By Harold Mawela, from my study in Akasia, Pretoria
I am writing to you from my study in Akasia, just north of Pretoria, where the Jacarandas are blooming against a Highveld sky that seems perpetually at war with itself half brilliant blue, half bruised purple with thunder. The rains have been unpredictable this year. Some gardens in my neighbourhood are lush with life; others are cracked earth, barren and begging.
As I sit here, I think about the body of Christ. The Scripture declares unequivocally: “The body is a unit, though it is made up of many parts” (1 Corinthians 12:12). Yet I wonder looking at the Church in South Africa today have we become a field of identical maize, or are we a forest?
A single type of plant makes a field. Many types make a forest that can weather any storm. Imagine, if you will, two gardens side by side in Soshanguve. One is a monoculture rows upon rows of the same crop, identical, uniform, predictable. When the pest comes, the entire harvest perishes. The other is a forest canopy trees stretching toward heaven, nitrogen-fixers enriching the soil, pollinators dancing between flowers, deep-rooted plants holding the earth together against the flood. When the storm comes, the forest stands.
Your inner circle is a divine ecosystem. Some are canopy trees your apostolic cover, those who stand tall and shelter you from the scorching sun of spiritual attack. Some are nitrogen-fixers your encouragers, those who enrich the soil of your soul so that something can grow there. Some are pollinators your evangelists, those who carry the pollen of the Gospel from one life to another. Your role is not to be all of these. Your role is to be a steward under the Chief Gardener, Jesus Christ Himself, who walks through the garden in the cool of the day, pruning what must be pruned and watering what must grow.
But here is the question that keeps me awake at night in Akasia: Is your ecosystem diverse, or is it a monoculture?
Let us define our terms clearly. A monoculture is when every relationship in your life looks like you, thinks like you, agrees with you, validates you. It is comfortable. It is safe. It is also spiritually fatal. When the pest of persecution comes, when the drought of doubt descends, when the flood of failure rises the monoculture collapses. You have no canopy tree to shelter you because everyone is on the same level. You have no nitrogen-fixer to enrich you because everyone is depleted in the same way. You have no pollinator to bring fresh life because the bees have abandoned a field with only one flower.
Is it not true that we all feel the gravitational pull toward comfort? I know I do. There is a part of me that wants to surround myself with people who never challenge me, never confront me, never call me higher. But that is not the ecology of the Kingdom. That is the ecology of Egypt—where the children of Israel sat by the fleshpots, comfortable in their slavery, until God sent a Moses they did not want to disrupt their comfortable monoculture.
Are there invasive species draining your spiritual nutrients?
I have seen it with my own eyes in Pretoria, in Johannesburg, in the townships and the suburbs. Invasive species in the relational garden. These are the relationships that look like they belong but are slowly strangling the life out of you. They are the ones who take but never give. The ones who demand your time, your energy, your prayer, your resources but when you are in need, their leaves are barren. The ones who speak words of life with their mouths but poison the soil with their hearts. The ones who suck the nitrogen out of your faith and leave you spiritually anemic.
The New Prophetic Churches phenomenon sweeping across South Africa has, in some quarters, normalized a form of spiritual warfare that is more about sending curses back to enemies than about cultivating the fruit of the Spirit. But I must sound the alarm against this: you cannot fight a spiritual battle with an ecology of offense. When your relationships are defined by suspicion, when every difficulty is attributed to a curse from a neighbour, when your prayer life is consumed with “back to sender” rather than “love your enemy” you have allowed an invasive species into your garden.
Prune with prayer.
A healthy relational ecology creates a self-sustaining climate for your growth.
Consider the Ubuntu philosophy “I am because we are.” This is not merely an African cultural value; it is a biblical truth written into the very fabric of creation. The body is a unit, though it is made up of many parts. Yet in 2026, the spirit of Ubuntu is facing mounting pressure. Rising living costs, deepening inequality, and growing anti-immigration tensions are reshaping not only how South Africans give, but also who they are willing to help. Weekly anti-immigration protests reflect deeper economic frustrations 45.8% youth unemployment, 32.7% overall unemployment, 8.1 million South Africans officially out of work. When people are hungry, they become territorial. When they are desperate, they close their gardens to strangers. This is the ecology of survival, not the ecology of the Kingdom.
But the Kingdom operates differently. The Kingdom ecology is mutualistic not parasitic, not competitive, but symbiotic. The canopy tree does not resent the vine that climbs it; the vine brings beauty and fruit. The nitrogen-fixer does not begrudge the nutrients it gives; it is enriched by the very act of enriching. The pollinator does not complain about the work; it is fed by the nectar even as it feeds the flowers.
I learned this lesson the hard way.
Let me tell you a personal story. A few years ago, I found myself in a season of profound isolation. I was pastoring, preaching, leading but I had allowed my relational garden to become a monoculture. Everyone around me agreed with me. Everyone validated my decisions. Everyone told me I was right. And I was wrong—about more than I care to admit. But I could not see it because there was no one in my life brave enough to tell me.
Then God sent a nitrogen-fixer. A man who did not care about my title, my reputation, or my comfort. He sat in my study right here in Akasia and he said, “Harold, you are leading the church, but you are not feeding your own soul. You are shepherding the flock, but you have no shepherd. You are watering everyone else’s garden, but your own is cracked earth.”
I wanted to argue. I wanted to defend. I wanted to show him all the evidence of my success. But the Spirit of God convicted me in that moment. Loneliness is not the absence of affection, but the absence of direction. I had affection plenty of it. But I had lost direction because I had no one to show me the path I could not see.
That man pruned me. It hurt. Pruning always hurts. But the pruning produced fruit I could not have produced on my own.
The argument can be formulated thus:
Premise 1: Every relationship either nurtures a strength or a weakness within you.
Premise 2: A monoculture of relationships nurtures the same weaknesses in everyone, leaving no one to compensate for the others' blind spots.
Premise 3: The body of Christ is designed to be diverse, with each part supplying what the other lacks (1 Corinthians 12:14-21).
Conclusion: Therefore, a healthy spiritual life requires intentional cultivation of relational diversity canopy trees, nitrogen-fixers, pollinators, and deep-rooted intercessors.
A common objection is: “But Pastor, I don’t have time to cultivate all these relationships. I’m busy. I’m tired. I’m just trying to survive.” However, this fails because it misunderstands the nature of the ecosystem. You do not create a forest overnight. You plant one tree at a time. You water one relationship at a time. You prune one invasive species at a time. The Chief Gardener does not demand that you create the forest in a day. He demands that you be faithful with the seed He has given you.
And here is the good news: the Chief Gardener is with you.
He walks through the garden. He knows every root, every branch, every leaf. He knows which relationships are bearing fruit and which are bearing thorns. He knows which plants need more water and which need more sun. He knows which invasive species need to be uprooted and which struggling saplings just need more time. Jesus Christ is not a distant landowner who inspects from afar. He is the Gardener who gets His hands dirty.
In South Africa today, we are seeing stirrings of revival. Conferences are gathering, prayers are ascending, worship is rising. Pretoria choir Mmuso Worship is releasing new music, establishing itself as a national worship movement. The Apostolic Global Conference 2026 is calling the Body of Christ across South Africa into a powerful move of God. But I must ask: is this revival sustainable? Or will it be like the summer rain that falls on cracked earth—impressive for a moment, but gone before the roots can drink?
The revival we need is not just a revival of emotion. It is a revival of ecology.
It is a revival that recognizes that we need each other. That the canopy tree needs the nitrogen-fixer. That the pollinator needs the flower. That the deep-rooted intercessor needs the evangelist who brings new life into the garden. That the evangelist needs the teacher who grounds new believers in truth. That the teacher needs the prophet who calls the church back to its first love. That the prophet needs the pastor who holds the flock together when the storms come.
We have been trying to do this alone. We have been building our own little gardens, fencing them off, putting up signs that say “Private Property Keep Out.” And we wonder why the harvest is thin. We wonder why the drought has come. We wonder why the pests have devoured our crops.
The Scripture declares unequivocally: “The body is a unit, though it is made up of many parts.”
Not a collection of isolated individuals. Not a competition of competing ministries. Not a hierarchy of spiritual haves and have-nots. A unit. An organism. An ecosystem.
So I challenge you, as you read this in your home in Mamelodi or your flat in Melville, your farm in the Free State or your township in the Eastern Cape:
Examine your ecosystem. Who are your canopy trees the ones who shelter you? Who are your nitrogen-fixers the ones who enrich your soul? Who are your pollinators the ones who bring fresh life and new perspectives? Who are your deep-rooted ones the ones who hold you steady when the storms come?
Identify the invasive species. Who is draining your spiritual nutrients? Who is taking without giving? Who is speaking death while pretending to speak life? Who is competing with you rather than complementing you? Prune with prayer. It will hurt. But the harvest will be worth it.
Cultivate mutualistic bonds. Ask yourself: What am I giving to this relationship? Am I a canopy tree to someone? Am I a nitrogen-fixer? Am I a pollinator? The Kingdom economy is not about getting it is about giving. When you give, you receive. When you enrich, you are enriched. When you shelter, you are sheltered. You will never possess what you are unwilling to pursue.
Prayer:
Father, help me steward the ecology of my relationships. Let me cultivate a thriving habitat for Your Spirit. Prune what must be pruned. Water what must grow. Uproot what does not belong. And let the garden of my life be a forest diverse, resilient, fruitful a place where the gifts of Your Spirit can flourish and where Your name can be glorified. In the name of Jesus Christ, the Chief Gardener, I pray. Amen.
Go and cultivate. The harvest is waiting.
Harold Mawela
Akasia, Pretoria
31 July 2026
“Attack is the proof that your enemy anticipates your success. The enemy attacks your relationships because he knows that together, you are unstoppable. Guard your garden.”
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