen. No, they shouted back, they raised their arms, they proclaimed their agreement. That was just the praying. When they sang, they didn’t just sing, they made sure their voices were heard. They had cowbell type instrument they chimed, a drum they beat, and what I can only describe as little leather hand pillows they clapped rhythmically. And they danced. Boy oh boy did they dance. They danced in place, swaying from side to side, they linked arms and coordinated steps, and on more than one occasion they left their seats to gather in the aisle to join together and dance as they sang. As I grew more comfortable being in the church, I couldn’t help but dance in place to the songs that I couldn’t understand a word of. They did this all despite the heat, and it was hot in there. Everyone was sweating, but not a single man took off his suit jacket and not a single woman took off her hat or headdress. That alone was awesome. I had been warned that the collection was a powerful process, but nothing could have prepared me. These people, who live in some of the worst poverty I have ever seen, sang and danced their way to the front of the church to proudly place whatever they could into the offering. From watching, more often than not  it was mere coins leaving their hands. I’m pretty sure everyone in my group gave, and I couldn’t have been prouder to give my part.

I spent the first half of the service fighting back tears and I spent the second half trying to figure out why. I certainly wasn’t feeling sad or sorry for these people. In fact it was just the opposite. On the way to church I watched family after family gathered around the water spigots at the edge of the townships, gathering water for the day. The thought of having to do such a thing struck me; I couldn’t imagine the effort it would take simply to have water in the house. Then, I arrived at a church so united, so happy, so in love with life, you would have never thought of the circumstances in which they lived. Putting all my personal issues with church aside, I left Sivuyila inspired and thankful that such a place existed for these people to convene at.