Yesterday I participated in the Opening of Rona (the R is pronounced like a G in Afrikaans) with our 1pm congregation. We whites usually don't know much about Rona in the Methodist Church, but it is a season of sacrificial giving which lasts a couple of months each year. The funds generated are in theory earmarked for mission and outreach but in poorer communities often get used to meet outstanding debts. There is nothing hidden and private about this giving - each member of this small congregation had a chance to come to the front and put a note on the table after sharing what she was thanking God for or praying for. The secretary dutifully wrote down each name and amount.
One old lady with a wonderful sense of humour gave a long speech and put R10 down. I asked someone what she had said. "That was her taxi money - she will walk 10km home now". I saw another lady of very limited means slip a R10 note to a friend who had nothing to give.
It had been a long morning and I hadn't relished the thought of sitting through a Rona service, but I felt enriched and humbled to witness the joyful, sacrificial generosity of these ladies.
