Changing the world is a gift to His son

AS CHRISTMAS Day draws near there’s much pressure to conform to values contrary to the spirit of the festival.

For some it is an opportunity to maximise profit. Hark, the Black Friday – herald to these big days. Others seek to kindle the kindness in the manger of our heart – the inevitable brother at the door with a grubby, tired-looking list soliciting “sumting for de krismis boks”.

On Monday I opened my frontdoor to a sherry-fumed, “Salaams buya, is’ah nie iets vi’ Jesus se gedagtenis nie? Kanaala” (“Peace brother, something for the memory of Jesus? Thank you.”) That’s interfaith in Oranjezicht.

We Christians need to be mindful, given our claimed belief in God, that He expects a lot more from us than from those who are in for a helluva skrik when they actually meet St Peter at the Pearly Gates.

If Christmas is about Baby Jesus, then it is about being born again.

I can understand if you are there at tonight’s Midnight Mass (11pm at St George’s Cathedral) already half babalaas. Archbishop Thabo Makgoba’s sermon will speak to your intention.

We accept that going to Nando’s does not make you a peri-peri grilled chicken. But you are there to be fed. Of course we preachers tend to be very generous when dishing up the meal. You might think we are nearing the end of the main course when we are only warming up with the starters.

For a long time, I struggled with this thing about being born again.

Steve Biko challenged Sunday sermonising on the Friday boozing and Saturday night womanising, while ignoring what happened in the hard lives of people for the rest of the week.

I attended youth-club meetings at St Nicholas in Elsies River where, after prayers, we stood in a circle for praise and worship. I stand accused as I lied through the singing of “It was a glad day when I was born again”.

We would jolly through the days of the week and you were expected to dance into the middle of the circle when the day of your salvation was called.

I circle-danced, often forgetting from week to week at which momentous, but imagined, day I had heard the Lord call me.

That was until I heard Bob Dylan mumble, “If you weren’t being born again, you were busy dying”.

That view saved me from the valley of the self-condemned.

Vernon Rose, veteran soccer ace and one of Athlone’s finest, introduced us in one of his Cape Flats parables, to a brother who rolled by the name of Holle.

His name could have been premised on the gangster affection for the hangat style of a low-slung trousers.

This original down-and-low was purposed to expose the wearer’s often skinny, cheeky derrière.

His story reminded me of a fellow called Sterra Mama in my hometown Elsies River, who had the words “Djy loer nog” (“you are still looking”) tattooed on his behind.

Two eyes on the summit of each cheek emphasised the point.

But back to Holle. A revival meeting at the Silvertown Baptist Church saved Brother Holle from a life of drugs and liquor.

He was no longer referred to by his fighting name of Holle but by his given name, Sydney.

The Baptist faithful looked up to him because his life was a powerful testimony in itself.

Then Sydney raised his hand to become a deacon. However, the pastor learnt that his recent convert had a bit of the old Holle in him as he still smoked…

Sydney could not become a deacon because, as the pastor told him “Djy is gered, maa’ nog’ie verlos’ie”. He was saved but not redeemed.

Christmas is about giving your heart to Jesus in the way that we live his example, sharing our accumulated wealth; recognising that “we only really love God,” as Dorothy Day says, “as much as we love the person we love the least”.

The baby born under squalid conditions became a man who preached a revolutionary message that poverty was a sin against God.

And that changing the world for the good of all was our Christ-like gift to God.