Now, let’s get the cricket out of the way first of all. The last news I had of England’s first innings in the final test against Pakistan came at lunchtime yesterday, when they were 92-5. It transpires that they lost two further quick wickets after lunch and were at one stage 102-7. Then Stuart Broad and Jonathan Trott apparently put together the highest 8th wicket stand in the history of the game, so that England ended on a barely credible 446 all out. Pakistan were then bowled out for 74 in their first innings. Talk about a turn around.
Anyway… where to start… Bishop Stephen gave up the whole day to take me on a whistle stop tour of his Diocese. It’s vast. We covered over 400 kms in 8 hours, with frequent stops, visiting 6 churches in only 2 parishes of the 20 that make up the Diocese. Admittedly, there is a concentration of parishes in the more urban (township) parts of the Diocese. But all the same it makes for some odd comparisons with the Diocese of Lichfield, which (though it is only one fifth as extensive in area) has over 400 parishes. Bishop Stephen can call on the assistance of only 36 clergy, many of them ‘self-supporting’ (ie, volunteers). Bishop Jonathan in Lichfield oversees about 500 clergy, more than half of whom are stipendiary. Yikes. The distances that some of these self-supporting priests have to travel (outside the hours they give to their paid work) in order to reach the most far-flung of their outstations is daunting. For about two hours of the day today, we were not on tarmac roads, but rutted tracks. It must be almost impossible for these volunteer priests to develop good pastoral relationships with their most isolated congregations, let alone with the neighbourhoods these serve.
From Klerksdorp, we drove north and west. The drive gave us plenty of time to talk. Bishop Stephen is an excellent conversationalist – not afraid of silence, but quick with helpful observations and a good listener. He pointed out to me one of the great differences between driving in England and driving in South Africa: on the whole, in England, the combination of rolling countryside and tall hedges/fences/ dry-stone walls limits the vista; in South Africa the roadsides are unobstructed and the flat plains means that you can usually see for miles. He also pointed out that whereas in England, the driver who weaves to and fro may be under the influence of alcohol, whereas the one simply follows the line of the road is probably sober in South Africa, the driver who weaves his way down the road is soberly navigating the potholes, whereas the driver who keeps to a straightline is invariably drunk.
We visited a number of towns (Ottosdat, Delareyville, Sannieshof, Wolmaransstad), their townships and outlying villages. Three things struck me: the first was that the townships are not indicated on the road signs, which always show only the names of the towns themselves. Almost invariably, town names are Afrikaans and township names are African – so that it’s hard to avoid the impression that the townships are being deliberately rendered invisible. It’s telling that the map I’
m using has jogged my memory about the names of the towns, but is giving me no clues about the names of the townships. The second was that communinities are not simply ‘black’ or ‘white’: even so-called ‘coloured’ people tend to live in clearly demarcated neighbourhoods. One of the challenges faced by Bishop Stephen is how far to work with the grain of this continued segregation. Should he appoint a white pastor to an overwhelmingly white congregation, for instance? And the third thing that struck me was the prominence of death. We passed three funerals in the course of the day, maybe four. We also passed an astonishing number of funeral parlours – one of which refered to itself as a leader in the funeral industry. The funeral industry… there’s a thought. It is, of course, a terrible indication of the seriousness of the HIV/AIDS epidemic.
There was disappointment for Bishop Steve at the first place we visited. One of his initiatives has been to promote, on church grounds, the cultivation of vegetable plots. He had been enthusing to me about the project in the car: it encourages the poorest and most deprived communities to eat healthily and cheaply; it allows church people to give the produce away in their neighbourhoods, expressing love of neighbour in the process; and any excess can be sold off to produce a modest but much needed income for the parishioners. He was deliberately taking me to see one of the places where the project had, the last time he visited, seemed to be flourishing. But when we got to the place, we found the garden neglected. He pulled a carrot from the ground: the crop had grown but had not even been harvested. I could sense his distress. ‘I’ve brought my horse to the river’, he said.
He was more encouraged later in the day when we visited the community in which he himself had grown up. He pointed out to me the primary and secondary schools where he had studied, and the church where he’d worshipped as a boy, and where, as a member of the youth fellowship, he’d helped to build a vestry onto the side of the church building, which still stands. The garden there was obviously still being tended carefully, and gave grounds for hope. In one place we visited, we found a team of church members busily polishing the stone floor by hand in readiness for Sun
day worship. They do it every week. In another place, the church was a simple shack. The Diocese owns the plot, but cannot at present afford to build a more permanent structure. The Cathedral, through it’s Traidcraft stall at congregational refreshments after the Sung Eucharist on Sundays, has raised enough money to have charged me with passing £1000 to Bishop Steve. I plan to talk further with our own Diocesan World Mission Officer, but one option broached by Steve was that we might use at least some of this money to help start a building fund.
We got back at 6-ish (5pm in the UK) in time to catch the Premier League football scores. I’m planning on an early night: we leave the house tomorrow at 7am, as I’ve been given the wonderful opportunity to preach and preside in the Cathedral of the Resurrection at Ikageng. The service starts at 8-ish, I’m told, and will end at 11-ish, and the congregation will consist of 300-500 people. It sounds great!
Anyway… where to start… Bishop Stephen gave up the whole day to take me on a whistle stop tour of his Diocese. It’s vast. We covered over 400 kms in 8 hours, with frequent stops, visiting 6 churches in only 2 parishes of the 20 that make up the Diocese. Admittedly, there is a concentration of parishes in the more urban (township) parts of the Diocese. But all the same it makes for some odd comparisons with the Diocese of Lichfield, which (though it is only one fifth as extensive in area) has over 400 parishes. Bishop Stephen can call on the assistance of only 36 clergy, many of them ‘self-supporting’ (ie, volunteers). Bishop Jonathan in Lichfield oversees about 500 clergy, more than half of whom are stipendiary. Yikes. The distances that some of these self-supporting priests have to travel (outside the hours they give to their paid work) in order to reach the most far-flung of their outstations is daunting. For about two hours of the day today, we were not on tarmac roads, but rutted tracks. It must be almost impossible for these volunteer priests to develop good pastoral relationships with their most isolated congregations, let alone with the neighbourhoods these serve.
From Klerksdorp, we drove north and west. The drive gave us plenty of time to talk. Bishop Stephen is an excellent conversationalist – not afraid of silence, but quick with helpful observations and a good listener. He pointed out to me one of the great differences between driving in England and driving in South Africa: on the whole, in England, the combination of rolling countryside and tall hedges/fences/ dry-stone walls limits the vista; in South Africa the roadsides are unobstructed and the flat plains means that you can usually see for miles. He also pointed out that whereas in England, the driver who weaves to and fro may be under the influence of alcohol, whereas the one simply follows the line of the road is probably sober in South Africa, the driver who weaves his way down the road is soberly navigating the potholes, whereas the driver who keeps to a straightline is invariably drunk.
We visited a number of towns (Ottosdat, Delareyville, Sannieshof, Wolmaransstad), their townships and outlying villages. Three things struck me: the first was that the townships are not indicated on the road signs, which always show only the names of the towns themselves. Almost invariably, town names are Afrikaans and township names are African – so that it’s hard to avoid the impression that the townships are being deliberately rendered invisible. It’s telling that the map I’
m using has jogged my memory about the names of the towns, but is giving me no clues about the names of the townships. The second was that communinities are not simply ‘black’ or ‘white’: even so-called ‘coloured’ people tend to live in clearly demarcated neighbourhoods. One of the challenges faced by Bishop Stephen is how far to work with the grain of this continued segregation. Should he appoint a white pastor to an overwhelmingly white congregation, for instance? And the third thing that struck me was the prominence of death. We passed three funerals in the course of the day, maybe four. We also passed an astonishing number of funeral parlours – one of which refered to itself as a leader in the funeral industry. The funeral industry… there’s a thought. It is, of course, a terrible indication of the seriousness of the HIV/AIDS epidemic.There was disappointment for Bishop Steve at the first place we visited. One of his initiatives has been to promote, on church grounds, the cultivation of vegetable plots. He had been enthusing to me about the project in the car: it encourages the poorest and most deprived communities to eat healthily and cheaply; it allows church people to give the produce away in their neighbourhoods, expressing love of neighbour in the process; and any excess can be sold off to produce a modest but much needed income for the parishioners. He was deliberately taking me to see one of the places where the project had, the last time he visited, seemed to be flourishing. But when we got to the place, we found the garden neglected. He pulled a carrot from the ground: the crop had grown but had not even been harvested. I could sense his distress. ‘I’ve brought my horse to the river’, he said.
He was more encouraged later in the day when we visited the community in which he himself had grown up. He pointed out to me the primary and secondary schools where he had studied, and the church where he’d worshipped as a boy, and where, as a member of the youth fellowship, he’d helped to build a vestry onto the side of the church building, which still stands. The garden there was obviously still being tended carefully, and gave grounds for hope. In one place we visited, we found a team of church members busily polishing the stone floor by hand in readiness for Sun
day worship. They do it every week. In another place, the church was a simple shack. The Diocese owns the plot, but cannot at present afford to build a more permanent structure. The Cathedral, through it’s Traidcraft stall at congregational refreshments after the Sung Eucharist on Sundays, has raised enough money to have charged me with passing £1000 to Bishop Steve. I plan to talk further with our own Diocesan World Mission Officer, but one option broached by Steve was that we might use at least some of this money to help start a building fund.We got back at 6-ish (5pm in the UK) in time to catch the Premier League football scores. I’m planning on an early night: we leave the house tomorrow at 7am, as I’ve been given the wonderful opportunity to preach and preside in the Cathedral of the Resurrection at Ikageng. The service starts at 8-ish, I’m told, and will end at 11-ish, and the congregation will consist of 300-500 people. It sounds great!
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