Feeling the warmth of a community church

Decisions for the good or the bad

We had a decision to make about where to attend a church service today without making the mistake of visiting a church with a self-absorbed worship team entertaining a congregation that was failed out of not being spiritually fed. At least that was our impression of the Hillsong Church in June.

We dared think of returning hoping that our first attendance was an off day, but we wrote to both the Cape Town campus and the mother church in Australia, and we received neither an acknowledgement nor a response. We had better go to a place where they are courteous and welcoming.

Blog - Between haughty Hillsong and bounty biltong

Planning without yawning

From Muizenberg to the St. George’s Cathedral, quite unlikely; when getting Brian out of bed on a Sunday morning is a herculean task at best, just perish the thought. So, I did a survey of churches in Muizenberg and two evangelical churches caught my interest, small, out-of-city, new, and growing. We set our minds on staying in Muizenberg.

It would have been a 45-minute walk or thereabouts, but we called an Uber taxicab to convey us to the Main Road of which there might be hundreds in South Africa, we had to be specific before I repeated the mistake of finding myself 33 kilometres from where I intended in Johannesburg, some 9 years ago.

Welcoming warmth and feeling

On arrival, we saw the church flagpole, but unsure of ourselves, we waited outside before someone came to the door. They were friendly and welcoming, and as she invited us inside, introductions followed. They all came to welcome and greet us.

Interest and engagement were evident in a small community church that espoused our Pentecostal beliefs. It was there that we learnt that a priest we knew at St. George’s Cathedral, the cousin of a congregant, had passed away last year.

As we were similarly attired, they wondered if we were band or choir members, we tend to turn heads on Sundays. I said we were partners, but they heard brothers even as I repeated myself. We eventually acquiesced to whatever they wanted to identify us as.

Simple yet impactful

It was low-key, intimate, and friendly. I was called forward to be prayed for, and the sermon was informal and easy-going with contributions from other members of the congregation. I began wilting later in the service but survived to the end before needing the use of the gents.

I took the offer of rooibos tea which I rarely have, sweetened without milk, it tasted good enough, I however do not intend to form a habit of it. We had a splendid time at church before walking back home. We will probably be returning next Sunday.

Between haughty Hillsong and bounty biltong

Giving thanks but no thanks

It was with great anticipation that we decided to choose Hillsong Church as the place to attend to give thanks and praise for triumphing over situations and circumstances that had befallen us for the last couple of years.

From a natural perspective, many things seemed insurmountable but providence and good fortune even with limited resources gave such an opportunity for celebration and we were excited about it.

We arrived at the church in Century City, just outside Cape Town and followed the crowd into the building. An usher was closing access to the first entrance to the hall we got to until I said we were first-time visitors. We were allowed into the darkish hall with bright lights on the stage as the praise and worship session was about to begin.

We found seats, squeezed between people who appeared to want to be elsewhere as we joined in congregational worship, and we just went with the flow. Once everything was done, we left as we came, unnoticed, unengaged, and quite unwelcome too. We were blessed but did not have the feeling that we would return.

Surely welcoming is standard church practice

Cape Town is an international tourist destination; we usually attend St George’s Cathedral when in Cape Town and we have always felt welcome. One would expect as with church traditions we have witnessed in many places that there is an acknowledgement of visitors to the fellowship with an opportunity provided to meet up with new faces, presenting the church as a welcoming and open community.

We found it quite strange that at no time during the 11:00 AM service we attended at Hillsong that visitors were welcomed or acknowledged. The church was just busy, too busy being church and probably feeling too full to notice anyone attending for the first time. My partner felt that the worship leading had become a self-absorbed performance to entertain us, it was lots of activity accomplishing little.

Maybe it was an oversight as it did bother me, I volunteer as a steward in my local church in Manchester, we welcome people as they come in, the clergy acknowledges visitors during the service, and everyone is invited for refreshments at the end of the service. We are a community regardless of when you come or where you come from.

Writing to the blind and deaf

I decided to write to the church about our visit and the atmosphere we encountered, apart from a boilerplate response, no one acknowledged or replied from the church. Seeing that the pastors of that church had gone on to lead the global fellowship. A few days later, I forwarded my original email to the main church in Australia, another boilerplate response without acknowledgement or reply.

Even for a business, basic standards of professionalism would suggest a basic response for emails sent on the 25^th of June and then on the 3^rd of July, the substantive elements of our experience and observations might be dealt with later.

It is not a scandal, we eventually concluded Hillsong had decided we did not matter, and we could not have been so uniquely affected, we were random worshippers who thought there was a prospect of adding a Pentecostal flair to our Anglican devotion in fellowshipping with the Hillsong community. We can however conclude there are more issues in that family than meets the eye.

Biltong engagement was much better

In comparison to the biltong shop that used to be in the Time Out Market that moved into a vending van at the other side of the Watershed at the Victoria & Alfred Waterfront, even after almost 2 years of last patronising them.

The different vendors that manned the van on the separate days that we bought biltong were enterprising, engaging, welcoming, friendly, and inspiring of the desire to return. It is quite bizarre that I am comparing Hillsong to biltong, much was desired of the former, but we found a better relationship with the latter.

Everything is about establishing connections for human relationships, if a church cannot effectively do that, it has by all terms lost its purpose. In my email, I did suggest that we were not trying to change any Hillsong traditions, just highlighting something that could be useful.

My experience with Hillsong London was different, but that was 11 years ago before the scandals happened. I have written a bit about those issues before, my feeling is things have not changed, a window dressing does not a shop make.

Blog - Thought Picnic: Where Everybody Shares Your Pain (August 2013)

Blog - Hillsnog: How the scandals at Hillsong took root (September 2021)

Blog - The Hillsong controversy and resignation (April 2022)

An inspector calls again

Just moved in?

In the tenth year of my residency, I get asked questions like I had just moved in 10 days ago. “Are there any leaks?”, she asked. You know damn well if anything was not functioning, I would have logged a call. That reminds me, to save my manicure as apparently the union of nail technicians is on strike for better conditions of work and pay, my dishwasher needs looking at.

It was a house inspection by the letting agency that was first dated for the month before arriving 3 weeks later than intended. It just so happens; that the same inspection was conducted by the building managers a few weeks ago but I entertained the knock on my door this morning, without remonstrating too much about the obvious fact that these activities need to be coordinated.

I allowed them the run of the house as I returned to my desk to oversee the screens of engagement before me. Doors open, cupboards inspected, mutterings among them and then Jobsworth supercilious becomes her.

Hear it scream

My fire alarm and before I knew it, the riot act with every act of parliament, the law and whatever else was being read to me in the tone of an emphatic Gotcha! Heck, the other guy who was here a few weeks ago inspected the same fire alarm.

As she sang the refrain, “By law, it is the responsibility of the tenant to ensure that the battery is changed in the fire alarm.” I picked up my piano bench, moved it under the fire alarm, stood on it and pressed the test button. We were greeted with a shrill sound that no one had the readiness to shield their ears from and she was fully clipboard-equipped to my utter glee.

Then, I pressed the test button again which I think made her tick the required box, no apology but a full acquiescence to the fact that the fire alarm is working. By then, they must have felt fully welcome in my abode and before I could offer them tea and biscuits, they were ready to leave. What a shame, I was just beginning to enjoy their company. Not!

Thought Picnic: Where Everybody Shares Your Pain

Some cheers for the dawn

This morning I woke up to the playback in my mind with the refrain - Sometimes you want to go, Where everybody knows your name – and as I thought that through, the words of the song formed into a sense of existence - And they're always glad you came.

But, I really did not feel like being there, the familiarity, the catching up, the questions, the answers, the concern, the sympathy, the empathy and much else was weighing on my mind – I wanted to be present somewhere whilst being absent elsewhere.

Somewhere elsewhere

Basically, I did not want to be where everybody knows my pain, and whilst some might be glad I came, I was not ready to take the strain, even though my excuse does sound lame.

There were some things I was not ready to deal with until a more convenient time. So, I moved to another section of the song - You want to be where you can see, Our troubles are all the same; - I wanted to be in church, just not my church.

Antipodean flavours

My friend observed that the churches I seem to have an affinity for were planted by Australians, I dare say, there is something refreshing about the antipodean perspective of the same revelation that has been in Europe, gone to America to be exported round the world and emanating from Africa too with the contaminants that belie a tendency to error, levity and licence, I am persuaded of a different allegiance.

And though having attended C3 Amsterdam and now C3 London, I found myself visiting Hillsong London at the Dominion Theatre on Tottenham Court Road where I found welcoming and friendly faces unified in song and common humanity that one had to reflect on whether one was being swept away by the awesomeness of mass hysteria or a personal experience similarly expressed by others.

Words and meanings together and apart

I began to understand the need for songs if you did understand what the words meant; for in song, you invariably were chanting the affirmative in the structure of verse and chorus almost repetitively without it becoming a mantra – the accompaniment of music then engaged your whole being with some being exercised or overcome with emotion.

There is life in participating, and when the prayers are said, you being to realise that our troubles are more or less the same and we all want insight, ideas, inspiration, results and solutions to take us to a better place.

Sometimes, that is what church is all about, amongst friends and amongst strangers, the fiendish and the strangest things can find root, but we can find firmer foundations in how we believe that together we can reach for a better day.

Cheers!

Making your way in the world today 
Takes everything you've got; 
Taking a break from all your worries 
Sure would help a lot. 
Wouldn't you like to get away? 

All those night when you've got no lights, 
The check is in the mail; 
And your little angel 
Hung the cat up by it's tail; 
And your third fiance didn't show; 

Sometimes you want to go 
Where everybody knows your name, 
And they're always glad you came; 
You want to be where you can see, 
Our troubles are all the same; 
You want to be where everybody knows your name. 

Roll out of bed, Mr. Coffee's dead; 
The morning's looking bright; 
And your shrink ran off to Europe, 
And didn't even write; 
And your husband wants to be a girl; 

Be glad there's one place in the world 
Where everybody knows your name, 
And they're always glad you came; 
You want to go where people know, 
People are all the same; 
You want to go where everybody knows your name. 

Where everybody knows your name, 
And they're always glad you came; 
Where everybody knows your name, 
And they're always glad you came...

Theme song for the situation comedy TV series – Cheers, written by Gary Portnoy & Judy Hart Angelo – Where Everybody Knows Your Name.

Arrival Hall

Collecting the arrivals

Playing hostess not necessarily with the mostest can be exhilarating, the preparation that showcases your homes like it has never been for years in memory and the cleaner is invited twice in one week to shift the dust to other surfaces and stuff stray objects into malformed boxes.

The most important part is collecting your guests from their port of entry, the bus station is hardly sophisticated, the train station is tolerable but the airport is another place entirely.

You may not be sure of the expected arrival time of a bus, that of the train is set except where there are delays, strangely, I have waited for trains at the end of a seeming 6-hour long journey only to learnt 5 minutes before its arrival that it had been cancelled – it beggars belief.

The Arrivals Hall

Going to the airport suddenly seems like the most organised arrangement, you know the flight number, the expected arrival time and the signboards indicate if it has arrived or not – the waiting time is mostly expended in the baggage reclaim – that function is still not computerised, you need brawn to get your chattels off the cargo hold.

Now, I have met many at airports but Schiphol is a completely different experience, raucous it is rather than civilised, it is a party atmosphere and never reserved.It is a Dutch peculiarity, I have decided.

Family and friend groups, as many as 10 could be there to meet their quarry with colourful balloons, banners, cameras and kids running around, you will think it was a circus.

The passenger arrives and as the doors open, a tumult of joy and noise ensues, enough camera flashes to induce unwarranted discomfort and here I was thinking we were welcoming an entourage from Bombay – on closer inspection they were native Northern Europeans returning from an orgy of sun worship having sacrificed their natural tone for a possible skirmish with melanoma.

The love

I see the lady wait for her man and as she sees him, tears well up, a rush to a hug as she sweeps him off his feet – yes, I got the gender positioning right. Full labial smackers rather than the customary Dutch three kisses then other members of the welcoming party get theirs, but you see whose relationship is deepest.

Absence could make the heart grow the fodder of sadness but the expectation and arrival shows that absence does make the heart grow fonder still.

Where the relationship is familial, it appears the matriarch gets the first show of deep affection before anyone else, however, when that relationship skips one generation, one has a wry smile as grandson runs up to grandparent and this conversation ensues to the exclusion of the parents.

My life in a soppy universe

In those situations, one does wonder about that parallel universe, the one I woke up in a few months ago with a wife and 2 kids – dreams so sublime are nightmares in disguise because the thinking part of me wondered when wife and kids happened to me without me knowing or participating – the cold sweat, the palpitations and the sudden jolt into the comfort of reality.

The couples are young still, they are all still having children but some did not let the placenta drop before they were on to the next, they cope but it cannot be fun, if it were my situation.

My guests arrive, handshakes and hugs, after a drink we are back at my boudoir – need to turn down the sheets, it is almost bedtime.