Beautiful morning; sun is up, looks scorching already but it’s not, it’s the kind that lures you out to bask and evoke those memories of the golden 90s when all you worried about was where to play from and where you’ll hide your unfinished cup of tea before dashing off to do something more “important” (And I still wonder why I turned out so small). Sunday, it could only be beautiful, hallowed, adorable Sunday. I really think, contrary to the Holy Book I was raised to always read, this was the day on which God rested, but the message got “Lost in Translation”.
The most beautiful thing about Sunday though is not the weather which you are guaranteed 3 out of 4 Sundays in a month; it’s the hope, the feel of joy you get as you trudge, rush, glide or whatever it is you do to get to a place of worship. See, most of us were raised on faith and we strive to always live by it, faith, for without it, we are but a shell, waiting to be filled by anything and bereft of hope in times that we cannot draw from our humanly strengths.
A considerable distance from my very fruitful formative years, my outlook has been altered; the allure is waning, to me anyway. This is not the place I once sought hope, and reassurance; this is a place of condemnation, master classes in high handedness and that condescending tone you hear from a 4 year old who knows they have some form of advantage over you. It is no longer the place where guilt is washed away, the modern day Calvary but one where judgment, in its harshest, least compromising tone, is handed down.
My brilliant grandfather named me Muliisa. Shepherd, or if you like, “herder”. I know that growing up; someone hoped I would be just that, a shepherd, but exposure to the realities of this world has left me with more conflicting thoughts than a hungry lion, tending to a flock. I continue to pray for whoever harboured that dream for me, pray to the God that their disappointment never touches me with a 15 mile stick. I hope however, they will be happy to know that I built an altar for the Lord.
At this altar you will not see a man in vestments and exuding holiness but one condemned by sin, you will not see a pristine wall with a beautiful cross, you will find one littered with more opinions than a political campaign, you will not hear about the beauty of the Lord our creator only but the beauty of what he has given us as a people living in the 21st century. At this altar, the first sacrifice we shall offer to the Lord is our heads, ours ears to always listen, our eyes to see the beauty he has blessed us with, our lips to praise, pray AND to question; most importantly our brains to discern and realize that we cannot always question.
We shall question for we are equally beset with a host of challenges, we shall compare notes for we all live in these wonderful, auspicious, dreaded, terrible times. We shall find answers for we ultimately live in and by the faith that we were so lovingly raised upon. When we cannot find those answers, we shall always turn to the ultimate Shepherd who leaves 99 of his sheep to seek out the single lost one, for somewhere in this maze, no matter how far we stray, how soiled with guilt and fear our hearts are, no matter who or what we have pledged our allegiance to, He will find us.
So I built this altar, that all the revelation, the accomplishment, the crisis, the conflict may in their own twisted way exude the beauty of being created in your image and ultimately the struggle to find peace in you.
“Take my motives and my will, All your purpose to fulfill; Take my heart it is your own, it shall be your royal throne”
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