Mary Grace Cavey
How Great is Our God: The Impact of Music on Places of Worship Post-Apartheid
On January 13th we traveled to the township of Langa to participate in worship with a Baptist and Methodist congregation. Upon arrival, we were immediately greeted by members of the Methodist church- our first stop of the day. Smiling faces and a plethora of giggling children running freely throughout the aisles caught my eye immediately. Growing up, I was raised in a very traditional church with the expectation to sit quietly and don’t fall asleep during the sermon. We sang the same hymns, and church bulletins became unnecessary after I memorized the repetitive prayers. When I stepped into the Methodist church in Langa, it was unlike anything I had ever experienced. Rows and rows of pews packed tightly with community members from all over Cape Town swayed to the rhythm of Xhosa hymns. A choir led the congregation with vivid harmonies and a heartfelt sound sending a wave of love and welcome as church goers and our large group entered the historic Langa Methodist Church.
As someone with a knack for singing, I desperately tried to identify the melody while deciphering the pronunciation of the Xhosa lyrics, being sung from memory by those surrounding us. Unlike my own church, hymnals were nowhere to be found and prayers were being sung instead of chanted. This meant that the choir was the heart of the service, feeding the message to all of those present that day. With only a quick trip to both the churches in the plans for the day, we were brought outside to talk with the head usher. He shared with us that during the apartheid, people would travel from many different provinces to participate in their services. This was not something easily done at the time, however it was the beginning of multigenerational participation in the congregation. He also shared that the songs we were singing during their service were ones passed down, eliminating the need for printed hymns as the lyrics were often shared and performed both inside the home and the church.
Dizu Plaajites similarly spoke of the importance of music within the home when we visited his house of music later that day. While he humbly taught us simple rhythms on the drums, he told us, “music is the only reason people smiled during the apartheid.” Through our journey, music has continued to be demonstrated as a therapeutic outlet to the people of South Africa during the apartheid and today. In the District 6 Museum, photographs of gospel choirs and jazz ensembles paralleled the graphics describing the forced removal and relocation of black, colored, and indigenous people. When I spoke with Usef at Victory Outreach- a religious rehabilitation center for former drug addicts, and criminals- he described his pathway to recovery from drug addiction as “a dark tunnel with a small shining light” keeping him going. In Usef’s case, the light at the end of the tunnel was reconnecting with God. However, in the case of Dizu, and the church goers of Langa, it was the choirs praises working to regain touch with tradition and culture that became lost and distant after the effects of forced removal and apartheid discrimination.
Our second stop was the Baptist church in Langa. As we entered the modernized space, I was again ecstatic to see that it was not a pastor standing in solitude before the congregation, but a joyful choir. They swayed to the beat, and the congregation followed. In our second stop, I found some familiarity as the song How Great is Our God was led and sang energetically. This song, though familiar, evolved into a much greater message as I contemplated all that I have experienced throughout my time here.
Table Mountain in Cape Town showed me that though we will always face mountains, the view once we overcome them will always be worth the struggle. This trip has been one of peaks and valleys physically, emotionally and mentally, however I often found myself looking out the window during our bus rides listening to music thinking about how fortunate we all are to experience the beauty of the world. From the vivid sunsets, to the colorful markets, each day is truly a blessing. Yesterday our class had our closing naming ceremony. I selected the name Agbenyaga, meaning life is precious. I chose this name because throughout my life I have had moments of selfishness where I took for granted my blessings and neglected to take in the world around me. The music I experienced here meant more than a song to sing, but an opportunity to process and heal hardship and overcome it in an environment welcoming to all who wish to learn.