The land wind whispers secrets older than the baobab trees, secrets that echo in the quiet joy that swelled in those shepherds’ hearts. Luke tells us it was "good news of great joy," *goeie nuus van groot blydskap*. But what does that mean, this *blydskap*? Not the fleeting, fizzy joy of a new phone or a winning lottery ticket, no. That’s the sugar rush, leaving you craving more, empty soon after. This *blydskap*… this joy… it’s deeper, rooted in the red soil of our being, nourished by something beyond the fleeting, something that transcends the ephemeral nature of material possessions and worldly accolades. It is a joy that dwells in the marrow of our bones, a quiet hum beneath the surface of our daily lives, a wellspring of peace that even the harshest storms cannot fully extinguish.
I’ve seen it in the eyes of a woman in a township, her shack a testament to struggle, yet her smile radiating a strength born not of circumstance, but of faith. Her possessions are meager, her life a constant negotiation with hardship, yet her spirit is a fortress, unyielding and bright. This is not stoicism, mind you, it’s not a clenched fist against despair, a rigid refusal to acknowledge the pain. It's an open hand, receiving the grace of God, a surrender to a power greater than herself, a recognition that even in the midst of suffering, there is something profoundly beautiful and enduring. This is the *blydskap* the angels spoke of, a joy that understands the shadow, and chooses to dance in the light regardless. It's a joy that doesn't deny the darkness but finds its meaning and its strength precisely *because* of the darkness. It's the flame that burns brightest in the deepest night.
We, in this modern age, chase after mirages. We scroll endlessly, seeking validation in likes and shares, building our lives on the shifting sands of social media approval. We equate success with possessions, forgetting that true riches lie in the quiet moments of connection, the shared laughter over pap and mielie meal, the humbling experience of serving those less fortunate. We build our own little Bethlehems, comfortable and predictable, cocooning ourselves in the illusion of security, failing to grasp that the true miracle was born amidst chaos and hardship, in the stark reality of a stable, a borrowed manger, a world indifferent to its arrival. We crave the sanitized, the controlled, the easily digestible version of life, ignoring the messy, unpredictable beauty of the unfolding story.
Our pursuit of happiness has become a frantic, desperate chase, a never-ending quest for the next dopamine hit. We are distracted by the shimmering promises of consumerism, the seductive whispers of instant gratification. We are told that happiness is an acquisition, something to be purchased, something to be achieved through the accumulation of wealth, status, and possessions. But this is a lie, a cruel deception, a distortion of the true meaning of joy. True *blydskap* isn't a destination; it’s a journey, a way of being, a state of grace. It is not the result of accumulating things, but the result of letting go of our attachment to things.
That child in the manger, that *blydskap* He brings, it’s a confrontation. It’s a challenge to our comfortable lives, a disruption of our carefully constructed narratives, a radical call to dismantle the structures of our self-made prisons. It’s a demand to let go of the self-made cages we've built around our hearts, those gilded cages of comfort and control, those walls of self-preservation that keep us safe but also keep us isolated, disconnected from the suffering and the beauty of the world around us.
It’s asking us to step into the real world, with its injustices and inequalities, its brokenness and its resilience. It's asking us to confront the shadows within ourselves and in the world, and to choose love, compassion, and justice in the face of despair and indifference. It’s asking us to become agents of hope, not just consumers of entertainment, to be active participants in the creation of a more just and equitable society, not passive observers of the suffering of others.
This joy isn't passive; it's active. It’s not a state of blissful ignorance, a detached observation of the world's beauty, but a force that compels us to action. It drives us to reach out a hand to the broken, to speak truth to power, to love unconditionally, even when it hurts, even when it's inconvenient, even when it costs us something. It's a joy that manifests in feeding the hungry, comforting the grieving, fighting for justice, challenging oppression, offering forgiveness, and extending compassion to those who don't deserve it. It demands that we reject the easy path, the path of comfortable silence, the path of self-preservation at the expense of others.
It demands that we confront the systemic injustices that perpetuate inequality and suffering. It calls us to challenge the status quo, to question the structures of power that maintain the oppression of the marginalized and the vulnerable. It urges us to dismantle the systems that benefit the few at the expense of the many. It compels us to engage in acts of radical solidarity, to stand in solidarity with the oppressed and the dispossessed, to fight for a world where everyone has access to the basic necessities of life, where everyone is treated with dignity and respect, where everyone has the opportunity to thrive.
The shepherds weren't rewarded with riches or fame. Their joy wasn't the result of worldly achievement or material gain. Their *blydskap* was in witnessing the miraculous, in being participants in something greater than themselves, in being chosen as the first witnesses to the incarnation of God. They were ordinary men, living ordinary lives, until they encountered something extraordinary, something that transformed their lives forever. And this is the promise that awaits us too.
A *blydskap* that isn't earned, but received, a gift freely given, a grace that transcends our circumstances, a joy that doesn't depend on our achievements or our possessions. It’s a joy that flows from a deep well of faith, a trust in a power greater than ourselves, a recognition of our interconnectedness, our shared humanity, our shared destiny. It’s a joy that illuminates the darkness, that gives us the strength to persevere in the face of adversity, that inspires us to acts of love and compassion, that empowers us to be agents of change in the world.
This *blydskap* is not a fleeting emotion; it's a way of life, a transformative power that changes us from the inside out. It’s a joy that transcends the limitations of our individual experiences, connecting us to something larger than ourselves, something eternal and enduring. It’s a joy that is both personal and communal, that binds us together in a shared commitment to justice, compassion, and love. It’s a joy that transforms the world, one act of love, one act of faith, one act of kindness at a time. And that, my friend, is a revolution worth fighting for, a revolution that begins not in the halls of power, but in the quiet chambers of our own hearts. It's a revolution born not of anger and resentment, but of hope and love, a revolution fueled not by hatred and division, but by compassion and understanding. And it's a revolution that is urgently needed, now more than ever.
Comments
Post a Comment