Contrasting Hearts

After two weeks, it was time to head back to Harare.  We needed to hear back from Felix with regard to his commitment.  Whatever his decision, we had to make some sort of arrangements to continue the work in Wedza and especially at Matsine.

We couldn’t catch up with Felix, so I left him a letter assuring him of our love, and trusting him to make the right decisions as to his future in ministry.  While at his apartment, we ran into Charles Wekwete who had first introduced us to Felix.  Charles informed us that his fiancee, Needmore, was leaving for a five-year program of studies in Kiev, which was still part of the USSR in 1984.  We were concerned for her since the Soviet Union was not sympathetic to Christianity or any other religious faith.  Needmore wrote us regularly during her time in Kiev.  It was difficult, but she managed to hold on to her faith in spite of the pressure.  When she returned to Zimbabwe, she had outgrown Charles and they broke up.  We saw Charles again in Houston in 1987 just after Abi was born.  He visited us again in Louisville in 1989.  Today, he has a cleaning business in Nashville.

The next morning, we drove to Marondera stopping by to see Vic and Sherrie Stockhill at their ranch before going on to Lushington, but Dave and Jen were there visiting.  Vic’s brother Ivan shared ownership of the ranch.  Ivan and Di Stockhill had offered for us to move into their ranch house as Vic and Sherrie were planning to return to Australia.  

The Terrorized Heart

Vic was emblematic of many white Rhodesians who never could reconcile with the idea of black majority rule.  I remember several Bible studies that I led in which he was quickly angered whenever the subject of “loving one another” or treating all people respectfully came up.  During one study I had made a point about believing the best of people rather than focusing on their weaknesses.  I thought Vic was going to explode.  Of all the people I met who had stayed in Zimbabwe after Rhodesia, he was the most uncomfortable with the changes after white minority rule.  

I think we sometimes have to admit that there are things that impact us so deeply that we can never get over them.  Many religions, and Christianity in particular, often insist that we forgive.  While that is a noble goal, we sometimes trivialize the severity and depth of certain events.  Vic was fluent in Shona, spending years working side-by-side with African farmhands.  He wasn’t at the university or frequenting elite intellectual circles.  He was a rancher who engaged in daily sweaty labor with rural farmhands who were very different from him.  They were from two different worlds.  Their shared experience was in wrangling cows, harvesting feed, maintaining fences and outbuildings and except for the last few years, it had been in the midst of a horrible civil conflict.  

Vic and the African workers he knew lived in a hot zone. The Rhodesian Security Forces ruled the day.  Terrorist “freedom fighters” ruled the night.  Anyone who got caught in the crossfire died.  For Vic, the issue was simple.  What was best for the Africans was benevolent white supremacy.  He used all his resources to help the families of the workers on his ranch.  But, these simple farmhands weren’t ready to “run things” just because there was a black government.  His experience showed him that it would take decades, maybe generations for farmhands to become businessmen.  His every interaction with the unreasonable and arbitrary new regime caused his frustration to mount.  And Vic, like many other Rhodesians had seen things that revealed a sinister and often violent temperament in these rural people. Appropriately, he was frightened for himself and his family.  A single election in 1980 didn’t change the character of a people overnight.  Vic was terrorized by the circumstances.  And, he just hadn’t been able to get over it.  You can’t blame him.  It was a terrifying time for whites and blacks.  Not everyone is able to adjust.  I don’t think Vic was a racist.  I think he had PTSD.  It wouldn’t be until after the Gulf War of 1991 that anyone began to talk about the stresses of war and what it does to someone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We thanked Ivan and Di for the offer of the house, explaining that we were going to relocate in Kariba for a while to let things settle down and so that we would not imperil the ongoing work.  We would end up staying at the Stockhill farm the following year after all.  

Dave, Jen and Norman were not “thrilled” that we were leaving.  Nevertheless, they saw the sense in our new plans.  I think Dave and Jen also knew that our presence was complicating things as fewer and fewer white farmers were finding the Zimbabwe government helpful.  The attention we were drawing was negatively impacting them, although they would never admit that.  They had dedicated their lives to the spread of the gospel in Zimbabwe at considerable personal expense and with very real physical risks.  

The Loving Heart

During the war, Lushington was a security-fenced compound.  Their two children were an hour away at a boarding school in Marondera and only home on weekends.  The dirt road for the last few miles to Lushington and the single strip of tarmac to Marondera was subject to landmines and ambushes.  [See “Farm Life in a War Zone” for a description of my first encounter with Dave at Lushington.]

Since independence, Dave’s dairy farm struggled from week to week.  Diesel, parts for farm equipment, feed and all necessary components for dairy farming were in short supply and costly.  The banks were unwilling to take risk on an industry with both health and price regulations from an increasingly arbitrary and unreasonable government. In addition, aside from the responsibility that Dave had to pay, house and subsidize the 70 people who lived and worked on his farm, Workers’ Committees strictly controlled hiring and firing.  This was not a free-enterprise zone.  Instead, the government continually pressured white farmers to leave.  Farmers like Vic were only too happy to sell out and leave.  Nevertheless, even if you could get a decent price for your farm, you couldn’t take it anything with you when leaving Zimbabwe.  You got Zimbabwe dollars that were not eligible for exchange with any other currency.  About all you could take with you was furniture and your personal car.  This as not a new situation.  It was simply the continuation of currency regulations enacted during the white Rhodesian Smith government.  Zimbabwe, like Rhodesia before it, had very limited foreign exchange reserves.

But financial considerations didn’t impact Dave and Jen’s plans.  They had moved themselves from a prosperous life in South Africa to that farm in the mid-70s to be servants of the Lord.  Their motivation was to spread the gospel.  Just because the government had changed from white to black and the economy from free to managed, their mission and vision had not changed.

Jen on "our corner in Chicago - 2012

I often disagreed with Dave questioning his reasoning and judgement.  We had some heated discussions from time to time, both of us being strong willed.  The one thing you could never question was Dave’s heart.  Dave and Jen were the most loving, kind-hearted, giving people I have ever met. They sacrificed the entire livelihood, relationship with their children, grandchildren, siblings and parents to stay on that farm in Zimbabwe until the very end.  They took in dozens of strays such as Pegi and me, provided for preachers like Norman, built churches brick by brick with their own hands and always stuck a few hundred dollars in an envelope whenever someone left the farm.

I don’t think many have ever recognized what they did, nor has anyone publicly thanked them for their sacrifice.  Today, they are living with their daughter’s family in Australia, having been forced off the farm and out of Zimbabwe by an unforgiving bureaucracy and a devastated economy.  Both in their 70s, Jen still works two jobs as Dave’s health has declined.  Jen visited us in Chicago this last year.  Same Jen--still full of love.  She is now back in Australia with Dave.  Hopefully someone there will read this chapter and give them both a hug for Pegi and me.

  

Next:  Too Much Mutton!

You Don't Understand that God Sent You

By the time we arrived back at Lushington Farm, we were wrung-out emotionally.  It had been some roller coaster ride.  The week had started with vindication of our insistence that the rural areas were ripe for harvest.  After all, we had named our ministry “Africa Harvest Ministries” in anticipation of a bountiful harvest of souls for the kingdom of God.  Our tent, designed for 300 had accommodated crowds of over 1000.  We anticipated hostility and suspicion from police and political officials.  Instead, they had opened their homes and schools to us.  The Communist Party Youth Brigade provided crowd control without intimidation.  They had become some of our most enthusiastic helpers!  We now had congregations on five Wedza farms with Norman as pastor and needed someone to stay to disciple the crowds at Matsine.  Felix’s abandonment of the Matsine project had been the only disappointment as we approached that final Sunday.

My Sunday interrogation by the Ministry of Information 24 hours after Felix’s sudden departure confused me.  It wasn’t the interrogation and the threat of intimidation--it was the hollowness in the center of my chest that came from these two consecutive events.  I felt alone as if I were standing on the side of a high building with no one to keep me from tumbling over the edge.  You know, you always hear stories of how it is in times such as these that people experience the comfort and presence of the spirit of God.  I didn’t feel that at all.  I was shaken to the core.  Despite all the outward signs of success, I couldn’t escape the feeling that everything was quickly coming to its end in the same manner as we had collapsed our tent a few hours earlier.

Dave and Jen welcomed us back to the farm, but at some point in the coming weeks they received a call from the CIO (Central Intelligence Organisation) concerning our activities.  This organization was what had become of the Special Branch of the BSAP (British South African Police) during Rhodesia, having morphed into a sinister secret police group modeled on the Soviet KGB.  We didn’t find out about this until much later, but needless to say, it began to seem to all of us that this might be a good time to suspend new activities in Wedza.

We traveled back to Harare for a break from the pressure.  The following is an entry from my journal dated, Monday, 23 July 1984:

• Drove to Harare to return the tent. . . . .

• Went by to see Felix.  I tried to share with him our disappointment in his abandoning us.  He didn’t seem to understand and cried.  We don’t want to hurt him, but we must share this problem with him if we are to continue to work together.  I asked him to pray in the next week and then let us know what he believes the Lord wants him to do.  He must decide where his commitment is and let us know what he can be depended on to do.

• We spent the night at the Park Lane Hotel and just rested.  We wanted to be alone after such a turbulent few days.

During the next week, we touched base with our friends in the Harare-based ministries:  AEF‘s (Africa Evangelical Fellowship) Salisbury Evangelical Bible Institute, ‘SEBI’ (owners of the tent and source of some of the films we used), the Deuschles, Brooms and Silks at Rhema, TEAM (Evangelical Alliance Mission), YWAM (Youth With A Mission), Colin and Lynne Taylor, (Chisipite Baptist), and Ron Davies of Lifeline Ministries. We recounted the success of our Matsine meetings and growth of the work throughout Wedza.  Even though we needed to stay away for a while so as not to draw attention to ourselves and imperil the fledgling churches and the new believers, these other ministries had the human resources to build upon what we had started.  

They were all seemingly impressed with what had begun in Wedza.  However, with the exception of Lifeline, a literature ministry which was already supplying us with free discipleship materials and Bible study courses, none of them could be moved out of their comfortable lives in Harare.  Rhema was in competition with Christian Life Centre (CLC) and Faith Ministries to claim the largest mostly white congregations in Harare.  There was a core group of about 3000 white charismatic Christians who continually moved their attendance and financial support between these three white-dominated ministries.  [In 1986 we sought to ally Rhema-Harare, financing from Rhema-Johannesburg, instructors from AEF, Apostolic Fellowship and other independent ministries to rebuild SEBI as the Church Growth Support Centre, a Bible training school for pastors.]  

                                                                      ~~~

The final victors were the Deuschles.  Rhema would eventually distinguish themselves from Rhema-South Africa and Kenneth Hagin Ministries in the USA, becoming “Hear the Word” ministries founded and controlled by the Deuschles who built a US$4 million church and ministry complex with their ministry broadcast throughout southern Africa by satellite. Renamed again to “Celebration Ministries” www.celebrate.org, their dominance of the charismatic Christian movement in Zimbabwe cemented its role by giving President Robert Mugabe a controversial 2004 Z$30 million gift. Although, this gift certainly bought them some favor with the corrupt Mugabe and his ZANU-PF accomplices, it caused dissension in the Christian community. 

                                                                     ~~~

We found the greatest comfort in discussing our vision for reaching the rural areas with those based in Harare most able and likely to actually do something:  Shadreck, Ephael, Aggrey, Amos, Charles and, of course, Felix.  Norman was carrying the weight of ministry in Wedza all by himself.  Someone had to come alongside and build together with him!  Alas, it was not to be.  The foreign-supported ministries were hesitant to move beyond their current structures and “approved” strategies.  Since most of the African ministers were dependents of these white-dominated organizations, . . . well, you do the math!

Zimbabwe had become independent of white rule, but the community of Christians had not.  They still took cues, direction, governance and money from the West.  We were hoping to plant the seed of the gospel in African soil to see a harvest of African Christianity.  That would mean an indigenous, self-governing and self-supporting African church.  

There were two movements that could be considered indigenous and self-governing/self-supporting:  The Zimbabwe Assemblies of God (ZAOGA) and the “Apostolic” churches (mapostori - http://www.rtbot.net/mapostori).  

• ZAOGA was founded by “Bishop” Ezekiel Guti in 1960 as an African offshoot of the Assemblies of God (AOG). By independence in 1980, Guti’s churches numbered in the hundreds throughout Zimbabwe.  Today, under Guti’s leadership (http://www.fifmi.org/), they claim over 2000 churches in 106 countries.  During our time in Zimbabwe, 1983-87, ZAOGA was a closed society having little contact with non-members.  Although wildly successful, most Zimbabwean Christians (white and black) were suspicious of Guti’s governance in the style of a tribal chieftain.  If we linked up with them, they would just subsume the Wedza churches into their empire.

• The Mapostori (Shona for “apostles”) were also based on a tribal model, but had abandoned all contact with the larger Christian world.  Their leaders were modern-day prophets and apostles claiming direct divine authority.  In 1986 we attempted to form alliance with one of these “apostles” by providing Bible training for his hundreds of pastors and teachers.  More about that later, but our attempt was aborted when we lost our visas.

Still emotionally drained from our Matsine experience and not finding practical encouragement or support for the Wedza work, we decided we needed a real vacation.  We survived due to the hospitality of Zimbabwean Christians who continued to share the homes, vehicles and financial means with us.  We were still “in the hole” based on American support.  We had regular support of less than $150/month from the States.  However, our friends in Jonannesburg, Harare and Marondera continued to take care of us.  

We had met Nick Levy, another Jewish believer in Jesus, in Salisbury during 1977 who owned a dying used car business.  Although sanctions had ended in 1980, the fleet of cars available in Zimbabwe was based on imports from South Africa.  Most cars were pre-1964 and very expensive.  (I remember trying out a 1959 Jaguar sedan that he had on the lot in 1977.  The car was in wonderful condition and ran great.  The only problem was that there were no brake shoes available.  We drove it around the block at the speed of 15 KPH, spending half of the block trying to stop.  At one point I considered dragging my foot out the door to stop us!  The car was a steal at $600, but the only way to stop would be to run out of gas.  That didn’t seem practical.)

Car purchases in South Africa were difficult for Zimbabweans for two reasons.  First, Zimbabwe limited foreign exchange to several hundred dollars a year.  Second, important taxes were outrageous.  In 1987 we “gifted” Felix our South African-built 1965 Peugeot 504 that we had purchased for R3,500, about US$2000 in in 1986.  A Zimbabwean rancher paid the Z$1900 (US$600) import duties for him.

The after-market in parts for these ancient vehicles was even more expensive.  So, you can imagine how difficult it was keeping a car dealership going!  Anyway, our Jewish/Christian friend was still in business in Harare, but just barely.  We had recently renewed contact with Nick and he suggested that we get away from the craziness in Harare and visit the tourist resort at Lake Kariba on the border with Zambia.  He offered us the use of his vacation cottage there for as long as we needed it.  Some time at the lake sounded great!  It was a 7-hour drive from Harare.  That ought to give us some separation from all the turmoil of recent months.

The long drive to Kariba was a pleasant diversion from the traffic and congestion of Harare and even more sparsely inhabited than Wedza which was in the general direction of Mozambique and the coast.  Before the Marxist takeover of Mozambique in 1975, the port of Beira had been a major tourist destination for Rhodesians.  With Zimbabwe independence in 1980, the border reopened, but the roads were impossible to traverse.  So, during the height of the war in Rhodesia from 1975-79, the only resort town available to Rhodesians without traveling to Durban in South Africa was the small town on the Rhodesian side of Lake Kariba Dam.

This image was originally posted to Flickr by Rhys Jones Photography at http://flickr.com/photos/23676445@N00/396831697. It was reviewed on 10 December 2008 by theFlickreviewR robot and confirmed to be licensed under the terms of the cc-by-2.0.

The terrain was a bit desolate looking as we descended from the highlands of Harare (4000 ft) into the Zambezi river valley.  We saw few people, but plenty of elephants as we closer to Kariba.  On several occasions we had to pull to a stop while we waited for a herd of them to cross the road ahead of us.  African elephants are not like their more docile and domesticable Indian cousins.  Get too close and they will trample your car!

The final miles had us traversing switchbacks in the road as it topped out overlooking the lake and the small “Kariba Town” overlooking the dam.  It was beautiful and hot--just above sea level, Kariba is sticky-hot all year round.  We drove around a bit to see where the resort hotels, shops and restaurants were located.  As we headed toward the highest vantage point to view the dam, we noticed an old hotel.  It had a sign out front that read, “Kariba Heights Hotel.”  [Click on link to view a video of the hotel when it was built.]  Since we were in “vacation-mode” and wanting to forget about ministry for a few weeks, we decided to go inside for a meal.

To our surprise, the old hotel was now “Kariba Christian Centre,” a resort for missionaries based across the dam in Zambia as well as local Christian ministers and workers.  It was run by an American couple, Lester and Peggy Seiler.  Lester suggested that we take our meals there rather than shopping and cooking for ourselves while we were staying at Nick’s cottage.  We didn’t really know what to make of all of this as we had come to Kariba to get away from it all, but it couldn’t hurt to rest and relax with some other missionaries could it?  While we eating lunch with them, we ran into Rhoda Hess, the sister-in-law of Dave Hess in Marondera.  Dave and his family had grown up in Zambia where their parents were Brethren missionaries.  Frankly, Rhoda didn’t seem interested in talking.  Maybe she was as exhausted as we were!

Puzzled as to what this all might mean for us, we headed over to the cottage for the evening only to discover that it wouldn’t be ready for us until the following day.  So, we climbed in the car and went back over to Kariba Christian Centre to stay the night. The Centre had air conditioning in the rooms and that was a welcome break from the overpowering heat!  This was the first time we had encountered or needed air conditioning since first arriving in Rhodesia in 1977.  The air in Kariba was hot and thick enough to chew.  We wouldn’t be spending too much time outside during this vacation.

In the morning we joined about a dozen others for breakfast before departing to move into the cottage.  No sooner had we unpacked and settled down for tea at the cottage that Lester showed up at our door.  Inviting him in, the first words out of his mouth were, “I don’t think you are hearing God very well.”  Kind of a strange way to start a conversation with people you have just met.  Rather than taking offense at the abruptness of this odd statement, I asked him just what he meant.  He continued, “You don’t understand that God sent you here.”

I was beginning to wonder if we had made a mistake in coming to Kariba in the first place.  We weren’t getting much of a vacation.  Instead, we seemed to have walked right into a “Christian” hotel/ministry that was going through some real difficulties.  The meals had not been great.  We were used to plentiful meals at Lushington Farm or in the homes and restaurants of Harare.  The lunch had been a very salty and greasy mutton stew followed by a breakfast with eggs, but none of selection of fruit common everywhere else we ate.  The atmosphere at the Centre was not welcoming nor restful.  You could feel the stress in the air.  Something was going on there--something was wrong!

Lester told us that the Centre was struggling, needing refreshed ministry and leadership.  He said that he believed the Lord had brought us there, not for a vacation, but to establish a new base for our ministry.  He began to paint a picture of a place that needed the infusion of fresh vision and energy that we could bring.  He insisted that we stay in the Centre instead of the cottage and meet the local African ministers.  He also told us that the other couple that helped him run the place where struggling with the husband’s alcoholism and planning to move out.  When we had shown up there, he believed God was sending us as their replacements.

Well, that was a lot to swallow, especially as I was still digesting that greasy mutton stew!  But, we agreed to stay the week at the Centre and explore options.  With the heat, there was really nothing to do in this resort town anyway except to spend all day sitting in the cottage.  The town felt really deserted and lonesome.  There was no question of returning to Lushington and Wedza right now.  We needed to stay clear for a while.  The Harare ministries with the exception of Chisipite Baptist, had never opened their doors to us to allow us to become co-laborers with them, so there was nothing for us right now in Harare.  They were so focused on squeezing every dollar out of their American and South African donors that they saw us as competition.  And, of course, the door at Chisipite had closed unpleasantly.  

Over the next few days, we met with Sidney Moyo from YWAM who assured me that he knew some other African believers who shared our vision for reaching out into the rural areas.  We also met Tinos Sakala at the Centre.  He was already actively involved in ministering to Kariba township.   We hit it off with Tinos right away.  He was more than eager to work together to help us reach out from Kariba.

The traffic began to pick up at the centre too.  We had opportunity to talk with experienced missionaries, mostly from Zambia, with whom we shared our ideas about rural indigenous church growth.  We got a lot of good advice and support for ideas as being “on the right track.”  We also had opportunity to minister to many of the visitors.  Our fresh approach and crazy ideas seemed to encourage them.  We had wanted a vacation from ministry.  We were getting our vacation by ministering.  Each day we found ourselves more refreshed and stronger.  The A/C in the evening didn’t hurt either!

On the first Saturday (28 July 1984), we woke up “at peace” with idea of moving to Kariba to live and base our ministry out of the Kariba Christian Centre.  Feeling back to normal for the first time in months, we were open to wild ideas.  As we were having tea that morning, two busloads of secondary school students unloaded at the overlook in front of the Centre.  Seizing the wild opportunity, I grabbed my guitar.  Pegi and I went out and sang for them, passing out literature from Lifeline Ministries.  That afternoon, another busload of tourists unloaded a group of from an Ndebele (a minority tribal group from southern Zimbabwe related to Zulus) teachers’ college.  We sang for them eliciting another enthusiastic response.  There is nothing we liked better than ministering in music.  This had turned into an unusual vacation!  Whatever it was, it was working.

Next:  Contrasting Hearts

All Politics Is Local!

Okay, I feel like a sluggard when it comes to writing!  First, I skipped writing for almost two years for "excuses, excuses, excuses . . . ."  Then I wrote two posts and have more excuses for the last eight months. I could list the excuses, but that is boring--let's get back to writing.

I do have plans to get on with this on a daily basis.  I just won't be able to keep up with the pace of 1000 words/day as I was doing a few years ago.  My plans include finishing this history of my time in Zimbabwe over the next several months and publishing the story as an ebook during 2013.

Then, I will continue this blog as a forum for more current conversation.  Nevertheless, back to our story.

I should probably point out again that this is my own story.  As such, I am both hero and villain, depending on how I feel as I reflect on these events.  No doubt, many of my recollections are colored and even distorted.  I am certainly more objective than I was a few decades ago, but memories are funny things.  We remember what we remember.  And, what we remember is often wrong.  

I do have a detailed journal that I kept from 1983-86 as well as photos, letters and newsletters that I wrote from 1976-87 when we left Zimbabwe for the last time.  Of course, those represent my perspective that, although first hand, is completely subjective.  And, let's face it, I was one "confused puppy" wandering and wondering.  I am trying to be as honest and objective as possible, but I have read enough history to know that no history is truly objective.

So, if you share some of this history with me and your memory is different, that is okay.  This is what I remember, what I thought, think and continue to wonder about.

--------------------------------------

As I climbed into the cargo-bed of the MInistry of Information pickup truck, I was only a few minutes away from understanding former House Speaker Tip O’Neill’s quip that “all politics is local.”  The truck bumped its way up the road to Matsine town--a half block of buildings that included a small grocery and a few other shops.  I was escorted to a semi-circle of one-room buildings behind the shops.  The unpainted cinderblock buildings resembled one of those five-room motels that you still find abandoned off the rural highways of the American South.

I was “invited” into one of the rooms that had a few small work tables and chairs.  As I entered, I passed by a gathering crowd of about 30 people who were getting ready for some sort of local ZANU-PF political meeting out front.  Several of the women in the crowd gave me a smile and a wave.  They knew me from the tent meetings of the previous week.  

After being seated, I was introduced to a husky thirty-something man who identified himself as an official with the Ministry of Information.  It was unusual to meet African men who were not chronically thin.  Even if this fellow hadn’t introduced himself as an official, his round jowls and plump belly were enough to identify him as an African politician.  Only politicians were well-fed and had the leisure to be overweight!

He explained to me that the people outside and his reason for being here was to have a political rally for Prime Minister Mugabe’s ZANU-PF party.  The reason I had been “invited” was to make sure that what I was saying in my meetings was not contradictory to the spirit of these political meetings.

Africans in Zimbabwe were participating in government for the first time since the arrival of white settlers financed by Cecil Rhodes in the late 19^th century.  And, as is the case for those who have “found politics” for the first time, politics is sacred!  As a scholar in the field of comparative religions, I noticed few differences between between those who have found politics and those who have found God, spirituality, the Truth, the Path--you get the point.  Politics is hard to separate from religion because, for many, politics is religion!

In the mind of this official, what I was doing the same as he was.  We were both in the people-persuasion business.  And here I was, a foreign, white, former member of the hated Rhodesian Army drawing crowds of 200-1000 people.  I was a potential competitor, and an outsider!  

Mr. Wasserman, I have invited you here to discuss these meetings you are having.  What are you telling our people?

I replied that I was “sharing the gospel (good news) of Jesus and the kingdom of God.”  I also reminded him that we had permission from the Wedza Police Commissioner and the local ZANU-PF party and were using ZANU-PF Youth Brigade members as ushers.

Hmm . . .  We have heard of this “gospel” before.  Are you preaching the same “gospel” as Muzorewa?  If you are you will end up where he is!

This wasn’t good!  Abel Muzorewa was a Methodist Bishop and had served for a few months as the interim Prime Minister of Zimbabwe-Rhodesia in 1979.  He was currently in Chikirubi Maximum Security Prison for being a religious/political figure in opposition to Mugabe.  [We had returned to Zimbabwe in 1983 just after Muzorewa was imprisoned for suggesting an agricultural alliance with Israel.  He was accused of being a South African and Israeli agent.]  All of Mugabe’s competitors and many of his former allies had already been exiled, imprisoned or killed.  Only Muzorewa’s international profile kept him alive through subsequent imprisonment and exile.  He died in Harare in April of 2010.

To answer the official’s question, I launched into a 15-minute discourse explaining the “gospel” as I understood and taught it.  My theme was one that avoided Zimbabwe politics, focusing on the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, especially on God’s mercy and forgiveness.  I explicitly separated Jesus’s proclamation of the kingdom of God as being “heavenly” rather than earthly, quoting Jesus saying that his kingdom was “not of this world” and the reason why his disciples “do not fight.”

I further asserted that since I was a guest in Zimbabwe, that it wasn’t my place to enter the political discourse.  I was already in enough hot water, so I didn’t say this at the time, but I had learned my lesson about meddling in the political affairs of others during my first visit in 1977-78.  My first trip as a “Christian soldier” had not been helpful to anyone and left Pegi and me both dazed and confused as who we were and what our lives were all about.

The official actually took detailed notes as I talked.  I remember thinking that he would be reading my gospel explanation to others and hoping that this would lead to others responding to God’s love.  Today I realize how silly that was.

Ronald Reagan's reelection and our recent trip to the USA had exposed us to an increasing politicization of church life.  Our focus was on the way Jesus had lived, the compassion of his ministry to the poor and oppressed and the foundation of Zimbabwean churches that would reflect the 1^st century disciples of Jesus.  I had never been impressed with “establishment” Christianity.  In my Jesus Freak days I had called this “Churchianity” and was never able to reconcile modern church life with the New Testament period church.  

[Years later I would write my doctoral dissertation on the early Jewish-dominant church, hoping for a reemergence of that would serve as a vehicle for my own faith, published as Messianic Jewish Congregations:  Who Sold this Business to Gentiles?  Lanham, MD:  University Press of America, 2000.  An iPad ePub version will be available in September, 2012 from iTunes.  Kindle, Nook, PDF, iPad and other ebook versions are also available directly from me for US$14.99:  ConfessionsofaWanderingJew@gmail.com]

It seemed in my interest to point out that we had been so distressed by the political focus of churches when we were home in the States, that we had decided not to vote in that election cycle.  After all, we were living as guests in Zimbabwe and wished to remain politically uninvolved and neutral.  As we have related this story over the years, many have taken us to task for not voting in that election cycle.  Frankly, we didn’t have a dog in the Reagan v. Mondale fight and would support  and respect whomever the American people elected.  We were temporarily sacrificing our “right” to participate in earthly politics to focus on the establishment of the reign of God in human hearts in a foreign land.  You may not agree with the decision we made at the time, but you didn’t have to live with the consequences either!

I am convinced to this day that my apolitical assertion was what got me out of this dangerous situation, not my exposition of the gospel!  Once the official heard me say that we hadn’t voted, he closed his notebook and invited me to come on outside to observe the local political meeting that was already starting.

I was escorted out and given an comfortable seat near the front of the crowd that had now grown to about 200.  I was free to leave, but since I had come in the government truck, there would be no one to take me back down the road until after the meeting.

The meeting was characterized by speeches from local party notables, singing and chanted slogans praising Mugabe, the ZANU-PF Communist Party and government.  The chants were led by about twelve women, many of whom had waved to me earlier.  The leader would shout and the women, wearing dresses that were posters for Mugabe and ZANU-PF, would lead the crowd in choruses of response:

Up - up - up with Mugabe!  Down - down - down with Muzorewa!

Up - up - up with Zimbabwe!   Down - down - down with America!

All the while, the people were smiling happily at me, not in a menacing way, but seemingly saying:  “Look at us!  Isn’t this great?  We are doing politics.”  It reminded me of how children are so excited and proud when they accomplish something new.  I fully expected to be personally attacked, but it was as if they were doing this for my benefit.  They had been to my gospel meetings and were excited about being Christians.  And, as new Christians, they were showing off a bit for me out of respect.

I was thinking about politics internationally.  They were enjoying their new political freedom.  I don’t think they made the connection between their local Marxist practices and the geopolitical conflict between the West and the Communist Bloc.  Now, politicians and government officials clearly had another agenda, one that may have been sinister.  But as this local political celebration continued, it seemed amazingly similar to the our tent meetings celebrating God.  And, it was the same crowd!

About 45 minutes into the meeting, which wouldn’t lose steam for at least another couple of hours, Pegi and Norman arrived after their morning travels to farm churches around Wedza.  When they had returned to the tent, instead of finding me, they found that teenager who had been left in charge of our equipment.  He told Pegi that ZANU had taken me off.  Appropriately, she and Norman were frightened.  They were imagining me being beat up.  After all, that was not an unreasonable expectation.

As they approached the crowd, others pointed out where I was seated.  As they joined me, I explained that we were free to leave and all was okay.  But we all three left shaken.

The feeling was similar to that of having a near-miss on the highway.  At the moment, you feel above it all and are strangely objective as you swerve to get out of the path of impending danger.  It is about two minutes and two miles down the road that you are suddenly shaken by the reality of your own near demise.  By the time we had driven the mile or so back to the tent, we were thoroughly shaken.  Yes, we could go ahead and have our planned afternoon meeting, but I just felt like getting the hell out of there!

We cancelled the planned meeting, brought down the tent and piled it into the back of the truck.  Within the hour were on our way back to the Hess Farm.  And within a couple of days we were on our way to the other end of Zimbabwe, Lake Kariba.

Next:  “You Don’t Understand that God Sent You”