The Cracks Beneath Our Feet
The stench first hit me on my morning run through Akasia. There, at the corner of Rachel de Beer Street, the familiar sewage overflow had worsened overnight—hazardous waters snaking through our community, a visible symptom of collapsed foundations . As I navigated the crumbling asphalt, my mind traveled back to another morning just weeks before, when my young son Maatla had joined me for his first attempt at this ritual.
"Dad, my side hurts," he had gasped, just minutes into our journey. "I can't breathe properly."
I slowed my pace, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Maatla, you're fighting your own body. Short, panicked breaths will never sustain you. Breathe with me—deep, measured, rhythmic. Let your body learn the pattern."
Now, facing this literal infrastructure collapse, I saw the spiritual parallel with striking clarity: too many of us are trying to build lives of faith with the spiritual equivalent of shallow breathing and collapsing pipes. We want the endurance of seasoned saints while still gasping like spiritual novices. The ancient Proverb echoes through time: "Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it" (Proverbs 22:6). This isn't magic; it's the unshakeable foundation of disciplined discipleship.
The Master Artist's Method
I remember teaching Seetsa to paint. His small hand would dart across the canvas, all wild energy and glorious chaos. I would gently cover his hand with mine, not to control his creativity, but to teach the fundamental strokes—how to load the brush, how to blend colors, how to see the world as an artist does.
Parenting is spiritual artistry. We are apprentices ourselves, yet we have the sacred responsibility of guiding younger hands. We teach the strokes of wisdom, grace, and truth—not to produce identical replicas of our own often-flawed masterpieces, but to equip them to create works that will take our breath away with their beauty and originality.
This is where we must define our terms with philosophical precision, for much confusion abounds in our modern Christian discourse. Guidance is not control. Control seeks to impose my will upon another; guidance seeks to align both our wills with the Master's design. Control fears deviation; guidance trusts the process. Control produces technicians who can replicate; guidance nurtures artists who can create.
The Christian philosophical tradition has always recognized this distinction . From the Patristic period through Scholasticism, Christian thinkers have harmonized faith and reason, recognizing that the God who created logic also revealed Himself through Scripture . Our guidance, therefore, isn't based on personal preference or cultural tradition, but on what Dru Johnson calls the "pixelated and networked" wisdom of Scripture—a philosophy that emerges through narratives, poetry, law, and community, not merely through abstract propositions .
The South African Crucible
Now, let us sound the prophetic alarm against the error rapidly gaining traction in our South African context—the syncretism that would reduce Christianity to just another ingredient in our cultural stew, rather than the foundation upon which all else is built.
We live in a nation of stark contrasts . Thirty years after apartheid, our GDP has grown from $153 billion to $458 billion, yet we remain the world's most unequal country . The same week I witnessed the sewage collapse in Akasia, affluent suburbs in Pretoria CBD experienced planned electricity cuts for "essential maintenance" . Two South Africas—one investing in infrastructure, the other crumbling beneath neglect.
Spiritually, we face a parallel crisis. We're embracing a dangerous form of what the philosophers would call epistemological pluralism—the idea that all truth claims are equally valid. We mix ancestral worship with Christian practice, blend cultural traditions with biblical commands, and create a spirituality that honors our heritage while compromising our devotion to Christ alone.
Let me be unequivocal: I celebrate our rich African heritage—the rhythms that move our souls, the languages that shape our prayers, the communities that form our character. But when Jesus declares, "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me" (John 14:6), He leaves no room for syncretistic compromise. This isn't cultural imperialism; it's theological clarity.
The Argument for Foundation
Let us structure the core argument with logical precision:
Premise 1: Every life is built upon some foundational worldview—some ultimate authority that shapes values, decisions, and identity.
Premise 2: These foundations inevitably produce corresponding fruit—in individuals, families, and nations.
Premise 3: Only a foundation anchored in the person and principles of Jesus Christ has demonstrated the power to transform sinners into saints, the broken into whole, and the selfish into servants.
Conclusion: Therefore, to build our lives, families, or nation on any other foundation is not merely suboptimal—it is spiritually catastrophic.
A common objection arises: "Isn't this arrogant? Intolerant?" But truth claims are not arrogant when they are true, and tolerance is not the highest virtue in a universe created by a holy God. Imagine criticizing a surgeon for being "intolerant" of cancer? No—some realities demand appropriate responses.
The evidence surrounds us. Our nation has tried political solutions (we've had seven presidents since apartheid ended) . We've tried economic solutions (with 80% of wealth still held by 10% of the population) . We've tried educational reforms (with thousands of schools still without laboratories or libraries) . What we haven't consistently tried is the costly discipleship of building upon the teachings of Jesus—not as a cultural accessory, but as the foundational framework for all of life.
The Rhythm of Discipleship
Back to my morning run with Joshua. In the weeks following that difficult first attempt, I introduced him to the discipline of training. We didn't just run—we stretched, we hydrated, we practiced breathing techniques, we studied proper form. Some mornings he wanted to quit. Other days he wanted to run farther than his developing body could sustain. My role was to guide, encourage, and sometimes restrain.
This is the essence of Proverbs 22:6. The Hebrew word for "start" implies dedication—like sharpening an arrow before launching it toward its target. The "way" refers to a well-traveled road—the proven path of wisdom. The promise isn't automatic, but probabilistic—this method generally produces this result.
In our instant gratification culture, we want transformation without training. We want spiritual power without spiritual practice. We want our children to love God without modeling that love in the daily rhythms of our homes. We are like the Tshwane metro, trying to fix surface cracks while ignoring the collapsed pipes beneath —or like AfriForum, taking matters into our own hands when official systems fail .
The Prophetic Call
So what does this mean for us, here in Akasia, in Pretoria, in South Africa today?
First, we must reclaim theological precision. We need to know what we believe and why we believe it. Not as abstract theory, but as the framework that shapes how we parent, how we work, how we engage in society. Our guidance must be rooted in what Johnson identifies as the "mysterionist, creationist, transdemographic and ritualist" convictions of biblical philosophy —recognizing our dependence on God's revelation, His ownership of creation, the universal availability of truth, and the importance of embodied practice.
Second, we must embrace costly discipleship. The guidance our children need most isn't the path of least resistance, but the way of the cross. They need to see us forgiving when we've been wronged, serving when we're tired, giving when we're stretched, and praying when we're desperate. They need to witness what the Dutch neo-Calvinist tradition called "grace restoring nature"—the transformative power of Christ renewing every sphere of life .
Third, we must engage our culture with courageous compassion. Like the early Church Fathers who critically deployed the best of Greek philosophy while rejecting its errors , we must celebrate what is good in our African heritage while prophetically confronting what contradicts biblical revelation. We must be like the master painter who knows which colors complement and which clash.
The Unshakeable Kingdom
Weeks after our first attempt, Maatla and I now run together in comfortable rhythm. His breathing has found its pace, his stride has found its length. Last week, he even corrected my form on a hill climb. The guidance had become partnership.
This is the ultimate goal—not perpetual dependence, but mature partnership with God. Our guidance aims at their graduation. Our discipline targets their delight in righteousness. Our protection pursues their preparedness for battle.
The sewage on Rachel de Beer Street will eventually be repaired—whether by municipal workers or community initiative . But the deeper collapse—the spiritual foundations of our nation—requires more than temporary fixes. It demands the unshakeable foundation of lives built upon the person of Jesus Christ.
So I challenge you, fellow parent, fellow pilgrim: What foundation are you building upon? What guidance are you providing? The cultural currents are strong, but our Anchor holds. The night is dark, but our Light shines. The battle is fierce, but our Victor reigns.
Father, guide our hands as we guide theirs. Grant us wisdom to teach your truth with grace, that their lives would become masterpieces that take our breath away, all for your glory. Amen.
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