Wilderness Whispers, Wondrous Worship

 The Wilderness of Wisdom: Where Faith Meets Reason in the Shadow of Table Mountain

The darkness here in Akasia, just north of Pretoria, is a profound thing. It’s not the soft, romantic dusk of postcards, but the sudden, swallowing black of load-shedding. One moment, the hum of life; the next, a silence so thick you can hear your own heartbeat. I often walk in this darkness, this modern wilderness. My feet know the cracks in the pavement, my spirit feels the tension in the air—the same tension that grips our nation. It’s a wilderness of rolling blackouts and rolling news cycles, of political rhetoric that scapegoats the foreigner and a social fabric straining under the weight of unspeakable violence against women and children. We live in a landscape that can feel like a spiritual and intellectual desert.

Yet, it is precisely here, in this tangible wilderness, that I have learned a sacred truth: Your wilderness is not a place of intellectual abandonment; it is a place of divine cognition. It is where you learn to hear God’s voice not despite reason, but through it, sanctified. The noise of the crowd—the simplistic slogans, the cultural pressures, the despairing headlines—fades away. The scarcity of easy answers forces you to depend on His daily provision of truth. The solitude deepens your relationship with the Logos, the very Logic of God, made flesh in Jesus Christ. Don’t rush through this season, beloved. There are revelations in the desert you cannot receive in the promised land of passive belief. Embrace the quiet, and listen—with your heart and your mind.

The Fractured Landscape: A Nation in Need of a Unified Truth

Look at our soil. We celebrated 30 years of democracy, yet the demons of division are resurrected with each election cycle, with migrants unfairly blamed for complex woes. We pass progressive laws while our women and children bleed, with femicide rates five times the global average. We enact a Climate Change Act while the machinery to enforce it lies dormant. We rightly cry for justice on the global stage, while the pit latrine at a local school still claims a child’s life. This is not just policy failure; it is a crisis of coherence, a fragmentation of truth.

This fragmentation has seeped into the church. A dangerous and pervasive lie has taken root: that faith and reason are enemies. That to love God with all your heart means checking your mind at the door of the sanctuary. We have created a false wilderness, telling the brilliant student, the questioning engineer, the thoughtful artist, that their God-given intellect is a threat to spirituality. This is a tragic syncretism, where we baptize anti-intellectualism and call it piety. The apostle Paul never warned against philosophy itself, but against “hollow and deceptive philosophy” that opposed Christ. Yet, in our well-meaning zeal, we throw out the diamond of godly reason with the muddy water of worldly deception.

But what if our wilderness—both national and personal—is God’s megaphone? What if the scarcity of coherent, compassionate public discourse is His provision, forcing us to dig deeper for a foundation that won’t shift? The early church fathers did not see a canyon between the academy and the altar. Figures like Justin Martyr and Clement of Alexandria spoke of Christianity as the “true philosophy”. They understood that the God who created quantum physics and the rhino’s horn is the God who inspired the Psalms. To divorce rigorous thought from radiant faith is to offer the world a crippled Christ.

Christ the Cornerstone: Beyond Ancestor and Avatar

Here in Africa, we understand the deep longing for a mediator, a bridge between humanity and the Divine. Our own theological pioneers, like John Mbiti, brilliantly explored this, considering how Christ speaks to the ancestral reverence woven into our cultures. The impulse is holy: to make Jesus near, knowable, our “Great Nana”. But, my brothers and sisters, we must sound a prophetic alarm against reductionism. Contextualisation must serve the gospel, not constrain it.

When we stop at seeing Jesus only as the ultimate Ancestor, we risk a terrible shrinkage. The Scripture declares unequivocally that He is infinitely more. He is not a revered figure who emerged from history, but the eternal Word who entered history. As the theologian notes, unlike ancestors, Christ existed in the very form of God before His incarnation. His obedience led to a death that was not an end, but a conquest; a resurrection that shattered the final enemy, not a spiritual continuum. He ascended—not to a nebulous spirit realm—but to the right hand of the Father, where He intercedes with unique, cosmic authority.

Therefore, let us define our terms clearly: Jesus Christ is not merely the pinnacle of human categories; He is the one who defines and redeems them. He fulfills our African longing for mediation not by fitting into our box, but by blowing the lid off every box we could ever build. He is the cornerstone rejected by every simplistic system, the Logos that makes sense of every fractured philosophy. In Him, the hunger of the philosopher for truth and the hunger of the humble believer for grace meet and are satisfied. This is the foundation upon which we must build, especially when the ground is shaking.

The Discipleship of the Mind: A Costly but Clarifying Call

So, what does this look like in the dust and diesel of daily South African life? It means embracing what I call the Discipleship of the Mind. This is not abstract. It is as practical as your next WhatsApp group debate, your next boardroom decision, your next vote.

First, we must reclaim the biblical mandate to think. Proverbs 14:15 warns, “The simple believes everything, but the prudent gives thought to his steps.” The biblical ideal is not gullibility, but discernment. The greatest command is to love God with all our mind (Luke 10:27). Faith is based on reason. When we encounter claims about God, we are to “test everything; hold fast what is good” (1 Thessalonians 5:21). This is a wartime command for a people in a wilderness of information.

Second, we engage our specific battles with intellectual integrity. Consider our plague of gender-based violence. A worldly philosophy might reduce it to mere socio-economics or toxic masculinity. Biblical wisdom, engaged thoughtfully, goes deeper. It names it for what it is: a catastrophic fracture in the divine image-bearing of humanity, a demonic rebellion against the sacredness of the “other,” a sin that demands not just judicial correction but heart-deep repentance and the healing power of the Gospel. We apply our minds to create just systems and preach redeeming truth.

Or consider the xenophobic rhetoric infecting our politics. The world’s wisdom builds walls and fuels fear. The heavenly wisdom from above is “first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere” (James 3:17). To be “open to reason” means we engage the complex data of migration with compassion and logic, not reactionary slogans. We defend the foreigner not merely as a policy point, but because the Imago Dei in them demands it, and the Christ in us compels it.

A common objection is: “Doesn’t this lead to cold, sterile faith?” However, this fails because it presumes a false dichotomy. The heart and mind are not rival organs. The deepest love is informed love. My love for my wife is not diminished because I have studied what makes her unique; it is enhanced. So it is with God. The more we use our minds to grasp the breathtaking coherence of the Trinity, the staggering love of the Incarnation, the unassailable logic of the Resurrection, the more fuel we add to the fires of our worship. Passion without truth is a wildfire that burns out or destroys. Truth without passion is a corpse. But truth ignited by the Spirit becomes a beacon in the wilderness.

The Promise of the Dawn: Clarity, Conviction, and Cost

This discipleship is costly. It will make you unpopular. It will alienate you from the anti-intellectual wing of the church and the anti-supernatural wing of the world. You will be called a compromiser by some and a fundamentalist by others. You will wrestle with doubts not as enemies, but as sparring partners that strengthen the muscle of your faith. You will walk, as I do in the Akasia dark, by faith—but a faith that knows the path because it has been examined in the light of Scripture and sound reason.

But here is the promise: In this wilderness, you will find a profound intimacy. You will know God not as a feeling, but as the foundational Fact. You will see His wisdom in the intricate beauty of a protea and in the elegant laws of physics. You will find that the story of Scripture—from Genesis to Revelation—is the only story big enough, coherent enough, and beautiful enough to make sense of the glorious, tragic, puzzling narrative of South Africa. You will be able to weep over the 78 miners lost at Buffelsfontein, decry the political scapegoating, and yet still have a solid rock of hope to stand on, because your hope is not in a politician or an economy, but in the resurrected Christ who holds the keys to history itself.

The dawn is coming. The lights will flicker back on in Akasia. But the greater light, the light of Christ the Logos, never goes out. He is the light that shines in our intellectual darkness, and the darkness has not, and will not, overcome it (John 1:5).

Therefore, reason itself, illuminated by Scripture and confirmed in our deepest longings, compels us to acknowledge that the truest wisdom for our fractured land is found on our knees before the Cross, with our Bibles open and our minds fully, faithfully engaged. Let us be the generation that embraces the wilderness, listens for His voice in the silence, and emerges not with simplistic answers, but with the profound, reasoned, and radiant hope of the Gospel. It is the only hope that can truly rebuild.