Gister het ek 'n beriggie oorgeneem met 'n video wat in die NYT verskyn het oor 'n merkwaardige kerkie in Austin wat op 'n besondere manier uitreik en leef in 'n hoogs gediversifieerde samelewing.
Hier onder is die artikel wat daarmee saam verskyn het.
Ek kan dink hoe so 'n berig onder sekere groepe in ons land wenkbroue sal laat lig.
Maar wat in Austin in Texas waar is van 'n bepaalde voorstad met 'n gemengde gemeenskap, is nog meer waar van ons land, en, veral ook van Afrikaanse kerk-tradisies. Die kerk word stadig, maar o so seker, uit die ou dinge weggeneem en word blootgestel aan nuwe, suiwererende, maar ook bemagtigende kragte.
Ek ontmoet 'n paar jaar gelede 'n jong predikant, vol diepe frustrasies omdat hy sy roeping in die bediening nie kon uitleef nie.
Hy het 'n sterk verlange gehad om 'n kerk te bedien wat inklusief is en waar mense uit verskillende agtergronde die helende, saambindende effek van die evangelie kon uitleef.
Hy het gedroom van 'n bediening waar mense as mense hul verhouding met God saam kon beleef en uitleef.
Daarom wou hy 'n alternatiewe bediening begin, buite die vaste, byna onbuigbare strukture van die kerk.
Maar hy het nie eintlik iewers geesgenote gehad by wie hy kon gaan leer nie. Hy het ook nie eintlik 'n model gevind wat hy kon oorneem in sy eie tuisdorp nie.
So iets is ongewoon in ons tyd waarin groepe al hoe meer aan mekaar blootgestel is, maar nooit tog werklik saam met mekaar voor die Here leef nie.
Ons het bietjie gesels en hy kon een of twee van my verwysings opvolg. Intussen werk hy op klein skaal aan sy droom en visioen.
Ek het egter besef dat 'n mens met 'n ongewone bedieningsvisioen soos hy 'n ongewone, moeilike pad loop.
In 'n sekere sin sny 'n mens jouself af van die sterk, selfs magtige institusionele strukture van die kerk. Dit is vasbyt en moedhou wat hier aan die orde sal wees.
Maar, aan die ander kant hoef dit nie altyd so te wees nie. Ek was self deel van 'n gemeente wat deur sekere omstandighede 'n inklusiewe karakter aangeneem het. Al dekade's gelede het, met veel pyn, twee dele van die kerkfamilie in ons tuisdorp saamgekom en een gemeente geword. Dit is 'n verhaal wat nog in al sy volheid vertel moet word.
Ek was altyd geboeid hoedat die verskillende groepe in daardie gemeente met groot argwaan na mekaar gekyk het. Maar, mirabile dictu, toe ek daar weg was, het vele van die lidmate aan beide kante met lof, en dikwels met bewondering, gepraat van die "ander" groep.
Dit is 'n vereniging wat binne die bestaande instituut plaasgevind het, min aandag getrek het, maar werklik 'n spesiale onderneming geword het. Hier het die vernuwing, die insluiting van die ander, van binne gekom. En gewerk, al was dit deur barensnood.
So sal dit gaan: soms, stadig, soms binne en dan weer buite die kerk, maar immer vredig, sal ons agterkom dat al ons vrese en vooroordele, nie net verniet was nie, maar ook onnodig.
Orals, binne en buite die kerk, is daar vernuwing aan die gebeur, willens en wetens. Dit kan nie gestuit word nie, want uiteindelik is die kerk gebou op 'n dieper, verborge waarheid wat nie deur konvensies en tradisies gestuit kan word nie.
Wie kan dan, as 'n mens van hierdie visioene en ideale, maar ook van hierdie gebeure lees, ooit dink dat die kerk alleen maar 'n venynige streep aan hom het?
Hier is die artikel:
AUSTIN, Tex. — Last Sunday at Vox Veniae,
a 200-person church in working-class East Austin, the volunteer baristas showed
up an hour before worship services to make locally sourced coffee in the
vaunted Chemex system, beloved of connoisseurs. To enhance the java-snob
appeal, no milk or sugar was provided. “It’s a purist thing,” one barista said.
“Keep Austin Weird,” the local slogan goes. And
the approach to coffee is just one unusual feature of this rule-breaking church
in the notably alternative Texas capital.
There’s the building, for example. The church
meets in what used to be Chester’s, an after-hours B.Y.O.B. club that shut down
in 2007 after a fatal shooting close by. Members of Vox, as the church is
known, cleaned up the building, christened it Space 12 and made it a hub for Austin-style activity.
It’s their church hall, yes, but also a Wi-Fi-equipped space that freelancers
can use for a small daily donation; a yoga studio; an art gallery; and the home
of the Inside Books Project, which sends books to prison inmates.
But what’s really unexpected about Vox, to anyone
who knows American Protestantism, is that what began as a church for
Chinese-Americans quickly became multiracial. Last Sunday morning, whites were
in the majority, and in addition to Asian-Americans, there were Latinos and
African-Americans in the pews — or, rather, the metal folding chairs around the
small stage where a six-piece band played before the pastor, the Rev. Gideon
Tsang, delivered his sermon.
In a country that is growing more racially diverse,
and in an evangelical movement that is becoming more politically diverse, Vox
Veniae, which is Latin for “voice of forgiveness,” may be, as Jesus said, a
sign of the times.
Racially diverse churches are often led by white
pastors who recruit in minority communities, usually by hiring nonwhite
assistant pastors. It is less common to see an ethnic church attract whites. It
may be that white people avoid churches where at first they will be
outnumbered. Or perhaps the ethnic churches’ worship styles feel alien
(especially if prayers and sermons are in a foreign language). Whatever the
reason, white churches sometimes succeed in drawing minority worshipers, but
minority churches rarely attract white people.
Mr. Tsang sports arm tattoos and the modish, buzzed-on-the-sides,
long-on-top haircut that many young men who request it call “the Hitler Youth.”
He was raised in Toronto, the son of a Chinese-Canadian pastor of an ethnic
church. In 2006, he started Vox Veniae as an independent planting of the Austin
Chinese Church, a larger church that wanted a mission to young people,
especially University of Texas students. In 2007, the church opened Space 12,
and in 2009, it moved its worship services there. Along the way, it began to
draw older people. And whiter people.
“The average age when we started was 22,” Mr.
Tsang said. “Today, the average age is 27, 28.” Last Sunday, I sat behind a
woman who must have been in her 60s. When she had trouble reading the passage
from I Corinthians on the monitor above, her neighbor, about 40 years younger,
whispered the words in her ear.
In 2011, Vox Veniae affiliated with the Evangelical Covenant
Church, a large North American denomination founded in the 19th
century by Swedish immigrants. This means that Vox Veniae is a multiracial
church that began with Chinese roots and has recently acquired Swedish Lutheran
roots.
“In the 1970s and 1980s, the Covenant made some
collective decisions to be more intentional about becoming more multiethnic in
every area of our life together,” Garth Bolinder, a regional superintendent for
the denomination, said in an e-mail. It began to admit more non-Swedish
churches, including black and Latino congregations. When Mr. Tsang was looking
for institutional support for Vox Veniae, a friend suggested the Evangelical
Covenant.
At first, Mr. Tsang resisted, believing his
church was “so specific to Austin and the culture of Austin.” Ultimately, he
met with Evangelical Covenant pastors, and he decided it was a good fit. “We
think it’s healthy to be connected to something bigger,” Mr. Tsang said.
That Swedish/Chinese mingling is a significant
innovation in American church history, but it’s not what brings new worshipers
to Space 12 on Sunday mornings. Hannah Perez, 24, works for Cuvee Coffee, the
local roaster whose beans she was putting through the Chemex. She grew up in a
Methodist church in Indiana, and her husband’s church was Hispanic Pentecostal.
But when they moved to Austin, they joined Vox.
“We felt like: ‘Wow, this is awesome. It feels
like hanging out in someone’s house,’ ” Ms. Perez said.
