A Further Look at “The Art of Tony Cermak”

As requested by Chris, here’s a closer look at each of the individuals caricatured in Tony’s sketch. Please especially take note of the individually appropriate t-shirts and comments each is making. I will now let the art speak for itself.

Voortrekker and Identity

Kerry, Hannah, Bryson, Amy, Jamie: '09 RTs

Last week, along with fellow staff member Dayna, I took a small group of Road Trippers to visit the Voortrekker Monument, as well as Church Square and the Union Buildings in downtown Pretoria. Our ministry hub in Pretoria North is located in a primarily Afrikaans-speaking area–a large number of people who live here are descended from the Afrikaner settlers who came here on the Great Trek from the Cape, as they were gradually pushed out of their farmlands by the British.

The Voortrekker Monument commemorates the Great Trek and honors the boer farmers who settled this area.  We’ve taken several groups to this monument over the years, to hear about the Afrikaners and their unique history.  We often have a guided tour of the monument, and have had the same tour guide over the past few years.  She usually shows us around the monument and the frieze of images inside, sprinkling her talk with references to how she’s “just telling what happened” and not making any commentary on it. There are almost too many caveats offered as she narrates how the Afrikaners were persecuted by the British, and how attempted peace talks with Zulu tribes broke down as Afrikaners were killed by Zulu warriors.  It’s difficult to walk through the images of repeated conflict between African tribes and the Afrikaners without wondering about the other side(s) of the story.

Looking down on the inside of the monument

This year, instead of having the usual guide with her prepared talk, we asked a local friend to show us around the monument, tell us a bit of the history, and share her own experience as a self-described “Afrikaner chick.”  As we walked past image after image of conflict between the Afrikaners and the Zulu tribes, Maxie stressed the fault that lies on both sides.  It was refreshing to hear Maxie talk us through the monument, telling stories she’d known since childhood, and also talking about the struggle there is in owning your identity and heritage when some of that heritage includes a history of oppression.

Any national or cultural identity by necessity takes a certain pride in its heritage and history.  But there is always a darker side to any history–no culture or nation is completely blameless!  Navigating the darker parts of any history while still retaining pride and cultural identity is a challenge.  These are not easy questions to answer, especially here where so many cultures have clashed and mistreated each other throughout the history of the country.  And I suppose that’s one of the main reasons we introduce visitors to the Voortrekker Monument (as well as the Apartheid Museum, as well as the township of Soshanguve…)–to wrestle with these questions and try to understand the stories and histories that make up South Africa.

Week off.

Adrienne, come home.

Chippy misses you.

And he really needs a bath.

God Appreciates My Sarcasm

My friend Eric (who I refer to, with the greatest affection, as “the annoying little brother I never wanted), once told me he had seen a t-shirt he was tempted to buy for me. It read: “Admit it, you appreciate my sarcasm.”

Sarcasm is often defined as humor at the expense of another. It’s not, really. Technically, it means “the use of irony to mock or convey contempt.” It’s the contempt part that gives sarcasm a bad name. But come on, sometimes mockery is harmlessly funny. I’m especially fond of sarcasm as humor, but try to rein it in before it becomes a cheap joke at the expense of another person’s feelings. I have no such reservations about using sarcasm as ironic mockery in the proper context. This sarcasm often extends to cheesy lines in worship songs. More on this later.

“Jesus, I’m a sucker,
I wish I believed less of the lies
did anything I thought I knew
turn out to be true”
(Waterdeep)

I’ve discovered that the two times I cry the most are: 1) when I realize how deeply I doubt myself, 2) when I realize how deeply God loves me. Over the past couple of weeks, I have ended up in tears during our Monday morning worship times, and it’s been for both of these reasons.

Lately I’ve been struggling with doubt in the areas of my identity, calling and spiritual gifting—doubting the value of all of the above. Last weekend, I was able to take part in a weekend retreat with the theme of “Listening with the ear of the heart.” I didn’t expect God to speak so deeply of his love for me and didn’t expect such deep reassurance in my identity and calling, but… that’s what God chose to do.

On Sunday afternoon, I was reminded of a passage from Hannah Whitall Smith’s book The Christian’s Secret of a Happy Life that was tucked inside my journal, and I pulled it out and spent some time with it. Here’s just a quote:

“The lump of clay, from the moment it comes under the transforming hand of the potter is, during each day and each hour of the process, just what the potter wants it to be at that hour or on that day, and therefore pleases him; but it is very far from being matured into the vessel he intends in the future to make it. … we are, in the Scripture sense, truly pleasing to God, although it may require years of training and discipline to mature us into a vessel that shall be in all respects to His honor, and fitted to every good work.”

I needed to hear this: that God is pleased with and takes joy in who I am, in all respects. He is still forming me into what I will be, but I am all I should be, right at this moment.

However, the retreat ended and on Monday I found myself going back to the same doubts I had been struggling with before. As part of that Monday’s worship time, everyone was encouraged to get up and move around, to express worship through dance and movement. I have a hard time with this. (And it’s not just because of the Southern Baptist upbringing that I feel this way!)

I understand that others can find movement in worship incredibly freeing and joyful, but when I try the same, it’s like asking me to pray in Afrikaans. I’m self-conscious, awkward, and uncoordinated. I find myself frustrated and stifled; dance just isn’t my language. And during this particular worship time, I was confronted with the lie that my worship isn’t acceptable, that quiet worship and adoration from my heart without outward physical movement isn’t pleasing to God. I knew it was a lie. But I also believed it in that moment. As I sat in the corner of the couch in tears, Doug began to play a worship song that I usually dislike. This is where the sarcasm comes in.

Small caveat: I love Waterdeep—they’re one of my favorite bands, and their music generally brings me before God in a powerful way. Please note that above I have quoted another song of theirs. But this particular Waterdeep song includes the following lines:

A grateful heart I give
A thankful prayer I pray
A wild dance I dance before you
A loud song I sing
A huge bell I ring
A life of praise I live before you

I can’t get past the huge bell. It pulls me out of worship every single time. I begin asking myself: why a huge bell? How many people even own a huge bell, let alone find it helpful to ring a huge bell in worship? Is it a metaphor for something else that I’m not getting? Or did they just need something to rhyme with “sing” and that was the best line they could come up with? If I had any part of leading this song in worship, I would lobby to change the words at this point. These are the types of thoughts that run through my head. One might call this sarcasm. And that particular Monday, when I heard this song being sung around me, I felt God’s laughter—as inside my head, I mocked the huge bell. The lie that who I am is not acceptable began to break.

I don’t know if I would go so far as to say that sarcasm can be worship, but that morning, it became a window into worship for me. I was able to set aside the lies I was caught up in, and find joy in God taking joy in me. You see, I think God appreciates my sarcasm. And how can I not worship a God who likes my sense of humor? A God who laughs at my jokes?

Somehow this made me cry more, but this time it was Barbara’s Reason #2 for Crying, which is definitely a better place to be than Barbara’s Reason #1 for Crying.

Caveat: I realize that today is Good Friday, and this isn’t really a Good Friday-ish post. I started writing it a week ago, and am only now getting around to finishing and posting, so… here you go anyway. =)

Seasonally-Appropriate Carols

Last week, the women of our community headed off to the Drakensberg, a beautiful range of mountains southeast of Pretoria.  We spent four days hiking, horseback riding, braving ropes courses, and just hanging out.  It’s about a 4-hour drive there, and in my car, we passed some of the time by rewriting Christmas songs to make them seasonally appropriate for South African weather.  (Christmas decorations are already appearing in grocery stores here, so it’s not like we were working too far ahead.)

We started with “Let It Snow” (“The weather outside is frightful, but the pool is so delightful…”) and just couldn’t stop.  By the time we’d reached our destination, we had six completed songs.  Titles ranged from the simple “Acacia Tree” to the more ridiculous “Desmond the Hornless Kudu.”  At dinner the first night, we performed the songs for the rest of the group, and I shall now share some of the lyrics here, so you can all join in the fun, too…

Acacia Tree
(to the tune of “O Christmas Tree”)

Acacia Tree, Acacia Tree,
How thorny are your branches
Acacia Tree, Acacia Tree,
How thorny are your branches

Giraffes, they like to eat your leaves
But kids step on your thorns and bleed
Acacia Tree, Acacia Tree,
How thorny are your branches

Your silhouette, a symbol yet
For Africa, its best sunset
Acacia Tree, Acacia Tree,
How thorny are your branches

You look so good, you stab so hard,
I do not want you in my yard
Acacia Tree, Acacia Tree,
How thorny are your branches

We cut you down and chop you up
To braai our meat and corn-on-the-cob
Acacia Tree, Acacia Tree,
How thorny are your branches

We mourn your loss at each sunset
But my feet have not healed just yet
Acacia Tree, Acacia Tree,
How thorny are your branches.

White-Hot Christmas
(to the tune of “White Christmas”)

I’m dreaming of a white-hot Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know
Where the bodies glisten
And people listen
To Jacaranda on the radio

(All you’ve got to do is turn it on…)

I’m dreaming of a white-hot Christmas
With every postcard that I write
May your beach be sandy and nice
And may all your Christmas meals be braais.

All songs composed thanks to the prodigious talent of: Laura Wardrip, Sarah Woolley, Daleen Ward, and Barbara Hillaker