Reverend Thabiso Mcinga, who became a voice for the youth, talks about her search for signposts on her path to leading a Methodist church. (Delwyn Verasamy/M&G)
Is she going to fail? Is she supposed to be where she is? After close on two decades of wrestling with her chosen career, Reverend Thabiso Mcinga still seeks answers.
She is young, a woman and black. Unlike her male counterparts, who would be celebrated at this age for being a leader, she continues searching for her signposts.
Two years shy of 40, she is the superintendent of several Methodist churches, including the Bethesda Methodist Church on a quiet street in Houghton, Johannesburg.
Speaking to Mcinga in her well-lit office looking into the manicured garden about her awakening and journey, one could be mistaken for thinking she has it all figured out: why she was called to the ministry and what her path is. It appears her journey has been simple. She is confident and quiet, wearing jeans, a starched shirt and perfectly heeled brown shoes.
But when she talks about growing up in Mbuqe Park in Mthatha and her most rewarding task yet — ministering to students during the Fees Must Fall protests — she lights up.
“I have quite a big Christian family. My grandmother was a staunch Methodist. As we grew up, we would go to church not knowing why. We’d sit behind cars until the service was over. If you didn’t want to go to church, she would tell you to stay outside. She was going to lock her doors.”
Mcinga’s journey started when she moved to Durban to study commerce. In the city, she joined the Central City Mission yaseThekwini. She enjoyed her time teaching Sunday school.
“Everything changed after I graduated and found a job.”
She didn’t know what was happening but her world was no longer hers.
“I remember the day I told my grandmother about my calling. She gave me a very flippant response saying, ‘ichurch yohlula abantu abadala, wena ungubani’ (leading a church is difficult even for experienced men, who are you?)’. That was the last we spoke about it. I thought, ‘if my grandmother couldn’t understand, how could I have a calling to minister?’ ”
Her family was deeply disappointed because it had struggled to get her educated, get a degree and look after her family. Now she was telling them she had a vocation to be a minister.
“You know how it is with families. When they see you, they see a certain profession with lots of money. And you know the idea people have of abafundisi, bayalamba [preachers are paupers] depending on the congregation. This was not what the family had in mind for me.”
For Mcinga, her awakening started with odd moments while at work. She would want to say something or burst out in prayer. During meetings, she would feel the need to stop everyone and ask to pray. With her friends, she would want to stop discussions and preach. While working at a call centre, her “affliction”, as she viewed it at the time, worsened.
“I didn’t understand it. I began missing schedules and deadlines. I would go to the loo and have a moment because I would sometimes cry because I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t.”
She didn’t want to believe that she had a calling. She was afraid.
“I needed to tell the people who were closest to me so that no one thinks I’m crazy because the behaviour [was] such that you would be suspected of being crazy. I needed someone who would help me understand without judging me. Because I really didn’t see it as a calling. And I could have never associated God with such behaviours. When we preach, we always talk of a God that comes with a soft voice. No one will tell you that God will tell you by shaking your body. I had no idea.”
After speaking to pastors and leaders in her church, she began getting guidance. She was given a platform to preach at some services. At 20, she joined the local preachers. This was not easy because of her age.
She was asked to give one of the seven words at an Easter Service. Her mind told her she was not ready, but her mentors assured her she was.
Her message reached the ears of her grandmother and her family in the Eastern Cape. This was the first time she felt that she had done something that had resonated in their hearts.
“By the time I finished that day, I don’t remember the number of messages I had received. It was meaningful to them.”
It was during these moments that she felt most alive. She was preaching and helping people. While others could not accept her choice, she attained a degree in theology on a bursary at the University of KwaZulu-Natal.
Not long after completing her degree, she was ushered through another “sharp curve”, this time of being a minister. After a gruelling multiphased process, she was accepted. She was sent on a six-year course, three of which she spent at the Methodist Seminary in Pietermaritzburg.
Even with her family beginning to warm up to the idea, she was still unsure that this was her vocation.
After three years at the seminary, Mcinga was sent on a new adventure — working as a chaplain at the University of Johannesburg. Although she had to carve out the space, it was the most rewarding and challenging work she had ever done.
“The work was truly beautiful. I would go home feeling I’d done something today. I felt grateful for having been part of adding value to someone’s life. And with the students, you could feel it every day. A lot of the young people are far away from home and they’re going through a lot. I had to literally be available at any time.”
The students knew that they could call her, especially at the height of the Fees Must Fall protests. During the 2am calls for her to rush to the campus because someone had tried to commit suicide, she began to realise the importance of her work.
Her work grew and, by the following year, she was also responsible for the chaplaincy at the University of Witwatersrand. But another curveball was waiting for her. She was moved to Bethesda Mission in Houghton to complete her training.
Ordained in 2019, she settled in. “I think the one thing I missed that amazing day was my grandmother. I think about her a lot.”
She started 2020 on a high. The first service every year is the covenant service, which is always led by a senior superintendent. She led it as a junior.
But social media was buzzing with harsh and berating comments of how could a junior lead such an important service.
“I remember I heard from colleagues all the way from the Eastern Cape how everyone was talking about this young minister doing the service. I cried at some point. It was really difficult.
“But every bit of these experiences has given me pause where I would ask God, ‘is this what you want, is this the trouble you’re bringing me to? Should I be going through this if, really, undibizile? [you have called me].’ I have had a number of those and call them signposts. No matter how much I don’t understand, I use them to direct me.”
She continued her work at Bethesda at the height of the Covid-19 pandemic, attending burials when no one was allowed near a coffin, consoling people who had lost jobs and giving those who had lost hope a scripture to hold on to.
The church moved online. You couldn’t be a minister who could simply preach. Mcinga had to step up, feature in videos on YouTube and Facebook. She watched a lot of “how to” clips. Over the past two years, she had to look out for more signposts.
“I was quite clear from the beginning that I didn’t believe I was meant to be a minister. These seats are reserved for others who are worthy. But I am here and I use these signposts to guide me.”
As she was getting to grips with the pandemic’s havoc, she received a call that she should step up to be the superintendent of the circuit.
Her mind said, “No, it can’t be.”
“I held onto the thought that I had to have five years of being a minister. This is a big role, overseeing about seven ministers. I couldn’t understand why now.”
Not long after this, her role and responsibilities in the Bethesda church increased. Leading a circuit, its finances, year plans and a major church is not a simple role.
“All this brought me back to my knees. Over the December holidays, I had many moments of asking God how I was going to do this; am I going to be able to do this; am I not going to fail in this, am I supposed to here?”
Mcinga continues to look for signposts in her journey of service.
“Some look at you and think you have made it, or you are representing women. But it’s not how it feels. I am not an activist. But I am here and I have to trust God.”
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