The Solid Rock in a Shifting Land: An Akasia Reflection on Grace and Truth
By Harold Mawela
From my home here in Akasia, Pretoria, the evening sun paints the sky in hues of gold and crimson, casting long shadows over a city both vibrant and weary. The hum of generators, a constant companion in our era of load-shedding, mixes with the distant sounds of traffic and township gospel music. Here, at the southern edge of our capital, I look upon a nation in a state of profound and restless becoming.
Our beloved South Africa is a tapestry being rewoven in real-time. Recent studies tell us we are one of the few nations on earth where religious fervour is actually increasing . A stunning 85.3% of us identify as Christian . Yet, this statistic is a chorus of dissonant voices. Drive down any street and you’ll see it: the grand cathedrals of colonial legacy now share spiritual space with vibrant, store-front “miracle centres” and indigenous African churches worshipping under the open sky . The Methodists and Anglicans are declining, while the Zion Christian Church (ZCC) and neo-Pentecostal movements proclaiming prosperity swell in number . Our 2024 elections birthed a fragile government of national unity, a testament to our fragmented political soul . Unemployment chokes potential, crime tests our resilience, and yet, amidst it all, we are building “smart cities” like Menlyn Maine right here in Pretoria, dreaming of a digital, sustainable future .
In such a landscape, the soul of a believer is pulled in a thousand directions. We are offered a smorgasbord of spiritualities. One promises that your faith is a transaction for divine wealth. Another offers a culturally liberated worship that seamlessly blends Christianity with ancestral veneration . A third presents a faith neutered into a social club, devoid of any power to confront or transform. In this cacophony, the timeless, liberating truth of grace alone—the very heart of the gospel you have articulated—is often the first casualty. It is diluted, bartered, and buried under the weight of new laws and old anxieties.
My friends, we must sound a prophetic alarm. The battle for the soul of South African Christianity is not a polite theological debate; it is a war for the very definition of God’s love and human worth. And in this war, we must be clear about the ground on which we stand.
The War of Two Narratives: Performance vs. Gift
Consider the two competing gospels fighting for your heart:
The Gospel of Human Performance whispers to our deepest insecurities. It says, “God’s blessing is contingent on your moral record, your spiritual intensity, your seed offering, or your cultural authenticity.” It is a theology of the ledger, forever calculating debits and credits with heaven. This is the air many of our fastest-growing churches breathe, preaching a “supernatural pathway to wealth” that often baptises the idol of capitalism in holy water . It confronts our poverty not with the sufficiency of Christ, but with the pressure of spiritual performance. It is exhausting. It is, in the end, a form of theological slavery, dressed in the glittering robes of empowerment.
The Gospel of God’s Gift declares, with earth-shattering clarity, what you have so beautifully stated: “Salvation cannot be earned by moral effort or religious ritual; it is God’s unmerited gift” . This is the theology of the empty hands held open. It does not whisper; it shouts from the cross: “It is finished!” (John 19:30).
Let us define our terms with philosophical precision, for confusion is the enemy of truth.
· Justification: This is God’s once-for-all legal declaration over the sinner: “Righteous!” It is a verdict pronounced from the throne of heaven, based not on the evidence of our life, but on the perfect obedience and atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ credited to us.
· Grace: This is God’s unilateral, covenantal love in action toward the undeserving. It is not a dormant sentiment but an active power that chooses, calls, and secures.
· Faith: This is not our meritorious work. It is the empty vessel, the receptive channel, the God-given capacity to cling to Christ and his finished work alone. As the great reformers proclaimed, Faith is the hand that receives the gift.
The logical argument for grace alone is inescapable:
1. Major Premise: A holy God can only declare righteous one who possesses perfect righteousness (Habakkuk 1:13).
2. Minor Premise: No fallen human being possesses or can produce perfect righteousness (Romans 3:23).
3. Conclusion: Therefore, for any human to be declared righteous, a perfect righteousness from outside themselves must be granted to them (Philippians 3:9).
That external, perfect righteousness is Christ’s. Our standing before God rests entirely on Christ’s merit, not our own. To add any requirement—be it ritual, emotional experience, or cultural practice—to this finished work is to imply that the blood of Jesus was insufficient. It is to rebuild the very wall of separation that Christ died to demolish.
A common, and poignant, objection arises from our context: “Does this grace not lead to licence? If we are declared righteous freely, why pursue holiness? Doesn’t this ‘cheap grace’ undermine our African struggle for dignity and moral renewal?”
This objection fails because it misunderstands grace’s nature and power. True, biblical grace is not the end of God’s demand for holiness; it is the only possible means to achieve it. The law commands, “Be holy!” and leaves us crushed under its impossible weight. Grace announces, “You are holy in Christ!” and then sends the indwelling Holy Spirit to make that declaration a lived reality. Grace doesn’t produce licence; it produces gratitude. And a heart brimming with gratitude for an unpayable debt loves the Law-Giver and strives, in joyful freedom, to reflect His character. It transforms the “I must” into “I get to.”
The Akasia Parable: The Two Builders
Let me tell you a story from our own soil. Two young men in Soshanguve, let’s call them Thabo and Sipho, each inherit a plot of land. Thabo, desperate to prove his worth and provide for his family, begins building immediately. He uses sun-dried bricks from the nearby riverbed. The work is gruelling, the progress visible. He mixes his own mortar, and every sore muscle is a badge of his commitment. His house rises quickly, a testament to his effort.
Sipho does something that seems foolish. He spends his first weeks not building, but digging. Deep, down into the bedrock. His neighbours whisper. His family worries. He makes no visible progress. He is waiting on a delivery truck from the city—a load of milled foundation stone, steel, and cement, purchased for him by a generous uncle he did not earn it from.
One summer, the Pretoria thunderstorms come. The heavens open, and the river bursts its banks. The floodwaters surge. Thabo’s house, built on the soft, alluvial soil with his hand-made bricks, trembles, cracks, and is swept away in an instant. All his labour is gone. Sipho’s house, anchored to the bedrock, stands unshaken. The storm reveals the foundation.
My dear reader, our land is experiencing a storm. The floods of economic despair, political cynicism, and spiritual confusion are rising . What is your house built upon? Is it on the shifting sand of your own moral effort, your religious pedigree, your cultural compliance, or your positive declarations? That house will fall. Or is it anchored, through faith alone, to the finished work of Christ—the unshakeable, unearned, foundational Rock of Ages? That house will stand for eternity.
The Culturally-Rooted, Prophetic Call
This is where we must speak prophetically to the specific temptations of our South African moment.
· To the Prosperity Gospel: You exchange the eternal treasure of God’s favour in Christ for the fool’s gold of earthly wealth. You turn the God of grace into a celestial vending machine. You tell our unemployed youth that their poverty is a sign of weak faith, compounding their material lack with spiritual condemnation. This is not good news; it is a cruel burden. The true prosperity of the gospel is the richness of being reconciled to God (2 Corinthians 5:18-19).
· To the Syncretistic Gospel: I understand the deep, beautiful longing to decolonise faith and honour our African identity . But we must be biblically discerning. True liberation is not found in blending Christ with systems that compromise His sole supremacy as Mediator. When we suggest that a Methodist minister can also be a sangoma (ukuthwasa), we are not synthesising wisdom; we are committing theological adultery . Grace alone means Christ alone. His cross is the only altar where God and humanity are reconciled.
· To the Politicised Gospel: We see churches threatening to “shut down South Africa” for political ends . We see others becoming uncritical chaplains to power. The gospel of grace transcends every political party. It declares that our ultimate hope is not in the ANC, the DA, or a government of national unity . Our citizenship is in heaven (Philippians 3:20). We engage as salt and light, but we worship the King of Kings.
Therefore, Stand
So, what does this mean for us, today, in Akasia, in Soweto, in Khayelitsha, in Sandton?
It means rest. Your worth is not tied to your LinkedIn profile, your church attendance record, or your ability to navigate complex cultural loyalties. It is anchored in Christ. Stop the exhausting cycle of trying to prove yourself to God. In Him, you are already approved.
It means radical, love-driven obedience. Freed from the need to earn God’s love, you are now free to truly love Him and your neighbour. This grace will manifest in practical holiness: in integrity at work when corruption is the norm, in forgiveness when revenge is expected, in generosity when scarcity mentality grips our nation.
It means unshakeable confidence. In a world of “alternative facts” and shifting ideologies, you possess revealed, objective truth. Christian philosophy itself is experiencing a renaissance in the highest academic halls, not as a retreat into superstition, but as a robust, intellectually credible worldview . You need not check your brain at the church door. The gospel of grace is reasonable, historical, and true.
From my window, the lights of Pretoria are beginning to twinkle in the dusk. The generators still hum. The struggles remain. But for the heart anchored in grace alone, there is a peace that passes all understanding. You are not saved because you are strong. You are saved because He is strong. You are not loved because you are lovely. You are lovely because you are loved—in Christ.
This is our solid rock. This is our only hope. Let us build our lives, our churches, and our witness upon it.
“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast.” (Ephesians 2:8-9)
https://podcasts.apple.com/za/podcast/unearned-unmerited-unstoppable/id1506692775?i=1000742411733
Comments
Post a Comment