I'm a Pretoria boy, born and bred, and like many of us, I've built my own version of the Great Wall of China around my understanding of God. My "truths" are often more like comfortable assumptions, fortified by years of tradition, personal interpretations, and the sometimes-constraining narratives of our cultural and religious context. I've spent so long tending to this wall, making sure it's high enough to keep out doubt and challenging perspectives, that I haven't noticed the cracks. The leaks.
This act of constructing these walls, of compartmentalizing our understanding of the divine, is, in a way, a human response to the overwhelming mystery of faith. It's a natural tendency to try to simplify the divine, to find safe harbors in our comprehension of the unseen. Yet, this very human impulse, if unchecked, can become a form of spiritual blindness. We construct systems of belief so rigidly, so comfortable, that we fail to see the nuanced reality of God’s presence, the unfolding mysteries hidden within the fabric of our own lives.
Think of it like *braaiing*: you carefully prepare your coals, your meat, your marinade, meticulously ensuring everything is perfect. But you forget to check if the coals are evenly distributed. The result? Half your boerewors is charred to a crisp, the other half raw. My spiritual "braai" has had its share of uneven coals. I've been so convinced of my own understanding of grace, of forgiveness, even of justice, that I haven't noticed the inconsistencies, the areas where my beliefs don't quite align with the life and teachings of Jesus. This misalignment isn't necessarily a rejection of faith; it's often a consequence of our incomplete understanding of ourselves, of the complexities of human experience, and of the vastness of God's creation.
I recall a time, years ago, when I judged a friend harshly for a perceived moral failing. I felt righteous in my judgment, cloaked in the armour of my own self-proclaimed piety. Yet, within days, I found myself behaving in a way that mirrored the very actions I'd condemned. The hypocrisy was glaring, a stark reminder of my own spiritual blindness. My perfectly constructed wall of righteousness crumbled under the weight of my own inconsistencies. This experience wasn’t a failure of my faith, but a powerful lesson in its ongoing and transformative nature. It was a painful but necessary excavation, a forced confrontation with the “leaks” in my spiritual irrigation system.
This forced me to confront the inherent imperfections of my understanding of God and my own capacity for compassion. It taught me the crucial importance of *ubuntu*, that deep interconnectedness that demands empathy and understanding, even when confronting difficult truths. It’s more than just a philosophical concept; it's an invitation to see the humanity – and the divinity – within others, regardless of their perceived failings or our own perceived strengths.
The truth, it turned out, wasn't just a matter of intellectual assent, but a journey of self-examination, of constant refinement. It's about acknowledging the cracks, the flaws, the areas where my understanding needs repair, not ignoring them. This journey, this relentless self-scrutiny, is not an act of defeat but a testament to our desire to grow, to evolve in our understanding of God and ourselves. This is where the South African spirit, a complex mix of resilience, compassion, and the often-overlooked capacity for forgiveness, plays a crucial role.
This is the work of humility, the ongoing process of dismantling the walls we build around our understanding, the courageous act of admitting our own spiritual blindness. It’s not about throwing out our faith, but about deepening it, recognizing that our journey toward the truth is a lifelong pilgrimage, not a destination. This journey of self-reflection, of dismantling the walls of our self-constructed "truths," requires introspection, honesty, and a willingness to be challenged by the complexities of faith and life.
We must cultivate this humility, continually questioning our beliefs, confronting our biases, and allowing for the possibility that we might be wrong. We must acknowledge that our understanding of the divine is always incomplete, a work in progress. It is in this honest assessment, in this relentless pursuit of the truth as best we understand it, that we truly begin to know the freedom that Jesus promised. And isn't that a truly magnificent promise, worth pursuing, even amidst the chaos of a Pretoria jacaranda season?
The journey towards a deeper understanding of God and ourselves, towards dismantling our walls of comfortable assumptions, is not a solitary one. We are, after all, fellow travellers on this winding path of faith, sharing in the tapestry of human experience. Let us support one another, encourage one another, and acknowledge the inherent complexity of the spiritual journey. Let us learn from our imperfections, from our mistakes, from each other’s journeys, and allow ourselves to be transformed by the ever-present mystery of the divine. The jacaranda trees, with their magnificent display of purple, serve as a gentle reminder to keep moving forward, to continue learning, and to embrace the ever-evolving beauty of faith.
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