It's Heritage Day

“It’s normal to us. It’s just something that happens in our communities.”

Violence. Riots. Fires. Destruction.  Anger. Oppression.

It started around 1:30am last Monday morning right outside of Lucricia and Ruth’s house. By the time the sun came up, the rioters were setting fires to entire tree farms, provoking other communities to rally against authorities by striking and blockading, and had started a picket line of fire on the main road into town, ensuring they were seen and that even their own neighbors couldn’t break the line to make it to work.

The people in the neighboring communities around us, the ones we call family, wait outside for the government water truck every week with big barrels. An all day affair, many travel back and forth from their homes with smaller buckets to get the water from the roadside into their houses. It’s the only water source most people have.

The water system has never been known for its reliability. Ten years ago, the community of Mbonisweni welcomed running water from community taps three times a week. When it suddenly stopped without explanation, life just carried on one bucket and one water truck delivery at a time. Now the water truck has been delivering dirty water, and the people are drying out. 

Finally, something snapped and a match was struck.

What does it take? Where does it start? Who lit that match?

Someone hiding in the darkness of night, too afraid to speak in the daylight.

Someone whose grumbles and hunger for vengeance caught ablaze amongst all of those dehydrated souls.

Someone whose fight for rights brought death instead of life.

I kept asking our friends who cook for our after-school program in their own community, Mbonisweni, what it was like during the strike and why the people decided to strike for water.

“Strike is they language they understand. If you don’t do anything, they don’t do anything. They are writing lies.”

Even though they were afraid and in danger, and even though they shine like the brightest lights from behind the serving line in the churchyard, the strike was as far into problem-solving as they could imagine.

Striking is the language they understand.

The same people standing at the strike lines last week were crossing over them victoriously twenty years ago as the legal separation of apartheid ended. After years of violent protests, and at the hand of one man who used his voice for peacemaking, black South Africans were given a vote and a new chance.

We do what we know.

We do what we see, what we hear, and what we think works.

Even if it ends in death.

Today is Heritage Day in South Africa, where the many cultures of the “Rainbow Nation” are encouraged to celebrate their diversity, traditions and beliefs. Our actions and worldview stem from our cultural heritages.

One of the most celebrated holidays in South Africa is Youth Day. June 16 commemorates an uprising by young black South Africans for the end of apartheid and equality amongst races. It began on June 16, 1976 with a 13-year old boy being killed by police and continued through the end of a bloody, violent year during which hundreds losing their lives.

Now the communities dress up on June 16 with pride, joy and a sense of powerful freedom.

Who taught us that death sets us free?

And why do we keep making holidays and national news with it? For it?

One man used his voice for peace and set South Africa free 20 years ago. So why do we celebrate and recreate the riots, the danger, and the violence when the real victory was when the prisoner was set free? When Nelson Mandela walked out of jail to bring unity instead of draw lines and eventually to assume authority over a free nation?

Thoughts were racing in my mind in that multi-cultural post-riot circle last week. Where do we start? Where do we stop? Do we draw lines or erase them?

So I just asked, “What do you want for your children?”

Silence.

Then Ruth spoke. “Talking is the only solution. We have to teach them to talk if you have a problem. Go direct to them, and talk to them. When you strike, some things are damaged. We have to change that, and teach them now.”

It’s Heritage Day.

And the next generation only knows what this generation teaches. And this generation only knows violence and an oppression masked as liberty. But if we’re looking at history, let’s look further back than 20 years.

Let’s look 2000 years.

Let’s look at the heritage, the legacy, left by the One who is the peacemaker. Who became the oppression and bowed low as injustice spikes shot through his hands and adorned his head. He walked out of a tomb so the captives could be set free. All they have to do is drop the chains and take off the grave clothes.

Freedom is our heritage.

Beauty for ashes. Joy for mourning. Praise instead of despair.

Vengeance has no place.

Justice came down and did so much more than level the playing field. He gave us His heritage instead of the world’s.

It took one person to light a match that ravaged South Africa farmlands last week.

It took one bullet to start a half year’s bloodshed in 1976.

It took one man to use his prison chambers to write freedom’s songs.

And it took One to change everything forever and ever – and to set real freedom free in every circumstance, every conversation and every culture.

We started with just a question and a conversation that day in the circle. Because we have to start somewhere to connect the chasm of His Kingdom come and His Kingdom coming.

It’s Heritage Day. Everything we say, do, or don’t do conveys a culture and leaves a legacy. Start something. Let Light shine by the Word of the Father instead of the flames of a fighter.

I will proclaim the Lord’s decree:

He said to me, “You are my son;

today I have become your father. Ask me,

and I will make the nations your inheritance,

the ends of the earth your possession.”

Psalm 2:7-8