strange top posts

From time to time you write a post that just seem to get search engine hits over and over again. I don’t understand enough about google to be able to tell you exactly why, and sometimes it’s not clear what people are actually looking for. For years my top post was about MXit – a very popular South African mobile IM client, accounting for up to 20% of blog visits at a certain stage.

This is currently my top 10 pages visited on this blog:

Title	Views
Home page	13,658
meeting your MXit contacts	4,609
down the missiological rabbit-hole (Tran	1,328
burning bibles/wasting nature	1,195
nexus and my social networks	1,012
Juno, abortion, pro-life/pro-choice	959
The Contemplator	904
selling your soul to the devil	738
contemplating MXit	633
David Bosch, Public Theology, Social Jus	623

However, for the past 30 days, the top 5 posts is the following:

Title	Views
Home page	414
burning bibles/wasting nature	222
nexus and my social networks	121
White pastor in an irrelevant church	56
down the missiological rabbit-hole (Tran	52

The MXit post is way down at 2 views for the past 30 days.

The burning bibles/wasting nature post is a short reflection on the Belgic Confession article 2 and ecology. The interesting this about this post is that the views has drastically increased over the past few months, as can be seen in the picture below. It started out getting a few hits, as usual, then quited down totally, as usual, and then from October last year started getting more and more hits.

My first guess was that Coopenhagen was the culprit, and that the increased awareness about ecology caused an increase in searched. But, from the WordPress stats, it would seem like the searches used to get to the post was linked to “burning”. “burning book”, “burning books”, “burning picture”. Now what would cause this?

creatively re-reading Luke 10 today

The South African Partnership for Missional Churches, working closely with the Church Innovation Insitute from Saint Paul, like to read Luke 10:1-12 with a process called Dwelling in the Word. I can still vividly remember the first time I was in a meeting reading this text three years ago, and my first response was that I find verse 10-12 extremely arrogant. My partner, who was supposed to share with the group what I heard in the text wasn’t quite happy with what I said, and neither was the facilitator.

Since that day I’ve been sharing my discomfort with the text every time we had to read it, and usually found myself to be a lone voice. However, Wednesday morning at the Missionary by its very Nature conference with Roger Schroeder, I found myself in a group of 5 people who shared my discomfort, hearing possible colonial interpretations when they read the text, being uncomfortable with fear motives etc.

I’ve been meditating on Walter Brueggemann’s 19 Thesis the past 10 days or so again. So I guess this got me to consider whether it’s possible to re-read this text as a counterscript. In a way that does not get stuck in old theological controversies or metaphysical speculations. So, this is my re-reading of Luke 10:

Luke 10:1-12 – After this the Lord appointed seventy others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to the town of politics, where dishonesty and misuse of power reigned, the town of economics, where discrepancies between rich and poor reigned, and the town of ecology, where grave dangers existed. This was some of the places he intended to go to bring peace. 2He said to them, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. 3Go on your way. See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. 4You have only 1 goal: To go to the towns and houses where I have sent you. 5Proclaim to these houses: ‘Peace to this house!’ 6If in this house there is someone who is already sharing in this peace, or open to take part in this peace, you will find a connection, if not, you will remain a lone voice of peace. 7Partner with those who you find a connection with, stay with them, dream with them, and let them provide for you. Do not run away at the first hint of struggle, but stay with this one house that is open to peace. 8Whenever you enter a town and it’s people welcome you, become part of that town; 9care, cure the sickness of this town, and say to them: ‘God’s dream, the possibility of the impossible, has now come near you’ 10But should they refure the peace, should they wich to continue down paths of destruction for themselves and others, proclaim publicly: 11′This is wrong! We will have nothing to do with this! Yet the reality remain that God’s dream, the possibility of the impossible, is near. 12Know this: on the day when the dream which seem impossible come into existence, it will be more tolerable for the evils of ancient times that for those who refused to accept the peace, and chose to continue down destructive paths.”

White theologian in a semi-post-Apartheid South Africa

Apartheid ended in 1994. Yes, I know. And the voices who reminded me in the past that I must remember that things were much worse under Apartheid, and not downplay this by making as if nothing has changed have a point. But to say we are post-Apartheid, fails to recognize that neither our hearts nor our systems have gotten rid of this legacy completely. Much has changed, and we can thank God for that. But much didn’t change for many South Africans.

I am white. Sibitiwe might have complimented me with a black heart. But I remain a white theologian in Africa. Less and less European as the months go by. More and more being baptized in the water of Africa as transformative experience after transformative experience, as relationship after relationthips, and relationships over time, is deepening my experience of this country, this continent. With all it’s problems and questions. I don’t want to be anywhere else. This is my home. I am from Africa.

My church may be irrelevent, in spite of the examples of really good works of development being done, for which we also thank God, and should not consider futile. I know that for the bigger part of South Africa we won’t be missed when we are gone. They might miss our help, but in very few circumstances will they miss our friendship. There are exceptions, but they are exactly that: exceptions.

The journey that Dutch Reformed congregations will have to go on is a long journey I know, it’s a difficult journey, and we will require a lot of help. But it is a journey which some of us are willing to commit to with everything we have.

White pastor in an irrelevant church

This was the transformative experience that gave rise to the writing of this story. It’s controversial I know. And I somewhat fear for writing this.

I have never approved of the segregated church I am part of. I cannot remember a day in my life that I both knew about Belhar and rejected Belhar. Everywhere I went I always made the more pro-unification choice that was on the table. Sometimes I even attempted to stretch the table a bit, to put options on the table that weren’t considered. I remember attending an URCSA meeting in 2007 that NG students were invited to, but being the only one who went. I remember the setting up of the meeting of URCSA theological students leadership and NG theological students leadership in the same year, and we actually organized a visit of both groups to a worship session of the other. Few students attended, but the experience was positive. I guess I didn’t change the face of the faculty at UP in the process, but at least I made some friends.

At times I have been extremely critical of my own church, and the process of unity. I guess taking things a few notches further than most of the “open” voices in the church. I’ve been uncomfortable with the idea that we become one church structurally, without local congregations actually reflecting this. What I dream of and hope for has been for true unity in worship and action for many years now.

Deconstruction makes you mad, I sometimes think. Once you start down that rabbit hole, realize why you are doing what you are doing, what you are actually saying, how this is being heard by other voices, and how far away from “justice”, “mercy” and “truth” your one life really is, it becomes almost unbearable. But Africa has taught me that I can never fully deconstruct myself. I need the other to deconstruct me. I need to be open to the voice of an other, a different perspective, to help me interpret my own life and actions, to understand what it is that I am actually doing.

I don’t want to make a hero out of someone, and most of my transformative experiences was with voices that you have never heard of. And this one was only possible because of these voices, and others, who have helped me to make me open to hear the different perspective this post is about.

It was at the opening of the South African Missiological Society of 2010 when Jonathan Jansen spoke, and he dared to say that the Dutch Reformed Church is irrelevant (and this in front of a mainly white crowd). The way I heard him was that the Dutch Reformed Church was teaching their members week by week that it is OK not to ask : “Who is my neighbour”, by allowing them to sit in all white churches in South Africa. This might not have been what he said, but this is what I heard.

Deconstruction makes me mad. My thoughts went on to think in the line of liturgy. What was this liturgy of white worship communicating week by week, whatever we might be preaching? I saw it as communicating that the white ghetto was OK, that the lack of friendships with people of all races and colours was OK. That the distance we kept between ourselves and black people was OK. My thoughts went on to the idea that we might be doing a hell of a lot of development work in South Africa, but we will never be able to contribute to the transformation and reconciliation of a country if we keep this liturgy of whiteness.

White theologian becoming an African theologian

The next transformative experience is quite well documented. Don’t get me wrong, I have been transformed to see black people as equal. I have been transformed to form friendships, true, deep friendships. But I am learning more and more about how deep the transformation is that is needed in my life. So the story continued, and will continue.

The experience I am referring to was at Amahoro Africa close to Krugersdorp in 2009. It was the experience of telling my story, the Afrikaner story, to my new Kenyan friends, and how they made me free to become an African in a way that truly changed me. You can read about it at the following places:

can’t speak about Amahoro

How one Afrikaner became an African theologian

White student, the one with the black heart, called Lucky

It has been noted many times that white people seem to be comfortable when together with black people when it is a “controlled environment”. If the black people aren’t too many, primarily. But the experiences I had at the end of 2006 was not controlled, this time I chose to break out of the box.

I was doing a holiday job assisting the marking of matric exams. They appoint students from the universities and technicons to help with this. Usually a majority black students, and a group of white students, and the previous time I did this, I simply flocked to the safeness of the white crowd. Plus, I had a white roommate that time.

I arrived at Nelspruit high school on the first day. Upon registering the white administrative woman at this predominantly white school offered to put me in a room alone, so that I don’t need to be with a black person – if it was possible. When walking into the room where all the other assistants was already waiting, I found only four other white students. I immediately went to sit with them. At lunch time I went into Nelspruit with them. They were all living in Nelspruit. We sat around doing nothing during the whole first day (yes, don’t think that in writing this I’m going to make as if our current government system doesn’t have mistakes). At some point during the day I at least met some of the black students, who was asking me about what I was reading (Soultsunami at that stage).

At this specific marking center they were marking African languages and Computer studies. African langauges had only black markers. Computer studies I belief only white, but computer studies was a very small subject. All the white teachers preferred to find other sleeping arrangements, rather than spend the night in this predominantly black space. At other marking centers the white markers use the arranged sleeping quarters, but here, the number of blacks was just too many I guess. And the other white assistants went to sleep at there parents homes. I think I might have been the only white person in the hostels those nights. My room-mate’s name was Eugene.

The next morning, when walking into breakfast (or maybe this happened at lunch, I cannot remember), I had to make a choice: Get food, and go over to the table of white students, and proceed with life, knowing that every night I will be the white man alone. Or get food, walk right past the white table (that was largely empty) and sit with the people that weren’t off to there parents every chance they had, that stayed in this space where I was bound to stay. I chose the path less traveled, and that has made all the difference.

It was obvious from this point onwards that I was an outsider to the white group. Some decent dialogue still happened at times during the next 8-10 days I guess, but for the most part, this was the end of the short friendship we had on day one. But I made friends I could never have imagined. They were all Swazi’s. They taught me about the culture in which I grew up in. We simply became friends. Especially one person stand out from this time. Sibitiwe. We met on day one I believe. She was the daughter of two Lutheran pastors, grew up in church, but couldn’t believe that any straight-thinking young person would spend six years studying theology. So we got talking. She explained the tension between Zulu’s and Xhosa’s to me at the time when Jacob Zuma was starting to become visible as a possible next president. But mostly we just talked. About the squatter camp, about psychology, about the future, about life. And then one night she gave me the compliment of a lifetime, and not one I’m sure I deserve: “You have a black heart” she said. Even though you are white, you are different. Yes, they also knew that I had to in a way end the relationship with the white students if I wanted to spend the time, both day and night, with the black students.

In this time I remembered that I was given a Swazi name as a little boy in Swaziland. I didn’t even know it anymore. I found it from my father, and shared it with my new friends. Hi, they named me Nhlanhla : Lucky.