Fast forward, I ended up graduating from the youth program. My mother was so proud of me but I still felt like a failure. Months later, I still couldn’t get the gospel the way I was supposed to. I still watched in awe how my peers were moved and had the ability to move others through preaching. I felt like an outcast…the same way I did when I started the program. For me, it became about ticking the boxes, but for my mother, it was about raising a strong, God-fearing woman. In her eyes I was exactly that, in mine, I was a con artist.
Okay, maybe I am exaggerating a bit. To be honest, the church would have probably been my favorite place only if there wasn’t so much pressure and comparisons. I don’t think the elders did it intentionally. They rightfully wanted to raise children that God would be proud of, but in the process children such as my young self, suffocated.
I eventually stopped going to church when my mom passed on. It wasn’t because I could finally do what I wanted without her constantly making me go to church, but because at her funeral, they kept on singing her favorite hymn over and over again. I was so damn depressed and annoyed, but it was what my mom would have wanted.
Here’s a thing…..you die, the congregation and the community visit your family every evening for a service where the aim is to use the word of God to comfort those who are left behind. Verses are read and deciphered, hymns are sung and instead of getting comfort, the family gets more and more depressed. If that isn’t enough, for a person like my mom who had a certain position in the church’s older women’s group, her peers knew her so well that they wanted to make sure they honor her in a way that she would have appreciated…in this situation it was singing the same song over and over and over again. A song about God’s mercy. How ironic seeing that I wasn’t feeling any of the mercy? Mind you, my church prides itself on slow and depressing songs. I honestly never understood how that was meant to hype me up. Then came the dilemma of associating the songs with the funerals.
Funerals? Yes, funerals. My mom passed on 2 days after we buried my father. We had to bury her the week of her passing to save on costs, especially for those who were coming from out of town. So for two consecutive weeks, we went through the ritual of people coming in and annoying me with their songs and messages of “hope”.
I remember during my mom’s funeral…two of my classmates had the audacity to gossip about me and laugh at my shoes. One of them was a very beautiful singer who really did justice to one hymn. The same hymn she sang at my house when my father was sick and my classmates and teachers decided to come to show their love. This is the same hymn that was constantly sung at funerals. It talks about how God knows what we are going through and what we need. The one hymn I could relate to was sung by the same Christian girl who spoke badly about me at my most fragile time.
If that’s what being a Christian was like, then I did not want any part of it.
Jane Mpholo is an award-winning multidisciplinary artist, entrepreneur, and changemaker from Botshabelo, South Africa. As CEO of Jane Mpholo Pty Ltd, she is pioneering work in theatre, film, and site-specific performance art. The first recipient of the CCIA’s “Outstanding Actor in Theatre” award, she has performed, written, and produced for national and international stages. Honored with two honorary awards from Onalerona Productions NPC and the Southern Region Women in Media Awards, she is a mentor, producer, and advocate for inclusivity. Through bold storytelling, she sparks important conversations, shaping the performing arts landscape and inspiring change worldwide.
