Johannesburg - Once again, we prepare for the tragic ritual of death on our roads. Every year, countless lives are lost in this cycle of demise and resurrection during Easter.
The winding road of life is rife with danger and delight, a treacherous trek through twists and turns, each kilometre a momentous marker of our journey.
Our vehicles of flesh and bone hurtle forward with frenzied fervour, as we race down the highway of existence, our headlights casting halos of hope and hesitation, our engines roaring with the power of passion and purpose. We press down on the pedals of desire and determination, navigating the narrow curves of our fate, with fierce tenacity.
Sometimes, we travel alone, our headlights casting long shadows on the pavement ahead. But more often than not, we are part of a larger convoy, a caravan of courageous souls connected by love, family, friendship and the celebration of the resurrection of Christ on the third day.
Similarly, those who lose their lives on the roads during Easter are a sacrifice for a belief. They are taking their bodies back to the soil of their birth, as we all will one day.
For we are not merely drivers on the road of life, but rather navigators of destiny. We steer our vehicles towards the horizon, ever mindful of the passengers we carry, ever vigilant for the obstacles that lie ahead.
As we drive to our congregations, the wind whistles a wild melody in our ears, and the rhythmic rumble of the road beneath our wheels is a constant companion. We feel the thrill of the journey drilling through our veins, the rush of the road urging us on to new horizons.
And though the road may be long and winding, we find solace in the knowledge that we are not alone. For each of us is but a small part of a greater whole, a vast and intricate network of interconnected lives. A tapestry of humanity woven from the threads of our collective experience.
We are not alone on this road. We are part of a larger convoy, a caravan of courageous souls connected by the bonds of faith and fellowship. And it is through this connection that we find the strength to press forward towards the horizon, towards the promise of renewal and resurrection.
This tragic ritual of death on our roads is a haunting melody that echoes following every pink moon. We sacrifice our lives on the altar of drunk driving, unsafe overtaking, excessive speed and convenience, as we hurtle down highways and byways in a frenzy of motion. In the names of unroadworthy vehicles, Jesus and profits, we lay waste to the sanctity of life itself when we are mindless of the dangers that lurk around every bend.
The winding road of life is a canvas, it is the illusion of control that fools drivers into painting a portrait of chaos and destruction.