The Holiest of Ground

by Mel Baars

“Then God said, “Come no closer! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” ~Exodus 3:5

For many, the experience of the Divine is best described as purely unexpected. Moses was no exception. He was tending a flock, fulfilling his duty as son-in-law when out of nowhere, God appeared and transformed his entire existence. God is present in our worship, in our relationships with loved ones, and in our reading of the Bible. Yet, in those places we have learned to train our eye for divine encounter. We forget that coming face to face with the living God happens, too, in the banality of the simple things we often dread, the things that don’t seem to have anything to do with God. Washing dishes, driving children to school, even tending a flock, these are monotonous actions which seem to be a means to an end. We think in our hurry that the point is completing the task at hand, not so much the process of the task itself. And though our days are replete with such chores, we don’t bother watching for any revelation of grace in the midst of the tedium. Therefore, we are often surprised by its embrace of us.

In the short time I have been in South Africa, I have learned that the backbone of the black community is the matriarch. She is the one who ensures that there is enough food for all who are hungry. She is the one who maintains order in the often fractured home. She is the one who invisibly keeps broken, bleeding families from a violent, undignified end. She is the thread that knits all things together, often sacrificing everything for her family and community. One of the most shocking discoveries I have experienced going into township homes is their pristine appearance. There may be holes in the ceiling or a floor of mud, but no time has been spared in cleaning, tidying, and attending one’s home. No doubt, the biblical call to welcoming the stranger provides foundation for this particular care.

In this culture, the minister wields surprising and significant power. Ministers aren’t really “allowed” to serve others or help out in the kitchen, but they instead are fed first and not permitted to do any dirty work. So, it was an extreme honor to be invited to help with the dishes one night after a church supper. The ladies who spend countless hours cooking and cleaning in our kitchen perform an often thankless ministry of love and being a part of their service was surprising grace for me. I stood in the middle of these sage women whose strength was as palpable to me as the running water which filled the sink. Performing the tasks of washing and rinsing glasses, utensils, and plates, became a simple, rhythmic prayer. The motion, the brush of our damp fingers, enveloped us all. For those fleeting moments, we were connected and in communion with one another, no doubt because of the power of God’s spirit.

A colleague, one of the two female clergy in our Presbytery, told me the other day that ministry, real ministry, is the stuff that happens that no one ever sees. These are the moments that are only possible because no one is watching for them. That which we look beyond often becomes the holiest of ground.

My days here are filled with a lot of driving. Hardly any one has a car in the township, even people with good jobs, so often I am a chauffeur in a clerical collar. There are moments when people pile into my car, speaking quickly in a language I don’t comprehend, and I am at the mercy of a child to point me in the right direction which will take us to our destination. The other day, because of a taxi strike, I was in my car over four hours, driving children in our orphan program back and forth between home and school.

Often when I am driving, there is a part of me that ponders just how many years I went to school, the countless hours of work I devoted to studying, and all to do a task I could have done without any of it. But then there are other moments when my driving people becomes a prayer for me. I look in my rearview mirror and see a six year old boy who has fought to live every day of his life because of HIV and other related illnesses. From the driver’s seat I see him slumped over, sleeping with his small face pressed against the window; he is exhausted after an afternoon of swimming and games which he was able to participate in because there were people willing to drive him and others like him on a special outing into the countryside. It is in these moments that my car becomes the holiest of ground. I cannot imagine any other task I could offer which would more fittingly be ministry.

I have been in South Africa for almost five months. I will be the first to say that this experience has defied my expectations on almost every level, as I knew it would. I have watched from afar as my colleagues in the US new to ministry just like me have prepared sermons and weekly worship, attended countless committee meetings, and led small group studies as the official voice of knowledge. I have wondered why my own days are not filled with similar things and if somehow I misplaced the memo which delineates proper ministry. And then, when I have not been looking, grace has embraced me. I have been baptized with lukewarm, soapy water and reminded that the process of serving Jesus, in whatever way one is called, is in fact a sacred prayer. I have seen the face of God when I wasn’t watching for it, sleeping tenderly against my car window.

Mel Baars, a graduate of Duke University and Duke Divinity School, was ordained in the Presbyterian Church (USA) in September 2008. She is currently serving a township congregation outside of Cape Town, South Africa. She will be at this church for two years before becoming an active duty Army Chaplain.