Shaymus

“Shaymus!  Shaaaaymus,” the four or five African children kept yelling at me.  Some of them whispered it quickly.  Others shot me accusing glances.  I’d catch them looking at me and they’d just smile, their bright eyes lighting up at me.  Then one or two would ask to be picked up as we were walking down the dusty roads of Tembesia.  Whose Shaymus, I wondered. 

Recently I visited an orphanage in the Tembesia township.  The kids here were absolutely amazing.  I spent most of my time playing with four or five boys between eight and ten years old.  They kept climbing on me, hollering at me, and playing ball.  Occasionally a little hand would dart out and rub my beard.  Odd, I thought. 

That afternoon we went walking through Tembesia.  After hearing them call out Shaymus for some time, I realized they meant me.  “Hey,” I asked, “what does that mean?”  “The wrestler,” they replied.  They thought that I, with my beard, looked like one of their favorite wrestlers.   Two thoughts went through my mind.  First, I’m not often mistaken for a wrestler.  I must cherish this moment.  Second, these kids really like Shaymus.    While they clearly knew I wasn’t  the wrestler, I obviously represented a beloved figure in their lives.  They were so excited to have their wrestler spend the day with them.  So I accepted it, climbing and name calling included.  And they kept trying to touch my beard.  I was Shaymus. 

Recently I’ve been thinking a lot about being a provisional elder next year.  How strange is it to assume this new role and be a pastor?  Occasionally here in South Africa I’m treated as a minister, either by title or expectation.  This is shocking.  “Don’t you people realize I haven’t graduated yet?  What would the DComm say?”  But these technicalities don’t matter.  People want someone who can serve God.  They want someone who can love them. 

As I think about my minor pastoral role now and the role I’ll fill next year, I’m reminded of that day in Tembesia.  Just like being called Shaymus, I didn’t ask to be called into ministry.  The call just came.  While I'm willing to fill it, I keep thinking about how I'm not a pastor yet.  I'm not quite there.  Yet despite my inclination to defer to older wisdom, people keep looking at me.  As clumsy and as awkward as I feel at times, I like to imagine myself as strong and mighty Shaymus. Or better yet I imagine myself living into the role of Shaymus, where I can embrace this new identity and hopefully flourish.  I'm sure over the next year the 'name calling' and 'congregational expectations' will continue.  Yet as caught off guard as I may be from time to time (pastor, who me?), it'll help me grow as a minister.  I'm happy to embrace these awkward identity moments for the sake of answering the call.  (But no more beard touching, please.)