Rugby, The Frozen Chosen, and Preaching...oh my!

I went to a rugby match on Saturday.  It was the DHL Stormers vs. the Kings of the Eastern Cape.  The Stormers won (I told you I was a talisman) and I became a legit fan.  The road to legitimacy began when we bought the tickets, knowing full well that it was going to be cold and raining all night.  I asked, totally lacking legitimacy, if they ever cancel matches because of weather or field conditions (hello, baseball fan).  They do not.  I agreed to go anyway.  Step one - check.

                As I began getting ready for the match, my host was worried that I wasn't going to be warm enough and we spent a good chunk of the day talking about what I would wear.  My packing for this winter was entirely inadequate, as I think I've mentioned before, and she insisted on letting me borrow a pair of leather boots.  That worked out nicely because by the time I put all my clothes on, my feet were way too big for my own boots.  I wound up wearing, now bear with me: fleece lined tights, two pairs of wool socks, winter running pants, jeans, long underwear, a cashmere sweater, a flannel shirt, a puffy jacket, scarf, knit head wrap and two pairs of gloves.  My host said I reminded her of the little kid in A Christmas Story who gets all of his clothes on and can barely move…and then has to pee.  Step two towards legitimacy – check.

And then we went to see rugby.  The whole car ride there, I was a in a bit of a funk because I was really afraid of the cold and sitting outside in the rain.  Turns out I was worried for no reason.  Our seats were covered and my multiple layers kept me warm.  I learned that rugby is a traditionally Afrikaans sport in South Africa, and was a difficult transition for many Afrikaaners when integration occurred.  There are, however, many remnants of Afrikaans culture, including the fandom.  The pastor’s daughters bought a sign saying “I am a Stormer” in Afrikaans, and that’s where I took the final step towards legitimacy.  I pronounced it properly, and I remember it (which, if you know me, is a big freaking deal).  “Ek is ‘n Stormer!”  Check.

The game was good.  Rainy, but good.  I could totally go to more and not feel bad about it.  But seriously, the rain was something else.  And they never missed a beat, continuing to play in their shorts and short sleeves.  Rugby players don’t mess around.  They’re legit.  Rugby fans…I’m going to go out on a limb here and say they’re even more legit.  They come out and just sit and freeze (alcohol helps ease the freeze, but still).  But seriously, it was raining.

Sunday was the best example I've ever seen of the Frozen Chosen not being frozen, while still being frozen.  In fact, I’m not sure this concept exists anywhere other than South Africa.  Possibly only in my brain in South Africa.  It’s truly a sight to behold.  To worship in the morning, I wore two layers and my puffy jacket with scarf and gloves.  The rest of the congregation was similarly dressed…inside.  Again, there is no indoor heat here, and everyone leaves doors and windows open all the time.  We are very cold. 

And yet, as the music starts, I see these good Presbyterians raise their hands in the air, waving them around, swaying back and forth, eyes closed…I just stood there.  And then, to my great surprise, when we started singing The Battle Hymn of the Republic (again) one woman elbowed her way out of her row, grabbed all her friends and started marching around the sanctuary.  I think the only people left in their pews by the time it was over were me and the people in wheel chairs (who are not technically in a pew).  Frozen chosen, my behind.

That night, at the 6:30 service, I was slated to preach.  After a few rounds with readers and edits and whatnot, I had my sermon ready.  The evening service does about half an hour of praise band music and prayer, and I, being the preacher, sat awkwardly on the front pew with no one even remotely close to me.  Again, I just stood there, and I’m sure my awkwardness was apparent to people in the next town over.  When the music was over, the pastor got up out of his pew to come and tell me it was time to go preach.  That was a little embarrassing, but I made an awkward Bethany joke (read: unfunny, but I think they laughed out of pity) about it and we moved on.  I praught (you’re welcome, Sarah…I brought that to South Africa).  It went well.  People had very nice things to say.  So, my first sermon in South Africa is under my belt.  Eight more to go (yes, you read that right, I’m preaching nine times). 

If you’re interested, I’ll post the sermon text.  It’s too late to make any changes, so just love it for what it is, Matt Flemming. 

I think my win for the weekend, even on top of being a talisman for the Stormers, was the fourteen year old who said she enjoyed my sermon.  Everyone said they enjoyed it, they needed to hear it, they struggle with the same things, etc…  But they’re grown-ups and I expect them to pay attention for fifteen minutes (even though I often don’t).  But this girl, who every time I made eye contact with her looked away, gave me a big hug and said how wonderful she thought it was.  Melt.