Skip to main content

**The Power of Life and Death: Proverbs 18:21**


From my study in Akasia, Pretoria, overlooking the jacaranda-lined streets, the words of Proverbs 18:21 resonate with a particular urgency. "Death and life are in the power of the tongue..." It's a verse that feels less like ancient wisdom and more like a headline from today's *City Press*. The sharp divisions in our nation, the political rhetoric, the casual cruelty that spreads like wildfire on social media – it all screams the truth of this proverb. Our tongues, those nimble instruments, are capable of both extraordinary blessing and devastating destruction.

Last week, I was at a braai with friends. The conversation turned, as it often does, to the electricity crisis. One friend, a staunch supporter of the governing party, launched into a tirade, blaming everyone but those in power. His words were barbed, laced with cynicism and a deep-seated bitterness that felt almost…toxic. Another friend, usually more reserved, countered with quiet empathy, speaking of the struggles of ordinary people, acknowledging the complexities of the problem without assigning blame. The difference in the atmosphere was palpable. The first friend’s words left a lingering taste of ash; the second friend's ignited a spark of hope.

This isn't just about polite conversation, though. The power of the tongue reflects a deeper theological reality. Think of the creation story: God speaks the world into being. His words are creative, life-giving. Conversely, the fall of humanity is marked by fractured communication, by the poisonous whispers of doubt and mistrust. Our words, then, become microcosms of this primal struggle between creation and chaos. We are, in a sense, co-creators, shaping our realities, our relationships, and even our spiritual landscapes through the words we choose.

Consider the allegory of the gardener. We are gardeners of our souls, tending to the inner landscape with the seeds of our words. Do we plant seeds of kindness, empathy, and forgiveness, fostering a garden of grace? Or do we cultivate a wilderness of resentment, bitterness, and judgment, choking the life out of our spirits and those around us?

My own journey has been marked by this struggle. There have been times when my words have been sharp, cutting, and ultimately, self-destructive. I've experienced the bitter fruit of careless speech, the sting of regret, the fractured relationships that resulted from my failure to bridle my tongue. But through prayer, through the humbling grace of God, I've learned the power of repentance, the transformative potential of choosing words that build bridges instead of walls.

The recent surge in xenophobic violence in South Africa serves as a stark reminder of the destructive power of unchecked speech. The inflammatory rhetoric, the scapegoating, the dehumanizing language – these words fueled hatred and violence, reaping a harvest of pain and suffering. We, as a nation, must confront the moral and spiritual implications of our words, taking responsibility for the narratives we create and the realities we perpetuate.

The challenge, then, isn't simply to be "nice" with our words, but to engage in a deeper, more conscious attentiveness to their power. This requires self-awareness, a willingness to examine our motives, and a profound understanding of the theological implications of our speech. It means cultivating spiritual disciplines like prayer and meditation, allowing the Word of God to shape our hearts and minds. It means engaging in courageous conversations, even when they are difficult, choosing truth and love over convenience and comfort. The power of life and death is indeed in our tongues, and the harvest we reap will be a reflection of the seeds we sow. Let's choose wisely, my friends, and cultivate a South Africa where words blossom into justice, peace, and hope.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

**Restoring Relationships**

Last Tuesday, during Eskom’s Stage 6 load-shedding, I sat in my dimly lit Akasia living room, staring at a WhatsApp message from my cousin Thabo. Our once-close bond had fractured over a political debate—ANC vs. EFF—that spiraled into personal jabs. His text read: *“You’ve become a coconut, bra. Black on the outside, white-washed inside.”* My reply? A venomous *“At least I’m not a populist clown.”* Pride, that sly serpent, had coiled around our tongues.   But as the generator hummed and my coffee cooled, Colossians 3:13 flickered in my mind like a candle in the dark: *“Forgive as the Lord forgave you.”* Unconditional. No asterisks. No “but he started it.” Just grace.   **II. The Theology of Broken Pipes**   South Africa knows fractures. Our Vaal River, choked by sewage and neglect, mirrors relational toxicity—grievances left to fester. Yet, Christ’s forgiveness isn’t a passive drip; it’s a flash flood. To “bear with one another” (Colossians 3:13) is to choo...
Post a Comment
Read more

**Cultivating Patience**

 ## The Divine Delay: When God Hits Pause on Your Breakthrough (From My Akasia Veranda) Brothers, sisters, let me tell you, this Highveld sun beating down on my veranda in Akasia isn’t just baking the pavement. It’s baking my *impatience*. You know the feeling? You’ve prayed, you’ve declared, you’ve stomped the devil’s head (in the spirit, naturally!), yet that breakthrough? It feels like waiting for a Gautrain on a public holiday schedule – promised, but mysteriously absent. Psalm 27:14 shouts: *"Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage!"* But waiting? In *this* economy? With Eskom plunging us into darkness and the price of a loaf of bread climbing faster than Table Mountain? It feels less like divine strategy and more like celestial sabotage. I get it. Just last week, stuck in the eternal queue at the Spar parking lot (seems half of Tshwane had the same pap-and-chops craving), watching my dashboard clock tick towards yet another loadshedding slot, my ow...
Post a Comment
Read more

**Rejecting Shame Through Identity in Christ**

  I live in Akasia, Tshwane, where the jacarandas paint Pretoria’s streets with purple hope each spring. From my modest home, I watch the city hum—buses rattling down Paul Kruger Street, hawkers calling out at the Wonderpark Mall, and the chatter of students spilling from TUT’s gates. Life here is vibrant, yet beneath the surface, many of us carry an unseen weight: shame. It’s a thief that whispers lies about our worth, chaining us to past mistakes or societal labels. As a Christian writer, I’ve wrestled with this shadow myself, and I’ve learned that only one truth can break its grip—our identity in Christ. Let me take you on a journey through my own story, weaving it with the tapestry of South African life and the radiant promise of Scripture, to confront shame and embrace who we are in Him. ### A Personal Tale of Shame’s Grip A few years ago, I stood at a crossroads. I’d just lost a job I loved—a writing gig at a local magazine in Pretoria. The editor said my work was “too confro...
Post a Comment
Read more