After touring the apartment, we walked a few blocks with Charles to the apartment home of his pastor. A knock on the door opened into a sitting room with at least a dozen twenty-something African males and females sitting on sofas or on floor cushions. A couple of places on the sofa were cleared for us. Once seated, we were served cups of milky tea and buttered bread slices. Neither the pastor nor his wife were home, but the apartment was bustling with conversation with a constant flow of traffic expecting “Pastor Felix” to return at any moment.
While we waited, we were introduced around the room. We met Charles’ fiance. She was soon to leave for Kiev for university. There were several young men and women who worked in various business offices downtown, Felix’s brother who was a detective with the Harare police, Sparks-a former ZANU-PF Political Commissar, and a tall gentleman who had recently returned to Zimbabwe from some specialized pilot’s training in Moscow. He was one of the most highly trained African members of the new Zimbabwe Air Force, having received his MiG 23 training during the war. This was my first direct encounter with someone from the ZANLA/ZIPRA forces that I had come to Rhodesia to fight in 1977.
As the introductions circled the room, I noticed that the young man seated next to us was holding his right leg straight out in front of him. It was apparent that he had lost his leg and was still becoming accustomed to his artificial one. I asked him where he lost his leg, not wanting to ask him “how” he lost it. I assumed that he had stepped on a land mine during the war rather than losing it in a vehicle accident. He answered, “In Mozambique.” That told me that, he too, was a former freedom fighter in the Communist forces that I had joined the Rhodesian Army to fight five years earlier.
My mood darkened a bit as I realized that we were sitting in the midst of a potentially hostile crowd. These were the citizens of the new Zimbabwe. They represented the emerging urban African middle class and certainly would not be very sympathetic to someone who had come to their country five years before to support white minority rule! When was Pastor Felix going to return? I was worried that these young Christians from Family of God (FOG) might be in a fog with regard to their relationship with whites and especially white Americans who had supported Rhodesia. Could they still be recovering from the fog of war? Could there be dangerous darkness lurking in the fog of FOG?
But, no sooner that these worries darkened my spirit, the fog was dispelled by the amputee. Turning to me and reached around to hug me as a “brother in Christ” welcoming us to Zimbabwe. Then, the MiG pilot came over and started up a friendly conversation and showed me the handshake that had been used by supporters of the freedom fighters. We found that this handshake was now the greeting common to all African Zimbabweans. You shake normally, then reach up and grasp around the thumb, and then return to the standard handshake. Shaking everyone’s hand in this manner, we were suddenly members of the family.
It was as if the sun shone through my dark mood and the fog was burnt away. We were accepted--even loved!
The front door opened and there was Pastor Felix who came straight over to us with a huge smile on his face. Somehow I knew that we were to be best friends, partners in a common cause--long lost brothers reunited. It made no difference that five years before we would have been enemies. Two followers of the Lord hugged each other.
A few minutes later, Felix’s wife, Spiwe returned from a her day working at a local bank. She and Pegi found themselves instant sisters. A new family had been born. Two American members of the “family of God” were united with Zimbabwean members of the “Family of God” ministry.
Right: Felix and Spiwe MukonwengweThe apartment was overpopulated now that more of Felix’s congregation dropped by at the end of their work day. Everyone wanted to speak with Felix about something. Felix grabbed me by the hand to go for a walk. [In Africa, African men often hold hands while walking. It is a symbol of male friendship.]
We were gone for close to an hour as Felix and I got to know each other. After hearing my story, including my reasoning for having come to Rhodesia as a soldier, Felix poured out his heart’s burden for the unevangelized rural masses. His ministry had been focused on the urban centers. He and his co-founder of F.O.G., Andrew, now had churches in Harare and Bulawayo with memberships of over 7,000. Felix had been the primary evangelist with Andrew as the senior pastor once the churches were established.
Right: Jeff eating sadza with Felix and Spiwe
In recent months, as the ministry had prospered financially, Felix had become concerned with the way Andrew was managing the ministry bank accounts. Felix wanted to begin to establish new congregations in the rural Communal Lands (the former Tribal Trust Lands), where 70% of Zimbabwe’s population resided in 1983. Andrew was spending the majority of FOG’s money on his own lifestyle and was dogmatically focused on trying to maintain his status as pastor of the largest urban congregation in Zimbabwe. Andrew was building his own kingdom. Felix wanted to build God’s kingdom.
Right: Felix, Pegi, Sparks and wife
By the end of our walk, it was obvious to me that Felix needed to leave FOG to Andrew and free himself from ethical problems that Andrew seemed to be creating for the ministry. Of course, to leave FOG was to leave his ministry-paid apartment, car, expense allowance and salary. Since we had only recently done something similar in leaving our American careers to come to Zimbabwe, I felt confident in assuring Felix that the Lord would provide.
In fact, since Spiwe had a good salary from the bank, the extra money that he received from FOG was just spent on taking care of the dozens of people who literally ate all of their meals at his apartment. His car was constantly being used to transport his congregation members around town.
The bottom line was that Felix could not get free to minister in the rural areas as long as he was tied to the urban ministry of FOG. He was known as “Pastor” Felix, but he did not see himself as a pastor. He saw himself as an evangelist whose calling was to find lost souls and guide them to the kingdom of God.
As I shared my thoughts with him, Felix shared his own similar concerns for me. Although he saw the potential of having a secular job with NCR, he felt that would keep me too busy on weekdays, not leaving enough time to make an impact in the rural areas. He said that a secular job would be fine if I wanted to minister in urban Harare, but if I was to really reach the rural areas, I needed to be full-time in ministry. And since I needed a “job” to satisfy Immigration, he was supportive of my accepting the pastorate of Chisipite Baptist Church.
He felt that my duties with Chisipite would be mostly on Sundays and that church would be a good platform to reach out to the rural areas on weekdays.
It was food for thought for both of us.
Next: Computer Programmer or Pastor?
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