Pentecost is still close. The images are vivid, the words still resonate, and the music lingers. But what remains when everyday life grows louder than the memories?
Perhaps that is why we sometimes need to deliberately look back. Not to recount everything in chronological order once again, but to discover which images have stayed with us. Our journey to South Africa began in an unspectacular way: with the usual commute to the office on Ueberlandstrasse. A few final documents, some last-minute arrangements, and some organisational details—and then we were on our way, via Frankfurt to Cape Town.
The first few days it felt like a normal working trip: checking technical equipment, inspecting venues, coordinating schedules. There were meetings and gatherings, as well as a visit to Ocean View, where District Apostle David Heynes was welcomed by over 1,300 brothers and sisters. It was only on Saturday that things began to shift. The business trip noticeably turned into a Pentecost gathering.
On Saturday, an excursion to the west coast of False Bay was on the agenda. In Simon’s Town, there was still time to visit the penguin colony on the beach—along with a brief discussion about whether those remarkably well-dressed birds might offer inspiration for a church dress code. There wasn’t much time to dwell on the idea: that evening, the concert in Silvertown awaited us.
After the opening song, I leaned over to my colleague and whispered, “At most concerts, this piece would probably be the highlight of the entire evening—and here they are using it as an opener.”
This is exactly what never ceases to amaze me about South African musicians: this ability not only to perform music flawlessly and powerfully, but to infuse it with emotion, joy, and hope. And that was exactly what could be felt throughout the evening.
At the end of the concert, Chief Apostle Schneider spoke about how often people are inspired—through music, for example—and how quickly such inspiration can fade when everyday life returns—or one’s own scepticism becomes stronger. Then, quite unexpectedly, he invited everyone to pause for moment of reflection. To pause for a personal prayer. For a quiet moment before God. The silence that followed did not feel organised or rehearsed. It was not expressed through grand gestures, but through small, subtle movements: handkerchiefs, lowered eyes, tears that no one felt compelled to hide.
Perhaps that is why the evening was not simply a concert. Without anyone having planned it, it was already a prelude to what was to happen the following morning.
When I wake up, the first thing on my mind is not the divine service, but the fact that in about seven hours we will already be on our way back to the airport.
But before that lies this special experience: the Pentecost service, with a worldwide broadcast. The divine service at which a new Chief Apostle will be ordained and his predecessor retired.
I pack my suitcase before breakfast. There will not be time for that later. The gap between the end of the divine service and our departure for the airport leaves little room to spare. Sitting at breakfast in my black suit, I sip my coffee, discuss the day’s plans with my colleagues, and casually download my boarding pass. Everything feels ordinary and efficient. And yet, my thoughts keep drifting back to the two men at the heart of this day: the Chief Apostle who has led the Church until now, and the one who is about to succeed him.
About 20 minutes before we set off for the church in Tafelsig, everyone disappears back to their rooms. I am already set to go and head straight for the waiting buses. As I greet the South African team I notice a commotion behind me.
Chief Apostle Schneider approaches the bus accompanied by his wife. Unusually early. I walk over to him with a smile, tap my wristwatch and say, “Chief Apostle, what’s going on? You’re never this early.”
He busts out laughing immediately. “Yes, normally …” Then he rubs his hands together, “But today is a very special day.”
That brief moment already reflected something of the intensity ahead: solemnity, eager anticipation, and that almost youthful joy at the thought of what lay ahead.
Gradually, the District Apostles, District Apostle Helpers, and their wives arrive at the buses. Once it has been confirmed that the Chief Apostle Helper is also on board—for today, of all days, no one wants to leave without him—do the two buses slowly pull away. The route follows the coastline. To the right, the ocean with white-capped waves. Dune grass bending in the wind.
Inside the bus it grows quiet. The sea to our right, the city to our left, and ahead of us Tafelsig.
First, we pass the New Apostolic Church in Eastridge and, about a kilometre further on, we see Tafelsig West. However, the congregation is not gathered inside the church; everyone is standing by the side of the road, waving as we pass. It is not a perfectly orchestrated reception. It is something far better: genuine joy. Loud. Warm. South African. From there, it is only about 600 metres to the large Tafelsig church.
Outside, volunteers coordinate the arrival. Members stream onto the church grounds. Formal attire, embraces, brief greetings, searching eyes. Everything is in motion. The Chief Apostle and his entourage enter the building via the underground car park. He and the Apostles disappear into the sacristy.
The rest of us make our way up the stairwell toward the church hall. The staircase is narrow, and progress is slow, one patient step at a time.
And that’s exactly where we hear it properly for the first time.
The music.
Through the open doors, the sound of the choir and the orchestra spills into the stairwell. With every step, the voices grow louder. Conversations fade away. The pace slows.
And when we finally step inside the sanctuary and make our way to our seats, it feels as though we are stepping into something that has been unfolding for a long time already and reaches well beyond these church walls.
To be continued …
