I claimed our “wandering” luggage from the train station and filled up two tiny R-4 Renault taxis for transport back to the hotel. When we arrived at the Jameson Hotel in 1977, I had tipped at the 20 times the local rate. This time I was generous, but not foolish. After all, generosity was part of our “testimony” as Christians. As “ambassadors for Christ”, there could never be a time when we were “off-duty.”
We had volunteered to serve as soldiers in an invisible, but real spiritual conflict. In 1977 we had been soldiers in the visible conflict here. Then, we could remove our battle gear for some rest and relaxation. The spiritual conflict did not allow us that luxury. Indeed, we were discovering the most significant events to be the small and unplanned ones. We made more contacts shopping and touring on Saturday than we had in two churches services on Sunday. It would serve all public figures well to remember that how you are when you are off-duty is the real you.
We were on our way to meet with Rhema’s pastor, Tom Deuschle at his ministry office near downtown Harare. We had loved the music and the general atmosphere at Rhema on Sunday morning, but were deeply troubled by the pale white congregation. I wanted to discuss our vision for reaching the African population and training African pastors. Apparently, Tom believed that we were seeking his financial support. That got us off to an odd start!
Before we could even introduce ourselves and our vision for ministry, he told us that he didn’t have any “staff” positions. Instead, we should submit ourselves to his authority for six months. Then he would consider “sending us out” from his church!
Whoa, hold on! We sought neither his financial support nor his spiritual authority. We were simply looking for a local church that we could attend on the rare occasion that we were in Harare on a Sunday. We fully expected to develop our own financial support base and believed that we were already working under God’s leadership.
I guess he probably had dozens of would-be missionaries arriving on his doorstep looking for support. So, his reaction was understandable. Nevertheless, we found it strange that he saw his own ministry as so central to the work of God in Zimbabwe. Once he understood that we sought neither his money nor his permission, we were able to move on to other subjects.
I asked him about his vision and why it seemed that Rhema was ministering primarily to whites. His answer was that he believed this was his calling. He said that he hoped to include black African ministry at some point. We didn’t know it at the time, but we would later become involved in beginning Rhema’s ministry to train African pastors. Although our participation with them would be short-lived, a look at their website today seems to indicate that they have indeed found a way to minister to the emerging African urban class in Harare as well as in other cities in southern Africa. Without a visit, it is difficult to know whether their internet claims are real or just advertising. I would welcome comments and correspondence on this.
My experience in 1983-87 would suggest that their vision was more Rhodesian than Zimbabwean. We had a bumpy relationship with Tom and Bonnie during those four years. At one point, we believed that we had become close friends and true comrades-in-arms. Even today, our hearts still ache for them. What we believed to be a “special” relationship was fatally wounded by that first reaction that Tom had to us. I don’t think he ever understood that we were not there to gain his support. And, I don’t know that Tom ever understood our burden for the rural areas where the majority of Zimbabweans lived in the Eighties.
Nevertheless, Tom had been hospitable, arranging for us to house-sit for a month in the home of his youth pastor, Howie Silk. Howie and Michele Silk had been on the Rhema staff for a little over a year when we met them that afternoon in 1983. Howie was Rhodesian-born while Michele was from South Africa. We only had a few minutes to chat with them before them left for vacation in South Africa, but were instantly attracted to Howie’s sense of humor and Michele’s hospitality. It was amazing, but reassuring that they would let us live in their home for a month, having never before met us. I mean, would you open up your house and leave it in the hands of foreigners whose only claim was that they were fellow-Christians? That took great compassion and ironclad faith in God.
This was not the last time we would find refuge in the Silk’s home. It was their hospitality and that of six other families who would make it possible for us to live in Zimbabwe rent free for almost two years. In each case, these Zimbabwean Christians opened their hearts and homes to us time and time again. If not for them, we could not have afforded to engage in ministry or even stay in the country. Not only did the Silks and others house us, they also fed us and provided their domestic servants to care for us. This was an amazing gift to us and our ministry which is unique in my almost 60 years.
Other Zimbabweans would make cash donations that freed us to fuel the cars and trucks that they made available for our use. One family actually donated a second home on their ranch to us to use for as long as we needed it. This was not limited to well-to-do white Christians. We received cash gifts from a number of African believers as well. One, whom you will meet in a later chapter was a former terrorist officer. Now the headmaster of a rural boarding school attended by the children and grandchildren of former communist freedom fighters, he and his teachers who were themselves former members of the ZIPRA/ZANLA forces, fed us, made regular cash donations, bought me a new three-piece suit and named a school building after us.
The generosity of the Zimbabwe Christian community towards us was mind-boggling.
Of course, not everything was sweetness and light! As happy as the Christian community was to have us, the Ministry of Immigration seemed determined to force us to leave. After getting settled into the Silk home on Monday, we paid a visit to the Immigration Office on the next day, Tuesday, 13 December 1983. We expected good news on this, our fourth day in Zimbabwe.
However, we got the unnerving news that our application for residency had been denied. When we asked about next steps, the clerk told us, “Your residency permit has been denied and it is final!” This so caught us off guard that we were dizzy. I couldn’t believe that it was all over so suddenly. I was completely demoralized. Pegi managed to keep her wits about her and helped me file a letter of appeal. After all, we still had 3 ½ weeks left on our visitor’s visa. She found out from the clerk that we could get our permit reconsidered if we found employment in the country.
I had already made some appointments for job interviews with local computer companies, so after collecting ourselves, we went down the street for a job interview with ICL Computers. During the interview, I found out that all residency applications were automatically denied without a written job offer. Well, that was a relief--our situation wasn’t unusual at all!
Next: Hitchhiking in Zimbabwe
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