A SWALLOW'S SERMON

In Lindley's historic church, the morning service began with music that swelled through the lofty space. The grand organ pipes resonated with praise and worship, as the congregation sang with enthusiasm. Suddenly, a swallow took flight within the church, swooping and soaring around the high ceiling. The rapid flapping of its wings created a striking contrast to the peaceful atmosphere.

As the preacher began her sermon on the importance of love, referencing 1 Corinthians 13, the swallow's anxious flight seemed to offer a poignant illustration of the chapter's message: "If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge... but have not love, I am nothing." Without love, our actions are empty and without purpose.

The swallow continued its aerial quest, circling left and right, its wings beating rapidly as it sought  an escape. The closed windows and doors seemed to amplify its plight, and I wondered if it would ever find its freedom. Just as the swallow sought freedom, we too search for meaning, purpose, and intimacy.

The preacher continued weaving her words into a powerful narrative around the theme of love. "What comes to mind when you hear the word 'love'?" she asked. A brave voice responded, "God." The banner at the front of the church seemed to affirm this sentiment, declaring boldly, "God is  love."

Watching the scene unfold, I realized that two sermons were being delivered simultaneously-one earthly, spoken by the preacher, and the other heavenly, delivered wordlessly by the swallow from above. The earthly sermon proclaimed love's transformative power, while the heavenly sermon poignantly illustrated the futility of seeking freedom without love.

As the sermon concluded, the organist's fingers danced across the keys, filling the air with a stirring rendition of "The Power of Your Love." The song's unsung lyrics resonated deeply, speaking directly to the swallow's quest for freedom-and to our own longing for connection: "Hold me close, let Your love surround me... Bring me near, draw me to  Your side."

The song transformed the swallow's story, revealing that true freedom lies not in escape, but in embracing the present, surrounded by God's love. Psalm 84:3 came to mind: "Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest... at your altars, O Lord" (ESV). In that sacred space, the swallow's restless flight gave way to a profound truth: Home is where love resides.

Stepping out of the church into the bright light, the large open doors, the same ones that had confined the swallow, now flung wide, offered new freedom. I felt a surge of hope, knowing that just as the swallow's story had been transformed, our own stories can be rewritten by the redeeming power of God's love.

For in the power of God's love, we find the freedom to surrender, to let go, and to love as He loves. And in that surrender, like the swallow, we find our true home in Him-not in the wide expanses of freedom, but simply, profoundly, in Him.

Come Walkers, Come: The Seventy Who Carried the Light

I want to share a beautiful story about the church bell in Lindley and the message it seemed to carry across the hills and valleys.

The Afrikaans poet, Jan F.E. Cilliers, captured the sound of a bell summoning people to service with the words: "Come sinners, come!" But this Sunday, the Lindley church bell seemed to sing a different tune: "Come walkers, come!"

Immediately following the morning service, a fundraising walk commenced, from the town to the Bible school atop the hill, to raise funds for Bible distribution.

Two elements within the service had captured my attention. Flanking the pulpit were two torches, their symbolism rich and deep. They spoke of receiving the Light and accepting the responsibility to become light-bearers in the world. Inevitably, they also called to mind the Olympic torch journeying to Paris-another flame carrying a message of unity and peace across nations.

After the service, seventy walkers set off. This was no race, but upon conquering the steep climb to the Bible school, each participant received a medal. Seventy medals for seventy walkers! At first glance, they gleamed like gold, but closer inspection revealed they were crafted from wood. In the centre of each round medal, set against a green ribbon, a small cross was cut out.

The contrast was striking. In Paris, elite athletes strive for years for the chance to declare, "Yes, I did it!" But this walk in Lindley, harmonising with the morning's message, taught a different truth: that everyone who completes the race of faith in Christ shares in the "medal with the wooden cross." Here, the ultimate declaration is not "I did it," but "Yes, He did it! Jesus did it for me."

The gathering of exactly seventy walkers prompted deeper reflection. The two torches by the pulpit echoed the biblical principle that the testimony of two is true. Jesus, the Light of the World (John 8), entrusts that light to us, declaring, "You are the light of the world" (Matthew 5). On that winter morning, seventy people literally carried that light up a hill.

In Scripture, the number seventy resonates with profound symbolism. It represents completeness and the fullness of humanity, as seen in the seventy nations descended from Noah in Genesis 10. God called seventy elders of Israel to ascend Mount Sinai with Moses to witness His glory (Exodus 24). Later, Jesus Himself sent seventy disciples ahead of Him to preach and heal, spreading the news of God's kingdom (Luke 10).

Was it mere coincidence that seventy people ascended the hill in Lindley? I believe it was a divine gathering. Each person was uniquely chosen to carry a testimony-a living light-up that mountain, acting as a modern embodiment of those sent to prepare the way.

Father, we thank You for the encouragement of Your Word that urges us to run the race with perseverance. Thank You for the profound truth that when we run with our eyes fixed on Jesus, we each receive a victor's crown. We thank You that You have a purposeful design for each life and that You call us to be Your light. May we recognise Your hand even in life's small details, and as bearers of Your light, may we journey toward the heavenly Jerusalem, the city of the living God.

Amen.

My Experiences on a Sand and Stone Camino

Our walk commenced at a sandstone house nestled high in the Eastern Free State mountains, dwarfed by even higher sandstone cliffs on Boschfontein farm.

The air was crisp, and the expansive view over Lesotho and its mountains was breathtaking. The sacred silence was rhythmically broken by the sound of iron striking rock, echoing from the far side of the mountain-a stonemason diligently chiseling raw rock into building blocks.

Here, massive rocks fallen from the mountainside are reshaped into foundations and walls. This transformation of sand, reformed over years into sandstone, served as an early reminder that our own life paths are shaped by our experiences and choices.

The forest path led us from the rocks to the roses. The fragrant garden, where breakfast was served to the pilgrims amidst colorful flowers and soft sand, represented our brittle and vulnerable nature, as well as our potential for growth and transformation.

Every flower and leaf, every grain of sand and rock, every insect and antelope whispered stories of unprecedented greatness, inspiring the pilgrim to rediscover their own inner garden and precious treasures of peace and joy.

We had lunch on the next farm.

For a brief interlude, the world of sand and stone gave way to iron rails and steam. The romantic display of trains at Sandstone Estates served as a reminder of bygone days, inspiring the pilgrim with tales of pioneers, inventors, and adventurers who dared to dream big.

Shortly before supper, we arrived at our next destination.

At Rensburghoek, if you listened carefully, you could hear the sacred silence rhythmically broken in the distance by the sound of hooves near the sandstone cliffs-a herd of wild horses! That night, around the table, the wild horses within each pilgrim's heart were tamed, preparing them to return home. This fortress became a turning point, a homecoming for the heart.

Just as every street corner presents a crossroads, Rensburghoek awakened the courage within the pilgrim to seek their True North once more. The vastness of the farm and its stately sandstone house became a beacon of self-discovery, where the wildest dreams and forgotten desires could once again find a place in the heart.

The name Valuta, where we would spend the following night, spoke of invaluable values and uniqueness. Just as the word Valuta is linked to different currency units, the ground beneath its banner became the pilgrim's place of self-reflection and growth. Here, one rediscovers oneself as precious and valuable, deserving of respect and esteem.

At the sandstone house on Valuta, the pilgrim realized they were no longer a brittle grain of sand, but a strong and resilient living stone, built into a spiritual house, and transformed by the power of the Holy Spirit to understand that the richness of their individuality shone brightly like a rare and precious pearl.

After a path with steep inclines and expansive views, we arrived at the end of our journey, at Polo Africa. Walking through tree-lined avenues, we couldn't miss the disciplined horses. The leaves rustled softly in the breeze as a white horse approached. The proud look in its eyes reminded us of something within ourselves, speaking to the importance of utilizing our passions and desires in service to our Master.

The stonemason's work was now complete, the building stones in place-proof of the transformative power of the Camino! The sandstone cliffs of Polo Africa represented the solid foundation of our faith, now tested and refined by a walk full of perspective and insight.

We have become living stones, built into a spiritual house, with Jesus as the cornerstone.

My Foot Is Slipping

Have you ever noticed a Bible verse unexpectedly appearing in your life repeatedly? This happened to me with Psalm 94:18. The verse kept coming up, and eventually, I knew it by heart: "When I said, 'My foot is slipping,' your unfailing love, Lord, supported me."

Once, while walking through a remote area of New Zealand called Te Rapa, I stopped to rest after an exhausting day. I slept under the stars next to a farmyard fence on a patch of soft green grass. As a South African, this felt liberating because New Zealand has no snakes or scorpions.

Te Rapa is a shortened version of Te Rapai, a significant name for the Te Arawa and Ngati Porou tribes. I believe we should try to understand the deeper meaning of the places where we pray; this helps us pray specific, Holy Spirit-guided prayers. The names of these tribes-Te Arawa (The way the sun shines through the clouds) and Ngati Porou (The people of one who was born at dawn)-paint a beautiful picture. I can almost see the sun's rays breaking through the clouds with new zeal, lighting up the new day over the people of New Zealand-a picture of hope and a bright future.

The area of Te Rapai is named after a prominent leader in Māori history whose name means The Gatherer or The Collector, associated with harvesting and abundance. Sleeping over in Te Rapa on the soft grass under the stars became a place where I gathered and harvested beautiful testimonies about God.

During the night, a shuffling noise in the grass woke me. I sat up and scrutinized the surrounding grassland in the dim light of the fading moon, trying to distinguish between shadows and bushes behind the fence. The shuffling came again, much closer this time! Then I spotted it: a figure emerging from the shadow of a tree to my left. More movement to the right caught my eye-a cow and some sheep grazing in the soft grass. I went back to sleep and woke the next morning as the rising sun broke through the clouds. I got up and prepared to continue my walk, unaware that a beautiful testimony was about to be born there in Te Rapa, just after dawn.

A long, deep, freshly dug trench ran along the pathway. I could walk a long way back to go around it, but since it was deep and not very wide, I decided to jump over. A long pile of soil on the other side served as the landing spot, and I had to be careful not to fall backward into the trench. I took a short run-up and leapt as high as I could. The soil on the other side looked compact, and I braced myself for a hard landing. However, when my right foot touched the soil, it broke through the soft ground, and I sank into the embankment. The weight of my bag pushed hard, and everything suddenly went into slow motion.

I felt my foot breaking through the soft ground. The arch of my foot caught on something hard, and my ankle began to twist. There was no time to pray; an anxious shriek was all I could manage-a whole prayer contained in that shriek.

In that same moment, Psalm 94:18 flashed through my mind: "When I said, 'My foot is slipping,' your unfailing love, Lord, supported me."

In slow motion, I felt something like a strong hand grabbing my heel under the ground, straightening it until I landed hard on the road surface beneath the soft soil. I carefully pulled my leg out. There was nothing wrong. I gently stepped on my ankle-no pain. I moved my foot, and still, no pain. From there, I walked 14 km to the next town. There was nothing wrong and no pain!

Father, I thank You that when I merely think my foot is slipping, Your unfailing love supports me. It is Your loving-kindness and continuous, steadfast love that saves us. Yes, Father, it is Your passionate love that provides the way out for us. Please teach us to love You in the same way. Amen.