Honour Is A Holy Prophecy

 Honour Is A Holy Prophecy

A Devotional Essay by Harold Mawela

From my study in Akasia, Pretoria — a stone’s throw from the Union Buildings where power is brokered, where promises are made, and where too often, honour is betrayed.

Part One: The Diagnosis — What We Have Lost

I sit in my study in Akasia, the Johannesburg-Pretoria traffic humming its eternal lament in the distance, and I think about honour. Not the kind that fills stadiums when the Springboks win. Not the kind that politicians demand when they step onto podiums. Not even the kind that families perform at funerals, speaking beautifully of the dead while they neglected the living.

I mean holy honour. The kind that Romans 12:10 commands: "Outdo one another in showing honour."

Let me tell you about a Wednesday that changed me. I was walking through the sprawling maze of Soshanguve, past the shacks that lean against each other like tired old men, past the spaza shops that sell hope in small plastic packets. A young man  maybe nineteen, maybe twenty  sat on a broken chair outside a tuck shop. His eyes were empty. Not sad. Empty. Like someone had taken a spoon and scooped out whatever made him him.

I stopped. "Umjita," I said, "what's your name?"

He looked up, surprised that anyone would ask. "Sipho," he mumbled.

"Sipho what?"

"Sipho Dlamini."

I sat down next to him. Not on a chair — there was only one — but on the ground, like we do in the villages when we want to talk properly. "Sipho," I said, "tell me about yourself."

And then it came. The story I have heard a thousand times in a thousand different forms. His father left when he was seven. His mother works as a domestic worker in Fourways, coming home once a month. His teachers told him he was "not university material." His uncle called him "useless." His girlfriend left him for a guy with a car. His friends told him he would never amount to anything.

"Uyisilima," they said. You are stupid.

And somewhere along the way, Sipho started believing it.

Honour does not applaud the accomplishment; it prophesies the potential. 

But nobody had prophesied over Sipho. Instead, they had pronounced a curse over him — a curse dressed in the cheap clothing of criticism. And he had received it. He had eaten it like pap and gravy, and it had become part of his bones.

Part Two: The Investigation — Defining Honour

Let us define our terms with philosophical precision, for confusion here is costly.

What is honour? The Greek word in Romans 12:10 is timē (τιμή), which literally means "a valuing" or "a price." To honour someone is to assign them value. It is to say, "You matter. You are worth something." 

What is honour NOT? Honour is not flattery. Flattery is a lie dressed in Sunday clothes. Flattery tells a person they are already what they are not. Honour tells a person they can become what God created them to be. Flattery makes a person comfortable in their current condition. Honour makes a person uncomfortable with anything less than their full potential.

What is the argument? The argument can be formulated thus:

Premise One: Every human being is created in the image of God (Imago Dei) and therefore possesses inherent, eternal value.

Premise Two: This value is not always visible in a person's current condition — it often lies buried beneath neglect, trauma, poverty, and criticism.

Premise Three: Honour, properly understood, is the act of calling forth and affirming that latent value.

Conclusion: Therefore, honour is not a celebration of what is; it is a prophecy of what shall be.

A common objection arises: "But Harold, what if a person is genuinely failing? What if they are lazy, dishonest, or destructive? Surely we must call a spade a spade!"

I hear you. I have asked the same question. But consider this: Did Jesus call Zacchaeus a thief when He walked into Jericho? No. He called him a son of Abraham. Did Jesus call the woman at the well an adulteress? No. He called her to living water. Did Jesus call Peter "Satan" and then, moments later, "the rock upon which I will build My church"? Yes. And which word did Peter become?

You will never rise higher than the honour spoken over you. And you will never sink lower than the dishonour you have received.

This is a spiritual law as immutable as gravity.

Part Three: The Insight — Honour as Prophecy

I want to take you deeper, into the marrow of this truth.

Ubuntu still whispers, umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu a person is a person through other persons. 

This is not merely an African proverb. It is a profound theological insight. It declares that personhood is not achieved in isolation but is conferred in community. You cannot become who God created you to be alone. You need others to see you, name you, and call you forth.

Think about it: In the Genesis narrative, God said, "It is not good for the man to be alone" (Genesis 2:18). This was not about romance. It was about personhood. Adam could not fully be Adam without another to reflect his humanity back to him.

This is the deep magic of honour.

When you honour someone, you are participating in their creation. You are speaking them into fuller existence. You are doing what God did when He said, "Let there be light"  except now, you are saying, "Let there be you  the full, glorious, God-breathed you."

Let me say it plainly: Your honour is not a reward for performance; it is a prophecy of potential.

Part Four: The Confrontation — Where We Have Failed

Now, let us speak the uncomfortable truth — the kind that makes people shift in their pews.

We have failed in this country. We have failed magnificently.

Consider our politics. President Ramaphosa recently declared that rebuilding public confidence in the SAPS must go hand in hand with rooting out corruption. And he is right. But here is the question: Where is the honour? We have a police force that is under-resourced, underpaid, and often under siege — with police killings threatening our national stability. We honour them with words at National Commemoration Day while we dishonour them with neglect the rest of the year.

Consider our education. We have teachers who are exhausted, underpaid, and disrespected. We have students who are told they are failures by systems that failed them first. We have a generation of Siphos young people who have been cursed into believing they are nothing.

Consider our families. The disintegration of the South African family is a national crisis that nobody wants to name. Fathers who abandon their children. Mothers who are so exhausted they have nothing left to give. Children who are raised by the streets because the home has become a war zone.

Consider our churches. Oh, this one hurts. We have churches that honour money more than people. We have preachers who honour platforms more than the poor. We have Christians who honour their reputations more than their brothers and sisters in Christ.

And consider our own hearts. Who have you dismissed with criticism when the Spirit was asking you to speak seeds of life? Who have you written off as "too far gone"? Who have you judged by their current condition rather than their coming completion?

Part Five: The Resolution — Reversing the Curse

Here is the good news: It is not too late.

The same God who restored what was ruined can restore honour in our land. The same Jesus who called dead Lazarus out of the tomb can call dead dreams back to life. The same Spirit who hovered over the chaos of creation can hover over the chaos of our nation and speak order into being.

Reverse it today.

· With a word. Speak life over someone who has only heard death. Tell your child, "I see greatness in you." Tell your colleague, "Your contribution matters." Tell your spouse, "I am grateful for you." Tell a stranger, "God has a plan for your life."

· With a work. Do something that says, "You are valuable." Pay for someone's education. Mentor a young person. Visit a prisoner. Feed a hungry family. Honour is not abstract — it is practical.

· With a warm welcome. Open your heart and your home. The Ubuntu that made South Africans the most generous people in the world is not dead  it is just sleeping. Awaken it. Welcome the stranger. Embrace the outcast. Receive the one who has been rejected.

Honour is not flattery — it is a fragrance that awakens what neglect had put to sleep.

Part Six: The Evidence — The Testimony of Scripture

Let me take you to the text. Romans 12:10 says: "Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. Outdo one another in showing honour." 

The word translated "outdo" is proēgeomai — it means "to go before," "to lead the way," "to take the initiative." 

This is not passive. This is not reactive. This is aggressive, intentional, prophetic honour. You are to compete in giving honour. You are to race to see who can honour the other more. You are to be so proactive in your honour that you leave others breathless.

And why? Because honour is the language of heaven. In the throne room of God, the twenty-four elders fall down and cast their crowns before the One who sits on the throne (Revelation 4:10). They honour Him not because He needs it, but because honour is the appropriate response to glory.

When we honour one another, we are rehearsing heaven. We are practicing eternity. We are learning to speak the language that will be spoken forever.

Part Seven: The Call — A Prophetic Declaration

I am going to ask you to do something now. Something that may feel uncomfortable. Something that may feel like a risk.

Find your Sipho.

Find the person you have dismissed, neglected, or written off. Find the one you have cursed with criticism. Find the one you have buried with silence.

And speak honour over them.

Speak it not because they deserve it — speak it because Jesus deserves to see His image reflected back to Him in every human face.

Speak it not because they have earned it — speak it because honour is not a wage; it is a gift.

Speak it not because you feel like it — speak it because the Spirit is prompting you to speak seeds of life.

Prayer

Lord, let my honour be prophecy over another's potential, not a critique of their current condition.

Forgive me for the times I have spoken death when You wanted life. Forgive me for the times I have dismissed when You wanted to lift. Forgive me for the times I have judged by the outside when You see the inside.

Give me eyes to see as You see. Give me a tongue to speak as You speak. Give me a heart to honour as You honour.

And may the honour I give to others be a fragrant offering to You a prophecy of what shall be, a glimpse of heaven on earth, a declaration that every person is a person through other persons, and that every person is made in Your image.

In the name of Jesus Christ, the Honoured One who honoured us by becoming nothing, the King who became a servant, the Judge who became the judged in His mighty and matchless name.

Amen.

Postscript: A Final Word from Akasia

I write this from my study in Akasia, looking out at the Jacarandas that are starting to bloom  the purple promise of a spring that always comes, no matter how harsh the winter.

South Africa is in a difficult season. Our economy groans. Our politics is fractured. Our society is wounded. But I tell you, child of God: the spring is coming. And you have a role to play in it.

When you honour, you heal. When you prophesy, you plant. When you speak life, you participate in resurrection.

The future of this nation does not depend on politicians or policies. It depends on whether we will learn to see each other as God sees us  not as we are, but as we shall be.

Reverse it today. Start with a word. Start with a work. Start with a warm welcome.

And watch what God does with a people who have learned to honour.

Harold Mawela

Akasia, Pretoria

September 2026