Scripture: “Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt.” (Colossians 4:6)
I write these words from my study in Akasia, Pretoria. The night is quiet, but my mind is not. Outside these walls, South Africa is a nation in convulsion weekly anti-immigration protests erupting across our cities, youth unemployment stagnating at 45.8 percent, crime operations arresting over 23,000 suspects in a single week. We are a people drowning in noise, yet starving for meaning.
Just this past week, as I drove through the streets of Pretoria North, I passed a group of young men standing at a robot. Their eyes were hollow. Their mouths moved talking, laughing, cursing but their souls were silent. I rolled down my window and asked one of them: “Kunjani, mfethu? How are you really?”
He looked at me like I had asked him to translate ancient Greek.
His answer was automatic: “Sharp, sharp.”
But his eyes told a different story. They told of a father who left, a mother who drinks, a job that never came, a hope that died slowly. Beneath his “sharp, sharp” lay a silent cry for Jesus Christ buried under layers of pain, rejection, and despair.
That encounter changed something in me. It reminded me that surface speech secures shallow connections; spiritual mining uncovers sovereign treasure.
The Archaeology of the Soul
Picture, if you will, an archaeologist standing at the ruins of Mapungubwe. He does not merely glance at the surface and declare, “There is nothing here.” No. He kneels. He brushes away the dust. He digs patiently, layer by layer, until he unearths gold—the golden rhino, the beads, the evidence of a civilisation that once thrived.
Conversation, beloved, is archaeology of the soul.
Every person you meet is a buried city. Beneath the rubble of small talk, beneath the debris of daily survival, beneath the dust of disappointment there lies treasure. There lies a story. There lies a soul crying out to be seen, heard, and known.
But we are too busy talking to listen. We are too busy answering to ask. We are too busy filling the silence with our own words to hear the cry beneath theirs.
Listening is not the absence of sound, but the presence of search.
The Salt and the Silence
The Scripture declares unequivocally: “Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt” (Colossians 4:6).
Grace keeps our tone winsome; salt keeps our message truthful. Grace attracts; salt preserves and provokes thought. Grace is the hand that reaches out; salt is the truth that heals.
But here is the paradox that our generation has forgotten: You cannot season what you have not first tasted.
How can your words bring flavour to another’s life if you have never tasted their bitterness? How can your speech preserve another’s hope if you have never entered their despair? How can you answer everyoneif you have not first listened to everyone?
The apostle Paul was not commanding us to speak more. He was commanding us to speak better and to speak better, we must first hear deeper.
You will never heal a heart you refuse to hear.
The Great Misunderstanding
A common objection arises: “But Pastor, I am not a counsellor. I am not a psychologist. I am just an ordinary person. What can I possibly uncover in another’s heart?”
This objection fails because it misunderstands the nature of Christian conversation.
The argument can be formulated thus:
· Premise 1: Every human being is created in the image of God and carries within them a longing for the Divine.
· Premise 2: This longing is often buried beneath pain, sin, and circumstance.
· Premise 3: The Holy Spirit resides within every believer and gifts us with discernment.
· Conclusion: Therefore, every believer is equipped, through the Spirit, to excavate the buried longing in another’s heart.
You do not need a degree in psychology. You need ears that are bent toward heaven and a heart that is open to the Spirit’s prompting.
What you discern deeply determines what you deliver permanently.
A Dark Night in Akasia
Let me tell you a personal story.
Some years ago, I found myself sitting in a shebeen in Soshanguve not to drink, but to find a man. His name was Thabo. He was a member of our church, but he had disappeared into the shadows of addiction. His wife had come to me, weeping: “Pastor, please find my husband. He is killing himself slowly.”
I found him at the back of that shebeen, staring into a glass of something dark and destructive. His eyes were the eyes of a dead man walking.
I sat down beside him. I did not preach. I did not quote Scripture. I did not condemn.
I simply asked: “Thabo, what happened to you?”
And then I waited.
The silence stretched like the Karoo highway long, empty, uncomfortable. But I did not fill it. I let it breathe.
And then, like a dam breaking, the words came. He told me about his father who beat him. About the shame he carried from childhood. About the job he lost. About the son he could not provide for. About the man he was supposed to be but could not become.
Beyond his small talk lay a silent cry for Jesus Christ, buried under human pain.
I brushed away the dust. I asked Spirit-guided questions that pierced his soul.
That night, Thabo did not just get saved. He got seen. He got heard. He got found.
Today, Thabo is a deacon in our church. He leads a ministry for men struggling with addiction. And every time I see him, I remember: surface speech secures shallow connections; spiritual mining uncovers sovereign treasure.
The Noise of Our Nation
South Africa in 2026 is a nation of noise.
Our Parliament echoes with shouting matches. Our streets echo with protest chants. Our social media echoes with outrage and accusation. Our homes echo with the silence of families who have stopped talking to each other.
We are a people who have forgotten how to converse.
The word “conversation” comes from the Latin conversari meaning “to turn together, to dwell together.” True conversation is not merely the exchange of words; it is the turning together of two souls toward truth.
But we do not turn together. We turn away. We scroll past. We swipe left. We ghost. We block. We cancel.
And in doing so, we bury one another alive.
The Call to Excavate
Beloved, the hour has come for a new kind of conversation.
Not the conversation of politicians empty promises and clever soundbites.
Not the conversation of social media performative outrage and curated perfection.
Not the conversation of the world surface-level, self-serving, soulless.
But the conversation of Christ full of grace, seasoned with salt.
· Grace that does not condemn but invites.
· Salt that does not compromise but preserves.
· Grace that listens before it speaks.
· Salt that heals before it challenges.
Turn chatter into ministry.
The Practical Laws of Holy Conversation
Let me give you laws to live by principles that will transform your conversations from shallow chatter to soul excavation:
1. The Law of the Shovel: You will never find treasure you are unwilling to dig for. Ask the hard questions. Sit in the uncomfortable silence. Probe beneath the surface.
2. The Law of the Ear: You will never heal a heart you refuse to hear. Listening is not waiting for your turn to speak. Listening is the active pursuit of another’s soul.
3. The Law of the Salt: Your words will only preserve what your presence has first entered. You cannot season from a distance. Get close. Get dirty. Get real
4. The Law of the Spirit: You will never discern what you do not pray for. Before you speak, pray. Before you ask, listen to the Spirit. The Holy Spirit is the ultimate Archaeologist—He knows where the treasure is buried.
The Answer to Every Person
The Scripture says our speech should be seasoned with salt “so that you may know how you should answer each person”.
Notice: “each person.”
Not a script. Not a formula. Not a one-size-fits-all gospel presentation.
But a unique answer for a unique soul.
This requires listening. This requires discernment. This requires presence.
Imagine, if you will, a surgeon who operates on every patient with the same incision, the same procedure, the same prescription. He would be a butcher, not a healer.
Yet we do this in our conversations. We give the same answers to every person. We offer the same clichés. We quote the same verses. We deliver the same sermon.
But every person is a unique excavation site. Every heart has its own geology of pain. Every soul has its own archaeology of longing.
Ask Spirit-guided questions that pierce the soul.
The Golden Rhino of Every Heart
At Mapungubwe, the archaeologists found a golden rhino—a symbol of a civilisation’s wealth, artistry, and connection to the divine.
Every human heart contains a golden rhino. Not literal gold, but something far more precious: the image of God, buried but not destroyed, obscured but not absent.
Your conversation your gracious, salt-seasoned conversation is the archaeological tool that uncovers that image.
When you listen deeply, you are not just hearing words. You are excavating glory.
When you ask Spirit-guided questions, you are not just gathering information. You are unearthing destiny.
When you speak grace and truth, you are not just offering advice. You are restoring the image of God in a broken soul.
A Prayer for Excavators
Let us pray:
Holy Spirit, give me ears to excavate hearts.
Give me patience to sit in the silence.
Give me courage to ask the hard questions.
Give me grace to speak the healing truth.
Give me salt to preserve what I find.
And give me Christ the ultimate Treasure to offer to every buried soul I encounter.
In Jesus’ mighty name, Amen.
The Final Word
Beloved, the world is full of noise. But beneath the noise, there is a cry.
Beneath the protest, there is a plea.
Beneath the addiction, there is a pain.
Beneath the anger, there is a wound.
Beneath the “sharp, sharp,” there is a soul screaming to be seen.
You will never heal a heart you refuse to hear.
So put down your phone. Turn away from your screen. Look into the eyes of the person in front of you. Ask the question that matters. Sit in the silence that heals. Speak the truth that sets free.
Turn chatter into ministry.
Surface speech secures shallow connections; spiritual mining uncovers sovereign treasure.
Go forth, beloved archaeologist. The ruins are waiting. The treasure is buried. The Spirit is guiding.
Excavate.
Harold Mawela
Akasia, Pretoria
South Africa
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