Jansen Breaking Bread

A Memoir
1. Auflage 2024
ISBN: 978-1-77619-359-2
Verlag: Jonathan Ball
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 280 Seiten

Professor. Pundit. Public nuisance. In his columns, books and on social media, Jonathan Jansen is prolific, and he likes to speak his mind about schools and universities, race, politics and our complex South African society. He has brought incisive analysis, compassion and a sense of humour to some of the most controversial issues in our country for many years. And now, in this memoir, Jansen goes back to his early years: growing up in a loving, fiercely evangelical family on the Cape Flats, being put on the road to purpose by an inspiring school teacher and becoming the first of his generation to go to university. Journey with Jansen as he finds his passion for teaching high school and becomes a leading academic and thinker amid great transformation in post-apartheid South Africa. His gift for story-telling and his interactions with people from different walks of life offer moving insights into the intricacies of South African society, insights that are filled with wisdom and leadership lessons. Jansen's patchwork of memories tells a bigger story than that of his own life. It's a tale of learning the value of 'breaking bread' with others, of finding mutual recognition in our different fears and faiths, our fumbles and fortitude, our hurts and our hopes.

JONATHAN JANSEN is Distinguished Professor of education at Stellenbosch University. The eldest son of a preacher and a nurse, he grew up on the Cape Flats in a conservative evangelical church which shaped his values for good and bad. He was a biology teacher in the Cape before studies abroad, then returned to leadership in South African universities. Relieved of administration, he now does what professors are supposed to do: think. His family makes him possible and he lives for his two amazing granddaughters.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Jansen, Jonathan

Leseproben

2

Seeing the light

‘Let it be known: I did not fall from grace. I leapt to freedom.’

Ansel Elkins, Autobiography of Eve

I preached on trains. The early morning commuter train ran from Retreat to Mowbray, from where I would take the bus to the University of the Western Cape for undergraduate studies. There were about a dozen stops on an ‘all stations’ train, giving us preachers enough time to sow the seed.

There was stiff competition from the Pentecostal preachers also seeking the opportunity to preach the gospel to a captive audience. They were even more fiery and entertaining than those of us from the mainstream evangelical churches like the Brethren who did not speak in tongues or swing from the chandeliers. The pattern, though, was familiar. We would wait to board the train at Retreat and as soon as the doors closed, the first brother to jump up and command the crowd would have the slot on this suburban line. ‘Ek groet julle in die wonderlike naam van Jesus! ’ That was pretty much code for, ‘I’m on’ (and not you other contenders).

Afrikaans worked much better here in the packed third-class carriage. English was more appropriate in the first-class carriage where the more sturvy (uppity, pretentious) people sat with their newspapers and fancy clothes. On the other hand, you would be silly to preach in that section of the train because you would almost certainly be chased off to third-class where you could take your chances.

Nobody asked the third-class passengers for permission to shout in their ears that early in the morning. Some responded respectfully. Men would take off caps or hats. Women would bow in silent prayer, putting their hands together. Believers would share an ‘amen’ when a juicy statement was made or a potent verse recited. Others just stared at the ceiling or through the train’s thick windows. I often wondered what the Muslim passengers thought, especially since Christians living near mosques would sometimes complain about the call to prayer waking them up in the early morning.

After an initial disappointment that a Pentecostal brother had jumped up first, I quite enjoyed some of their preaching. It was a mix of gospel promise, deadly threat and high entertainment. Promise: whosoever believeth in Him shall have eternal life. Threat: the Bible says that when you go to hell there will be weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth. Entertainment: and for those of you who do not have teeth, teeth will be provided (that the prophecy might be fulfilled, I suppose).

No such extravagance when I or the Brethren brothers preached. Just straight down the line gospel messages which alternated between the citation of a biblical verse and a pointed exposition thereof. One hand waved the Bible, the other held onto the overhead handgrip or the upright pole as the train swayed from side to side.

A fine line separated the mainstream evangelical churches from the Pentecostals all around us. Their faith was much more exuberant. They would run, jump, weep and wail, unencumbered by the formalities of faith. Someone giving a testimony would speak openly about their sin or their salvation. Bodies quivered under the influence of the Holy Spirit and there were ‘catchers’ for those who fell over under the spell of a pastor’s prayer. Drums, keyboards, guitars and tambourines all made a joyful noise unto the Lord. The first time I attended a Pentecostal church, I got a splitting headache.

The Brethren tolerated the Pentecostals and the less buoyant versions of evangelicals, such as the Baptists and the Docks Mission believers. At least they were going to heaven, like us, even if they were the victims of poor doctrine. The Anglicans, Catholics and Dutch Reformed people, on the other hand, were headed straight to hell because they did not believe in salvation by faith, performed child baptism and did not preach the gospel. These people also permitted all kinds of sins that should have disqualified them from breaking bread. The Muslims and Hindus were so far out, they did not stand the slightest chance of entering the pearly gates. My role as a preacher was to be crystal clear about the dividing line between the redeemed and the condemned, and what better place to convey that message than the suburban train line?

My journey to becoming a train preacher was somewhat predictable. If I had to pinpoint a moment that started my journey of faith it would be a moment outside my aunt’s home in PE at 51 Sayster Street in Bethelsdorp Extension. They, too, had been forcefully relocated to this house on the outskirts of the city from their large and lovely residence in the now-white suburb of Fairview.

I was playing soccer with my brother Peter and cousin Epaphras on the street outside Auntie Edie and Uncle Gollie’s home. Suddenly, the door opened and out came a group of Brethren women who had been at a sisters’ prayer meeting. One of them came straight towards me: ‘Johnny, I want to tell you that even before you were born, we were praying for you.’ Then, and as the years passed, I was bowled over by this enormous act of grace. These adults cared about me while I was still in the womb. Put differently, I was bound to this community even before I opened my eyes.

The track towards salvation from there on followed a clear path. Years of Sunday school as a child. Conversion in my early youth. Conviction that I should be baptised. Then sharing my public testimony and, in time, a platform to preach the gospel with an older brother before venturing out alone as a train preacher. You were, of course, under pressure from the moment you gained consciousness of the world around you that in the Brethren you are expected to be born again. Like many in the church, I was born into the Brethren without having a clue about how this immersion in the faith would become for me a life-altering experience.

Though established in Ireland early in the 19th century, the church was more commonly known as Plymouth Brethren because of a powerful movement in the UK city of that name. It was a group that broke away from the establishment Church of England. Shortly after the new church was formed, there was a more radical breakaway called the Exclusive Brethren, as opposed to the one which Abraham and Sarah called home, the Open Brethren. The Exclusives were even stricter on membership.

Much later, the Open Brethren experienced another kind of breakaway called Chapels. They were less doctrinaire than the Brethren though still fashioned on the same basic teachings and the preaching of the gospel. But they could bring in a band and open the platform to men who were not necessarily from the Brethren assemblies but known to be solid teachers of the Word. Most of the Chapels were found among the white assemblies.

You knew you were in a traditional Brethren church when you heard people pray in old English. To this day, the faithful churches address God in words like ‘thee’, ‘thou’ and ‘thine’. It became increasingly awkward for young believers, especially those who went to university. When you switched to ‘you’ and ‘your’ in community prayers, there was no resounding ‘amen’ at the end. You knew you had drifted from the truth.

Regardless of form, what these new believers sought was a simplicity of worship. There was no elaborate liturgy or ordained ministers. They did not regard themselves as a denomination and were proud that their church did not have a name. One day we were travelling to the beach in our little car with the neighbour, Auntie Lilly Fredericks and her children, packed inside. ‘There’s Mrs Jansen’s church,’ blurted Auntie Lilly as we raced down the M5. ‘No’, said my mother, ‘the church is the body of believers; that’s just a building.’

The Brethren took the literal Bible as their sole authority on matters of doctrine. Only men could preach and women had to cover their heads. Adult baptism was reserved for those who became saved (born again). They prided themselves as fundamentalists on teaching the Word to edify believers and they believed in the second coming of Christ, something that could happen at any moment. If you died before this event, the rapture, you went straight to heaven as a born-again Christian: absent from the body means present with the Lord.

On that basis the believer would come into fellowship, which meant sitting around a small table on a Sunday morning where, after some preliminaries (praying, singing and perhaps a short Word from one of the men), the bread and wine were passed around. Those sitting at the back could only observe and a visitor without a letter of commendation from another assembly, regardless of their Christian status, would have to sit at the back as well.

Any sign of exuberance was out, and this showed up most clearly in the role of instrumental music. At the breaking of bread on Sunday mornings, all singing was a capella. One’s mind was to be devoted wholly to the Lord and an organ or a piano could detract from that task. An accordion accompanied us at open-air gospel meetings, presumably to keep us all singing in tune and to attract the attention of passersby.

In the gospel meeting a piano or an organ was allowed, and the more permissive assemblies...