Through my window I can see a young black artist busy painting.
Then, for a moment I thought I saw God:
A middle-aged white woman walked by, noticed his talent and offered some advice. She grew up in the apartheid years; he’s a child of the Rainbow Dream. They speak as if District Six never happened. As if no one died at Sharpeville, Nyanga and Langa. As if no barbwires ever separated black and white. As if we have forgiven the past and embraced the present. As if we have peace. As if we have love. As if we are one.
Jesus called this Kingdom Come. The ancient Christian writer Paul would have called this “church”. The people of Africa call this Ubuntu. I have no idea what to call it, but it leaves me with a feeling that everything is going to be all right.