Title: The Wall That Watches
Scripture: “He has walled me in so I cannot escape.” — Lamentations 3:7
Imagine, if you will, a man standing in the middle of a vast, dry veld in Akasia, just as the Highveld thunderclouds begin to boil on the horizon. He feels the first cold drops of rain. He looks for shelter. To his left is a thorny, impassable fence. To his right, a crumbling, neglected wall. Behind him, the road he came from is now a muddy river. He feels trapped. He curses the walls.
But what he does not know is that beyond the thorny fence lies a sinkhole that would swallow him whole. Beyond the crumbling wall, a pack of feral dogs prowls. The road behind him is not just muddy; it is a flash flood that would sweep him to his death. The wall that he thinks is a prison is actually the architect’s drawing of his preservation.
This is the theology of the walled garden. And it is the very lesson I had to learn in the dust of Pretoria, in the chaos of our beloved South Africa, and in the quiet desperation of my own soul.
The Architecture of Affliction
We are a people who know walls. We build them high around our suburbs in Johannesburg, topped with electric fencing that hums with the anxiety of our age. We sit in traffic behind the concrete barriers of the N1, inching forward, feeling the walls of our daily existence close in. We speak of “being boxed in” by economic hardship, by the rolling blackouts of load shedding that cut us off from our own productivity, or by the political rhetoric that promises a gate but delivers a dead end.
When the prophet Jeremiah penned the words of Lamentations, he was not speaking of a literal prison. He was looking at the rubble of Jerusalem. The city that was supposed to be the gateway to God had become a cage. His cry, “He has walled me in so I cannot escape,” is the cry of a man who has lost all agency.
But here is the profound paradox, the kind of wisdom that defines a “Harold Mawela” truth: Your breaking is not your burying; it is your building.
The world tells you that freedom is the absence of walls. The world tells you that prosperity is the ability to go anywhere, do anything, buy anything. Yet, we see the fruit of that philosophy in the moral decay of our society—from the gutters of Tshwane to the boardrooms of Sandton. A man without boundaries is a man without a center. A nation without a wall of moral law is a nation that devours its own children.
I remember a season in my life—let’s call it the “Great Stagnation.” It was 2016, and I was living in Akasia. I had a vision to write, to speak, to minister. But the doors slammed shut. I had the skills, but not the platform. I had the anointing, but not the finances. Every day felt like a repetition of the last. I would wake up, pray, walk to the gate, look at the street, and feel the walls of that tiny yard closing in.
I was walled in.
In my frustration, I began to blame the government, the economy, the church, my neighbor’s barking dog—anything to explain the prison. But one night, as I sat reading Lamentations, the Holy Spirit pressed a question into my spirit: “Son, do you want to be free to fail, or walled in to grow?”
I didn’t like the question. I wanted the freedom to choose my own failure! But God, in His sovereign grace, was enforcing a divine quarantine.
The Logic of the Wall (A Brief Apologetic)
Let us define our terms clearly. When we speak of God “walling us in,” we are not speaking of the sin-induced walls of disobedience. If you are living in unrepentant sin, that wall is your own building; you are a prisoner of war in enemy territory. But for the believer—the one covered by the blood of Jesus Christ—the walls of affliction are the boundaries of blessing.
The argument can be formulated thus:
1. Premise 1: The ultimate goal of the Christian life is not happiness, but holiness—conformity to the image of Christ (Romans 8:29).
2. Premise 2: Holiness is not produced in a vacuum; it is forged in the furnace of limitation and dependence.
3. Premise 3: Therefore, a wall that limits my options is not a punishment from a cruel God, but a pedagogical tool of a loving Father.
A common objection is: “But what about injustice? What about the person who is literally walled in by systemic poverty, or the woman trapped in an abusive relationship? Is that God’s ‘building’?”
No. Let us not be simplistic.
There is a distinction between the sovereign will of God that permits evil to exist temporarily, and the moral will of God that condemns injustice. God does not author sin. The walls of systemic corruption in South Africa—the cadre deployment, the looting of state funds, the collapsing infrastructure—those are walls built by greedy men. They are prisons of hell.
However—and this is where the deep theology comes in—even those walls are not outside of God’s redemptive jurisdiction. Joseph was not placed in an Egyptian prison by Potiphar’s wife because it was “good.” It was wicked. But God used that wicked wall to position Joseph for a palace. Paul and Silas were not thrown into a Philippian jail because God approved of police brutality. It was unjust. But God used those chains to shake the foundations of the prison and save the jailer’s household.
God does not build the walls of sin, but He will use the walls of suffering to break the chains of sin.
The Walls of Our Nation
Look at South Africa today. We are a nation that feels walled in. We feel the walls of unemployment—a youth unemployment rate that hovers around 45% for those aged 15-34, a statistic that is not just a number but a tomb of dead dreams. We feel the walls of poor service delivery, the potholes in Mamelodi that swallow cars, the water shortages that leave taps dry for weeks. We feel the walls of violent crime, forcing us to live in bunkers, not communities.
The popular narrative, the one shouted in Parliament and debated on social media (X, formerly Twitter, is a frenzy of blame), is that these walls are the final word. “We are trapped,” they say. “There is no escape.”
But as a child of God, I refuse to accept that narrative.
These walls—the crumbling infrastructure, the political instability, the economic pressure—are not just curses. They are confrontations. They are God’s way of saying to a nation that has forgotten its Maker: “You have built your trust in gold, in political parties, in the ‘Rainbow Nation’ myth. I am going to wall you in until you look up.”
I see it in the small things. During the worst of load shedding (stage 6, the darkness that descended upon us), I visited a friend in Soshanguve. While the world was panicking about the grid, the old women in the stokvel were sitting under a solar light, reading their Bibles aloud. The darkness had not imprisoned them; it had gathered them. The wall of load shedding had forced them into a fellowship they never had time for when the electricity was flowing and the TVs were blaring.
The Precedent of the Man of Sorrows
We cannot speak of walls without looking at the ultimate Wall, the ultimate Prisoner, the ultimate Victor.
Jesus Christ, the Sovereign Savior, was the “Man of Sorrows” before He was the King of Kings. Think of His life. He was walled in geographically—born in a backwater town, raised in Nazareth (of which it was asked, “Can anything good come from there?”), ministering primarily in a strip of land 100 miles long.
He was walled in theologically—constantly harassed by Pharisees who tried to trap Him in arguments, trying to “wall” Him into a corner of heresy.
And finally, He was walled in physically. On the night of His arrest, the walls closed in. He went from the Garden of Gethsemane (where the walls of sorrow pressed the blood from His pores) to the High Priest’s house (where lies walled Him in), to Pilate’s court (where political expediency walled Him in), to Golgotha—the ultimate wall.
On Golgotha, between the earth and the sky, He was walled in by sin. The Father turned His back. The Light of the world entered the dark prison of separation.
But here is the secret of the universe: The walls of Calvary became the corridors of salvation.
If the Root suffered, the branch cannot bypass the bitterness. If Jesus Christ needed the wall of the cross to accomplish His glory, why do we think we can achieve our destiny through comfort?
Practical Wisdom: The Law of the Wall
So, what do we do when we find ourselves in the Fortress in the Famine? How do we live when the walls are high and the resources are low?
Let me give you a “Harold Mawela” law to apply immediately:
The Law of the Wall: You will never possess the palace until you have processed the pain of the pit. What you perceive as a prison, God presents as a palace.
1. Stop Kicking the Wall.
When a dog is chained, it does not gain freedom by strangling itself against the post. It gains freedom when it submits to the master who holds the chain. Stop blaming the government, your spouse, your pastor, or the economy. Is the wall unjust? Perhaps. But your kicking will not move it; it will only bloody your feet. Instead, ask the Master: “What are You growing in me while I am here?”
2. Inventory the Inventory.
In a famine, you don’t complain about the lack of rain; you inventory the grain. What do you have inside the wall? Do you have the Word? Do you have the Spirit? Do you have prayer? The Apostle Paul wrote most of the New Testament from prison. The walls did not stop his productivity; they focused it. What are you doing with the silence of load shedding? Are you scrolling on your phone, or are you praying for your children? What are you doing with the lack of a job? Are you marinating in self-pity, or are you developing the skill God will use tomorrow?
3. Look for the Gate of Grace.
God’s walls always have a gate. It is not a gate of escape; it is a gate of purpose. In Lamentations, Jeremiah was walled in so that he could not escape. Why? Because if he had escaped, he would have missed the restoration. If I had escaped my financial pit in 2016, I would have missed the dependency on God that taught me how to steward the ministry He later gave me. That wall was the womb of my writing.
4. Recognize the Watchman.
The verse says God “walled me in.” The Hebrew implies a construction of siege. But God is not a hostile enemy; He is the Watchman. God uses the wall of weeping to watch over your soul. He walls you in to watch over you. The same wall that keeps the enemy out is the wall that keeps you in. It is a protective custody.
A Prophetic Confrontation
I must sound an alarm against the modern heresy that permeates our pulpits—the “Prosperity Gospel” that tells you that if you are in a wall, you are out of faith. This is a lie from the pit of hell.
This theology has crippled the African church. It has made us allergic to suffering. It has made us believe that a big house in Waterkloof is the proof of blessing, while humility and brokenness are signs of a curse. We chase after “anointing” that promises to “break every wall,” not realizing that the wall is the anointing.
We must reclaim the theology of the cross. We must understand that grief is not a lack of grace; it is the ground where genuine glory grows.
Consider the parable of the sower. The seed that fell on good ground did not grow in a wide-open field with no opposition. It grew in good ground—ground that had been broken, plowed, and walled in to protect it from the birds of the air.
Conclusion: From Lament to Light
I am writing this from my home in Akasia, Pretoria. Outside my window, I see the walls of my yard. They are not high walls—just concrete and paint. But for years, I looked at those walls as symbols of my limitation. I looked at the high walls of the suburbs around me and felt like a prisoner in my own city.
But today, I see them differently. I see them as the parameters of my assignment.
The famine in your life—whether it is a famine of resources, a famine of friendship, or a famine of opportunity—is not a sign that God has abandoned you. It is a sign that God is building your fortress. The fortress is not to keep you out; it is to keep the world out, so that the King can come in.
The world is starving for authenticity. South Africa is starving for leaders who have been processed by pain. The church is starving for men and women who have not just read about the cross, but have felt the nails of the wall.
So, do not curse the wall. Do not pray for the wall to be removed. Pray that your eyes would be opened to see the purpose of the wall.
Let your lament lead to His light.
Let your prison become your pulpit.
Prayer:
Lord, the walls of my life feel high and my arms feel short. I confess that I have mistaken Your protection for a prison. I confess that I have kicked against the boundaries of Your love, demanding freedom to pursue my own destruction. Today, I thank You for the fortress in the famine. I thank You that You are the Watchman on the wall, watching over my soul. Give me the patience to wait for the gate, the wisdom to work within the walls, and the faith to know that if the Root suffered, the branch must not expect comfort. In the name of Jesus Christ, the Man of Sorrows who became my King of Kings, Amen.
Reflection:
· What wall are you currently blaming God for that might actually be God’s protection?
· If your “famine” is an invitation to deeper intimacy, what will you change in your daily habits today?
· Your destiny is decoded in your daily habits. What you repeat, you become. What you neglect, you forfeit. Do not neglect the opportunity of the wall.
https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-fortress-in-the-famine/id1506692775?i=1000756696477
Comments
Post a Comment