Dyonkile and her congregants start to sing their hymns. Her daughter, Patience, beats a drum. Others begin shaking maraca-like instruments, and in unison, on key, they begin to sing, softly at first.
“Amen! Amen! Amen!”
The inside of Siyanda Mphelo's home in Extension 6 in Makhanda, South Africa.
Their voices pick up and their song spills out into the streets, beckoning their neighbors to join them in worship.
Little by little, the people start to arrive. Two high school-aged boys shyly open the door and take their places at the far end of the room. The women come next, joining right in, singing and clapping and dancing.
It is a joyful day.
The music seems never-ending, and continues while Dyonkile blesses each of the members, pressing her Bible to their chests and praying over them. Even the tiniest parishioner, Angel, her 4-month-old granddaughter, is blessed. Her grandmother holds her closely as she places the Bible on Angel’s back. She prays. The congregants keep singing.
The inside of Siyanda Mphelo's home in Extension 6 in Makhanda, South Africa.
After all have received their blessing, Dyonkile leads them in prayer. Their voices rise and grow more emotional the longer they pray. Dyonkile’s daughter begins to weep. She is on the floor, her hands in the air, and she cries, “Thank you, Jesus! Thank you!”
In her parents’ living room, she thanks him for all that she has.
The music starts again. They dance around the room — there are 10 of them now — and they sing and clap and shuffle.
In total, the service lasts nearly two hours.
This church is not restricted by time. There is no worry of making it to Sunday brunch, no checking of watches to see how much longer the minister might possibly ramble.
There is only this moment; the members are fully present.
And in this tiny home with the lime green walls, make no mistake about it: God is present, too.