HAROLD MAWELA

 From my veranda in Akasia, Pretoria, it feels much like this new year: a hesitant promise, a whispered hope, a canvas waiting to be painted, or maybe, more accurately, sculpted. The crisp, Pretoria air carries the scent of the approaching spring, a gentle reminder that even amidst the quiet anticipation, life, like a meticulously orchestrated symphony, plays on, its rhythms sometimes loud, sometimes subtle, sometimes hauntingly beautiful. You see, I've always been a planner. A meticulous one. My life, I believed, was a spreadsheet meticulously crafted in Excel, each cell neatly filled with goals and deadlines, projections and targets. God, in my carefully-constructed world, was a sort of benevolent project manager, overseeing the efficient execution of my plans. A bit like a divine Gantt chart, you see? Each task, each milestone, each anticipated achievement, was meticulously arranged, a testament to my control, my ambition, my unwavering belief in the power of meticulous plann...

 The jacaranda trees outside my Akasia window are shedding their purple confetti, a flamboyant farewell to another year. It's a fitting image, isn't it? This whole year, a vibrant explosion of life, culminating in a quiet, deliberate letting go. And that, my friends, is precisely what God calls us to do at year's end – a letting go. A release of the anxieties, the triumphs, the failures, the hopes, the disappointments; a conscious surrender to the rhythm of grace that governs the universe, and our lives within it. Here in Pretoria, we’re used to the dramatic shifts – the blazing heat giving way to the gentle caress of a winter’s breeze. The landscape itself mirrors the spiritual journey, a constant ebb and flow between extremes. But the inner turmoil, the spiritual jacaranda-fall of anxieties and regrets… that’s a different story. That's a tempest that rages within, regardless of the season outside. This year, I felt like a character in one of those old Afrikaans films...

My Pretoria home in Akasia, nestled amongst the jacarandas and the ever-present sounds of the city, has felt, over these past twelve months, less like a tranquil suburb and more like a small, fiercely contested South African vineyard. The analogy, while seemingly simple, has resonated deeply within me, mirroring the complex tapestry of joy and struggle that has woven its way through my life this year. Sometimes, the Stellenbosch sun – a metaphor for the relentless pressures of daily life – beats down mercilessly, exposing the cracks in my self-reliance, the areas where my carefully constructed walls of independence crumble under the weight of unforeseen circumstances. Other times, the metaphorical rains – moments of unexpected grace, profound acts of kindness, and the subtle whisperings of divine intervention – pour down, washing away the dust of doubt and despair that accumulates in the arid landscapes of the human heart. And, yes, there have been hailstones – unexpected crises, cr...

 This year, I find myself reflecting not just as a writer, but as a pilgrim on this unpredictable path of faith. Faith, to me, isn't a neatly packaged theological treatise; it's more akin to my gogo's chakalaka – a vibrant, spicy blend of joy, sorrow, triumph, and bewilderment, all simmering together in a pot of unpredictable grace. It's a constant dance between the familiar and the profound, the mundane and the miraculous. The verse from Galatians 6:7-8, “Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows. Whoever sows to please their flesh, from the flesh will reap destruction; whoever sows to please the Spirit, from the Spirit will reap eternal life,” resonates deeply within me, echoing the rhythm of my personal journey and the complex symphony of human existence. It's not a simplistic equation of good deeds equaling blessings, a cosmic vending machine dispensing rewards for righteous acts. No, it's far more profound, addressing the insidious...

From my little corner of Akasia, Pretoria, under the vast, star-studded African sky, I often find myself pondering the grand design. This coming year, as the jacaranda trees prepare to burst into their breathtaking purple bloom, a symbol of resilience and renewal, I'm thinking less about resolutions and more about recalibrating my spiritual compass. You see, my faith journey hasn’t been a smooth, paved highway; it's been more like navigating a corrugated dirt road in a bakkie – bumpy, unexpected, and occasionally requiring a hefty dose of faith-fueled WD-40 to keep things moving. The journey, much like the unpredictable South African weather, has had its scorching summers of spiritual fervor and its icy winters of doubt. This idea of a “spiritual GPS,” as the previous piece so aptly puts it, resonates deeply. We all yearn for a clear map to God, a straightforward path to spiritual perfection. We crave the certainty of a well-defined route, a GPS that never falters, leading us ...

From my veranda in Akasia, Pretoria, looking out, I often think about leopards. Not the actual spotted felines, though we do have our fair share of wildlife wandering near the outskirts, but the metaphorical ones – the anxieties, uncertainties, and outright fears that stalk us all. These are the leopards that keep us awake at night, their shadows stretching long across the plains of our tomorrows. The weight of the future, the relentless pressure of choices, the gnawing fear of the unknown – these are the silent predators lurking in the undergrowth of our minds. They whisper doubts, sow seeds of insecurity, and paint vivid nightmares on the canvas of our imaginations. And yet, within this landscape of anxiety, within this wilderness of worry, lies a profound and enduring truth: a truth that transcends the mundane, the practical, and the everyday – a truth that speaks to the very heart of our being as Christians. This truth, this unshakeable cornerstone of our faith, is the profound...

 The vast, star-dusted African sky above Akasia, Tshwane, witnesses not just the daily dance of sun and moon, but also the silent, enduring drama of human faith. Here, nestled within the heart of this vibrant metropolis, I find myself contemplating the profound and often perplexing theme of God's faithfulness. This year, much like the unpredictable rhythms of the Highveld itself, has been a complex tapestry woven from threads of joy and sorrow, triumph and tribulation. And throughout this intricate design, the golden thread of God's unwavering faithfulness has shone through, sometimes like a gentle sunrise, painting the sky with hues of hope, other times erupting in the dazzling brilliance of a summer storm, a powerful reminder of divine presence amidst the tempest. South Africans possess a unique narrative sensibility, a gift for finding profound meaning in the commonplace. We see the enduring resilience of the jacaranda trees, blooming in defiance of harsh winters, a potent ...

 Here in Akasia, Pretoria, the jacarandas are still stubbornly clinging to their purple blooms, a defiant splash of colour against the Christmas Day heat. It feels oddly incongruous – this vibrant, almost pagan exuberance alongside the quiet reverence of the season. And that, I think, speaks to the heart of Christmas itself: the unexpected juxtaposition of the divine breaking into the ordinary, a profound disruption of the mundane, a symphony of the sacred and the secular. This dissonance, this carefully orchestrated clash, is the very essence of the Christmas story. It whispers of a God who, far from remaining aloof in some celestial realm, actively chooses to participate in our flawed and often chaotic reality. You see, Christmas isn’t just about tinsel and turkey, although those things certainly have their place (especially the turkey – let's be honest). It’s a feast of theological proportions, a cosmic banquet where the true delicacies are not merely culinary, but spiritual ...

 In the heart of Akasia, Pretoria, where the jacaranda trees paint the sky with hues of purple and pink, theological questions linger like the scent of braai smoke in the evening air. These profound inquiries, these persistent whispers of the divine, are the very breath of my faith – a passionate dance between the earthly and the ethereal, a constant wrestling with the weight of existence and the whisperings of eternity. At the center of this spiritual waltz, the concept of redemption, like a persistent tsotsi haunting the shebeen, refuses to be silenced. Ephesians 1:7, a verse that, in its simplicity, packs a powerful punch, speaks of Jesus’ life and death as the catalyst for humanity’s redemption. But what does this profound concept truly mean? Is it a mere theological abstraction, or does it offer a tangible roadmap for navigating the complexities of human existence? To understand redemption, we must embark on a journey, a pilgrimage through the landscapes of faith, doubt, ...

 Here in Akasia, Pretoria, under the vast, star-studded African sky, I often find myself pondering the profound simplicity of John 1:5: "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." This seemingly straightforward statement, etched into the fabric of Christian theology, resonates deeply within the soul of a South African, a continent grappling with the complexities of its past and the promise of its future. It is a verse that speaks not merely to abstract theological concepts but to the lived experiences of a nation, a people navigating a landscape simultaneously brimming with both dazzling beauty and profound darkness. This darkness, in our context, is not merely the absence of light; it is the palpable reality of systemic inequalities, the lingering scars of apartheid, the pervasive feeling of hopelessness that often suffocates communities, and the personal struggles that leave individuals feeling adrift in a sea of adversity. It is the constant ...

 Today, I want to delve deeper into a subject that has captivated my thoughts for years: the New Covenant, that revolutionary shift in humanity’s relationship with God, a seismic event ushered in by the birth of Jesus Christ. It’s a topic brimming with both intellectual challenge and spiritual resonance, a theme that speaks to the very core of our being, urging us to confront the deepest recesses of our hearts and souls. Let’s begin by considering the Old Covenant, that intricate legal framework meticulously etched onto stone tablets. It was a system of rules and regulations, a detailed contract outlining the terms of humanity’s relationship with a transcendent God. Think of it as a meticulously crafted musical score, replete with complex harmonies and intricate counterpoint. It was a magnificent composition, no doubt, but perhaps one demanding a level of technical proficiency beyond the capabilities of the average musician. The Old Covenant, in its grandeur, often proved daunt...

 The Magi, those star-crossed voyagers from the east, they didn't just *see* a star. They *bowed*. And that bow, that act of profound, almost visceral acknowledgement, cuts to the core of our modern predicament. We, in our South African sun-drenched, yet often shadowed reality, are drowning in a sea of distractions, so busy cataloguing our perceived hurts and grievances, that we forget to *bow*. We forget to worship. The frantic scroll of social media feeds, the relentless demands of a fractured economy, the echoes of historical injustices – all these clamor for our attention, distracting us from the quiet whispers of the divine within. We're consumed by the urgent, the tangible, the easily measured, leaving the profound, the intangible, the deeply spiritual, neglected and unattended. The Magi, however, sought something far deeper than the superficial glitter of earthly gain. Their journey, driven not by earthly ambition, but by a celestial beacon, reveals a profound spiritual...

 The beauty, vibrant and intoxicating, sits uneasily atop a foundation of harsh realities, a fragile veneer concealing the deep fissures of inequality that scar our city. The gleaming Mercedes dealerships of Sandton, the meticulously manicured lawns, the opulent homes – these are images seared into my memory, followed moments later by the stark, silent accusation of Alexandra's sprawling shantytowns. The contrast is brutal, a visual echo of that manger in Bethlehem, the King born not in a palace but in a stable, the juxtaposition a constant, stinging reminder. This dissonance, this gulf between the privilege I enjoy and the abject poverty that exists a stone's throw away, has become a persistent wrestling match within my soul. It's not simply a matter of guilt, though that certainly plays a part. It's something far deeper, a theological struggle at the heart of my faith and my understanding of myself in relation to God and to my fellow human beings. It’s about confro...

The veld stretches before me, an endless tapestry woven with the threads of time. The cracked earth, baked hard by the relentless sun, tells stories as old as the land itself. Stories of drought and deluge, of resilience born from hardship, of lives lived and lost amidst the whispering grasses. These ancient narratives are etched not just into the parched soil, but into the very fabric of my being, a South African soul shaped by the rhythms of this ancient land. Yet, the veld’s timeless whispers are now overlaid by a cacophony – a modern symphony composed of silicon and steel, a relentless hum emanating from the digital world that threatens to drown out the whispers of the past. I find myself caught in the crosscurrents, a soul wrestling with the ancient promise of the Shepherd and the seductive allure of the smartphone, a contemporary struggle played out against the backdrop of a timeless landscape. Matthew 1:21, that verse – “They shall call his name Emmanuel, which being interpr...