It was not exactly the triumphant return that I had imagined when we first left Berachah Church for Rhodesia. Even though Ken had assured me that we were “welcome,” I felt trepidation as we took seats near the back of the auditorium of 1500 gathered to listen to another one of Bob Thieme’s bible classes.
We had been gone 14 months, but it seemed like a lifetime. We were out of the war zone, but not free from the war that was raging our hearts. Since becoming a believer in Jesus during the summer of 1969, Berachah had been the center of my spiritual universe. There were times before Rhodesia that I would wake up in a panic after dreaming that I somehow found myself back in Louisville or somewhere else where I could not attend that evening’s bible class. This recurrent nightmare plagued me periodically during my first six years in Houston. I didn’t fear death from combat--I feared missing bible class! That is how important Berachah was to me. My entire identity was tied up in that church.
The teachings of Thieme had liberated me from the my LSD-inspired Hippie worldview. Under his tutelage now for almost nine years, I was remodeled inside and out: liberal Jew to conservative Christian, antiwar protestor to military aficionado, political science major to military history buff, longhaired hippie to crewcut zealot, and skinny non-athlete to hardened soldier.
However, the important changes had been those that had taken place in our year in Africa. We had field tested the Thieme’s bible doctrine lifestyle. It failed the test leaving us with multiple collapses in our worldview construct. The collapses were personal, spiritual and political. Bottom line? Thieme’s bible doctrine, when put to the test, failed.
So, although Pegi and I walked with the confidence that we had gained from our experience, we were very tentative as we carefully reentered the Berachah community. Who could we trust? Really, there was no one who had any real idea of what we experienced, the world we had just left, or the culture shock we were experiencing.
Of course, other than Ken and Jill Duckman, no one at Berachah knew that we had returned from Rhodesia. Absolutely no one knew that we had been advised to leave. I had to maintain the confidential nature of my orders from the Rhodesian Army chief-of staff. Technically, I was still a member of the Rhodesian Army. I was not about to imperil the position of the Army in its attempt to remain neutral by blabbing my mouth in the US. It is only now, three decades later that I am revealing the content of my discussions with Generals MacIntyre and MacClean. I couldn’t even share the details with my best friend, Ken.
So, as we attempted to reintegrate into Berachah, we had a balancing act in explaining our presence. It was up to us to manage the information. So, we simply explained that we had been released from our three year commitment due to the change in government that was underway. I am sure that there wasn’t a person in Berachah at that time who was even aware of the new transitional government that had begun the day we left. If the Colonel was aware, he was in denial! After all, he refused to believe what I reported even when I quoted the Rhodesian news media. He was just determined to believe that Rhodesia was the “Texas of Africa” and that they would go down fighting to the last man before agreeing to black majority rule.
As I said, it was up to us to manage the information carefully. So, the first few days and weeks at Berachah were okay for us from an acceptance perspective. Of course, the Colonel didn’t even want to speak with us, so I don’t think we can say we were “welcomed” back!
With the approach of the Memorial Day weekend, Thieme encouraged all who had ever served in any military to wear their uniforms for the services and bible classes. [All Berachah “services” were just bible classes. On Sundays there were one or two hymns sung as well as the monthly “Military Communions” during which selected veterans served as ushers in full dress uniforms.] I decided that this would be a good time for me to wear my Rhodesian Army uniform. Over that weekend, I wore my starched camo uniform with my hobnailed drill boots, my battle dress “blouse” with khaki shorts and knee socks--several different combinations. My strange looking camo and black beret didn’t get as many looks as did the shorts and socks! I think I also wore my dress green uniform as well. I can’t remember now--I just remember almost slipping and falling on linoleum hallways in my hobnailed boots.
A few weeks later as I was entering the auditorium for a class, I ran into Roy Hurst who was on Thieme’s staff and had introduced me to the Rhodesian recruiting process. He stopped me and gave me that funny demeaning sneer that always seemed to be on his face. “Hey Jeff, I got a letter from Eugene Wiseman this week.” Eugene was the Rhodesian pastor who had ordained me into the chaplaincy. He had finally shown up at Llewellyn Barracks as an Army Chaplain. Since Gen MacIntyre had instructed me to leave without informing my chain of command, Eugene believed I was on leave. “Eugene says that you are AWOL.”
Uh oh! Now what? I couldn’t tell Roy about my conversation with Gen MacIntyre. I couldn’t tell him that the General had advised me that all records of my service would be destroyed. “No Roy, I had permission to leave. Eugene just hasn’t seen the paperwork. After all, Eugene was late in taking up his post in Bulawayo, so we didn’t have time to chat before I left. But, I didn’t report to Eugene. I got my orders from HQ.”
That was all I could say, but I could see that smirk was still there. I was sure that Roy had already told Thieme that “unstable and unreliable” Jeff was a deserter! I expected the hammer to fall and to be excoriated from the pulpit. Surprisingly, that seemed to be the end of the matter, but it was also the end of our time at Berachah.
You know, that was a good thing. Since returning, our doubts about Thieme’s so-called scholarship had gotten worse. I had begun correspondence courses in Greek and Hebrew. I completed two years of Hebrew courses in 3 months and I could already see that Thieme’s “corrected translations” of the Hebrew scriptures were absolute nonsense. Although his Greek was better than his Hebrew and I had only completed one semester of biblical Greek, I was already seeing significant errors in his translations which were the foundation of his teaching.
We already knew that the practical living piece of his doctrinal system was useless. If his theology was based on inaccurate biblical translations, then his whole system was suspect. Thieme and his staff might think poorly of me, but I had already lost most of my respect for him.
It was time to go!
Next: ♪♪ On Wisconsin, on Wisconsin ♪♪ (Again!)
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