Trinity Stories: Real lives, real faith — stories of God at work in our community

This year we will have twelve inspiring stories from members of Trinity who have been impacted or moved by God’s call to be invitational.

The stories range from people who have boldly shared their faith and invited others, to those who have been the recipients of the invitations or have been moved by the Holy Spirit to connect into God’s work at Trinity

We hope they will lift your hearts to hear and read, but also give you the boldness and courage to keep inviting and keep sharing your own Jesus stories.

All We Need is Love (And Better Timing… And Pitch… And…)

Shared by Rev Nick Prinsloo, a seconded minister in the Methodist Church of Southern Africa worshipping at Trinity Methodist Church.

In the story below, Nick shares how an invitation from our Youth & Young Adults Pastor, Bronwyn Delport, to serve in the life of Trinity brought about something good.

Chronicles of an Accidental Youth Band Leader’s Reluctant Return

Let’s get one thing straight: teenagers scare me almost as much as clowns at a birthday party. I’m not talking about the cute, balloon-animal-making kind of clowns either. I’m talking about the “Hiya Georgie!” Stephen King variety.

So, imagine my utter lack of enthusiasm when I, a grey beard musician desperately clinging to the last shreds of Bob Dylan-esque street cred, was strong-armed into leading a gaggle of hormone-fueled, occasionally talented, and overly enthusiastic teens in their quest to create the most ear-shattering worship band EVA! Snaps fingers. Suddenly, my worst fears were colliding with an unexpected calling.

Thou Shalt Not Ghost Thy Church

The thing about being an extrovert-introvert minister on secondment is that I mastered the art of social distancing long before it was trendy. Call it what you will, but it’s that sweet spot between “fully committed” and “just passing through”. I’m there for the occasional church crisis, happy to mentor youth pastors and student ministers, and always up for a theological brainstorming session or a deep dive into deconstructionism over WhatsApp.

Yet, even as I carefully maintained my distance, the pull of the church and its community began to encroach on my comfort zone.

Thou Shalt Not Strangle the Youth Pastor

Apparently, once you’ve been a youth pastor, you’re forever branded as one. It’s like getting a tattoo in your twenties—no matter how much time passes, it sticks with you, and everyone assumes it defines you. You can run, but you can’t hide from the ghosts of your misspent youth… or your past as leader… or the youth group. The adults-who-were-once-teens-you-led will always find you, usually with a “brilliant” idea that makes you question every life choice you’ve ever made.

This is how the conversation went with Bronwyn: “We need you to lead the youth worship band,” batting her eyelashes like an anime princess.

“Not in a million years,” my soul declared.
“When do we start?” my traitorous mouth replied.
Betrayed by my own pathological inability to say no. Again.

Thus began a series of unfortunate events where my inability to say no set the stage for both chaos and unexpected growth.

And it wasn’t just Bronwyn working me over. Brett, Trinity’s Lay Pastor (another former youth group kid I knew, now grown and armed with guilt like a theological lightsaber) joined in. Together, these once-children now-adults conjured up the Nick I was before embracing the dark side of minor keys and cultivating my healthy aversion to, well, everyone.

Welcome To The Jungle—We Call It Worship Practice

One thing seminary never prepared you for is that everyone wants to play in the band—and they want to play a lot. All. The. Time.

Picture a scene where a poorly executed cover of “Amazing Grace” collides with the raw energy of Metallica, with a dash of spiritual warfare thrown in for good measure. Questions flew around: “What if we ALL play the chorus?” “What if we ALL sing the bridge?” “What if we ALL just make a joyful noise until Jesus returns?” At this rate, Jesus might come back just to suggest we turn the volume down.

Yet amid the cacophony and chaos, there are rare moments when God sneaks in—not with earthquakes or fire, but in those instances when everyone finally stops trying to out-praise each other and simply plays (or doesn’t) together.

Did I mention my daughter played drums in our worship team? She’s brilliant—yes, I’m biased, but I’m a muso and recognise quality when I hear it. She’s also autistic, nearly blind, and was about as enthusiastic as joining the youth band as I am in attending a Justin Bieber concert.

Naturally, I resorted to begging. Not my proudest moment, but sometimes the Lord works through desperate parenting. And wouldn’t you know it—she eventually found her tribe amid the feedback loops and questionably-timed hallelujahs.

Speaking of less-than-proud moments…

Pro Tip: Never attempt to be both the musician and the sound engineer during a service. Your brain will try to exit your skull faster than the congregation fleeing an overly long sermon.

At our very first gig, I may or may not have blasted the click track through the main speakers instead of the in-ear monitors. If you want to test the forgiveness of Methodist congregants, that’s your golden ticket. They just smiled and carried on singing, though I’m pretty sure I saw Brett mouthing, “Lord, take the soundboard.”

Don’t Stop Believin’ (But Maybe Stop Playing—Just For A Moment)

There’s something few musicians dare to confess: Sometimes, when playing as a group, everything just clicks. Neurologists call it “flow.” It’s euphoric, addictive, and once you experience it, you keep coming back for more. More than that, it’s one of those moments when God bypasses your carefully constructed walls of cynicism and gives you the feels.

It happens when the bass locks in with the drums, when guitars cease their battle for dominance, when voices blend instead of waging holy warfare. Even the tambourine player—bless their enthusiastic heart—comes to see that not every song requires a relentless beat. Miracles, it turns out, do happen.

That moment is pure magic—like catching lightning in a bottle, if the bottle were crafted from teenage dreams, controlled chaos, and just a touch of divine intervention.

We caught that magic once or twice, maybe three times. And in those fleeting moments, I finally understood why I had been dragged back into the heart of Trinity Methodist Church. It wasn’t about the music at all.

What About Love? (And A Whole Lot Of Grace)

So, would I do it again? Ask me after I’ve re-tuned my guitar for the umpteenth time this week and explained yet again why we can’t do a heavy metal version of “Silent Night”.

But then there are the moments that make it all worthwhile: watching my daughter’s confidence grow behind the drum kit, seeing young men and women realise that worship isn’t about a perfect performance, and witnessing the precise moment when noise transforms into worship. This is priceless.

Something shifted—not just within the band, but deep inside me. Between the missed cues and magnificent chaos, I found myself drawn back into the church. I wasn’t merely participating from a distance anymore—I was embracing the messy, beautiful reality of community.

All We Need Is Love… And Better Timing

In the end, church—like music—is not about perfection. It’s about showing up, making mistakes, and trying again. It’s about knowing when to play, when to stop, and when to let the quiet moments sing.

The youth band evolved into more than just a musical ensemble—it became a divine, if obvious, lesson for this grumpy minister about the value of community: a place where different generations learn from one another, where mistakes are met with grace, and where every participant (yes, even the overly enthusiastic tambourine player) has a part to play.

These days, I look forward to practice nights. Don’t get me wrong—I still have my reputation as the grumpy musician with impossibly high standards. But now there’s a twinkle in my eye when I say, “Right then, from the top.”

Sometimes, God’s call to deeper community comes from mouths of once-babes-now-leaders and with a backbeat. And if you listen closely, you might just hear the sound of walls coming down—one power chord at a time.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to practice looking serious. I simply can’t have these teens thinking I’m actually enjoying this journey back to the heart of church life.

Between you and me? Maybe teenagers aren’t so terrifying after all. But don’t you dare tell them—I’ve got a reputation to maintain.

Post Script: For those wondering, yes, we still occasionally blast the click track through the main speakers. Consider it our contribution to keeping the congregation alert during early service. After all, the Lord works in mysterious ways.

In January Nasereen Mahomed shared the way God has walked with her all her life and led her to faith through Trinity.