by Doug Roland
In the Methodist Church of Southern Africa, ministers wear clerical collars, with or without ordination. In the United Methodist Church, collars are awarded or permitted when you are ordained. Having never seen a United Methodist minister wear one, I think it's not a big deal in the US. But it's different here.
If you don't wear a collar, you're not recognized as a minister. Forget about saying prayers, preaching, baptisms, weddings, funerals. No collar, don't bother. It's part of the theological DNA.
Plain white collars are predictable, uniform, a little dull. Many ministers here have resisted convention and treated collars as a fashion accessory. Some wear clerical shirts with the collar built in. Then there are cool stylized ones that only suggest the presence of a collar for ministers pushing envelope.
Wearing a collar presented a dilemma to three United Methodists - Duke University Divinity school students who just completed three months with the seminary community where are are volunteering.
The "Dukies" consisted of a cardiologist and his wife from Tampa, both of whom are members of our home church, Hyde Park United Methodist. The other two were from Texas and North Carolina . As part of their program here, they were stationed AS MINISTERS in a remote area of the province, about 80 or so kilometers from Pietermaritzburg. In those parts, no one was going to pay much attention to them unless they wore collars. What to do? Unofficially, they went out and bought some, It is a tradition here that someone pays for your collar as a gift. For the Dukies, it was all under the radar.
A few days ago, one of the seminary worship teams decided that the seminary should make Friday morning's chapel service a celebration of the Duke students' time with us, and include in that service a proper collaring service complete with ritual. Word spread but few could have predicted the outcome.
Friday morning chapel starts at 7 am sharp. It is usually relaxed with mostly music, prayers and some short reflections. The service was, as usual, joyful. In the three months here, one of the Dukies, the Texan, learned how to dance like the Africans. But when he started "swaying" his 6'9' frame, people nearby cleared out.
When the regular service ended, the worship leader announced that the seminarians wanted to pay special tribute to their new friends in faith, and recognize their contributions to seminary life.
In the back of the chapel, a dim buzz started then swelled as two seminarians carried two large flags, the colors of South Africa and the Stars and Stripes. The flag bearers walked up the aisle waving with typical African enthusiasm. The chapel erupted in cheers and shouts of joy.
As the flags passed up the aisle, in perfect coordination, the video screen filled up with the image of a football stadium filled with thousands of cheering spectators. The camera panned to show a large orchestra playing an introduction to the Star Spangled Banner. It was the iconic performance by Whitney Houston at the 1991 Super Bowl played in Tampa Stadium, hometown of two of the Dukies, and two seminary staff members. I tried to sing with her but couldn't get through it.
As the F-16 engines roared overhead on the screen, the noise was deafening. The eyes of six Americans welled with tears. The Africans, understanding very little about our version of football or what an F-16 is, nevertheless celebrated with us, in an extraordinary expression of respect for our nation and its people. But this exceptional chapel service was not over yet.
When seats were finally taken, the Dean announced that the collaring ceremony would begin. At that instant, the loudest thunderclap I've heard in quite a while rattled the chapel building. On this morning in that place, it was taken as God's contribution to thecelebration.
Eventually the collaring began. Here, the procedure is that the Dean, or whoever officiates, secures the collar on the seminarian. The seminarian then lies prostrate on the floor, kisses the ground and then gets up. First up was the tall guy. Apparently he didn't know about kissing the ground then getting up. He just laid there with his nose fully planted in the carpet until the Dean nudged him to get up. The next two, thinking this was part of the ritual, followed suit.
Then the celebration really got traction. In a year of being here and having attended about 100 chapel services, I have never seen or heard anything like it. It wasn't some sort of emotional ecstasy. It was pure love and respect. I couldn't drink it all in.
The wife of one of the Duke students took the floor and with a voice that choked on every other word gave thanks to her friends. She was adored by the seminarians who even gave her nickname, Mrs. Khumalo. (You had to be there.)
The tribute and ceremony ended, but seminarians with cameras and cell phones stayed and waited until they got just the shot they wanted. They even brought Cheri and I into the picture of the Americans in their midst on this very special day.
Those of us who work in this seminary are often taken by surprise at what is happening here. We go through our meetings, planning infinite details, talking about grades, attitudes, new policies, and coming events. But it's the stuff we don't plan that in so many ways reflects just what is happening. Today we saw, heard and felt what it's like when people from vastly different cultures and traditions, can become brothers and sisters, children of God. I'll treasure it always. Those who were there will not soon forget it. Six of us never will.
It was very special.
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