87 — "But, I repeat--you were invited!” (Wedza: July 1984)

The crowd finally dispersed about 10:00 pm and we began packing up the bits and pieces of our tiny PA system with flashlights.  It was really dark and surprisingly cold by African standards on this July, 1984, winter evening at an altitude of 4,000 feet.  It wasn't cold enough for frost, but we shivered in our light jackets wishing we hadn't left our gloves and hats in the States.

We hadn't expected to stay the night in Wedza on this first day.  Instead, we had planned to return in a few days with the tent and make that our base of operations for the next week.  Now, it was too late to make the 90 minute drive over dirt roads back to Lushington, the farm owned by Dave and Jen Hess. 

We were exhausted, but where would we sleep?  Fortunately, the school principal came to our aid, offering for us to stay in a small caravan parked next to his house.  Felix found a place to sleep in the back room of a Matsine shop.  Not only did we wake up refreshed the next morning, but the principal also made sure there was a large breakfast of eggs, toast and fruit for us.  In all the excitement, we hadn't had dinner the night before!

Our first task upon returning would be to set up the big tent and make that our home. After singing for and then speaking to several hundred students at Matsine school, we headed back to Lushington.  The following day we were back in Harare picking up the tent and some volunteers from the Salisbury Evangelical Bible School to help us erect it.

While in Harare we visited friends, produced our monthly newsletter on a borrowed computer and booked reservations for a trip back to the States in November.  We also made arrangements to travel to Kariba for a week of rest after the Wedza tent meetings.  We had been going at it night and day since relocating to Wedza and just needed to get away from it all for a week.  We would have the use of a cottage that belonged to a Jewish car dealer with whom we had become friendly.  He, too, claimed to be a Jewish believer in Jesus.

We met only one other “local” of Jewish background Jew while in Zimbabwe from 1983-87.  He was a black Zimbabwean journalist from Wedza and also a follower of Jesus.  He told us that he had grown up in a rural African Jewish community that traced its lineage to King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba.  When he went to university, he had become a Christian.  Although both he and our car dealer friend were both members of churches, they still strongly identified with their Jewishness.  

For me, the more I saw of Christianity, the more I began to think about my Jewish heritage.  But, at this time, the embers of Jewishness glowed faintly.  I was still two years away from experiencing the re-ignition that would change everything—the birth of Abigail. 

The following Wednesday found us at Matsine for what was to be a series of nightly evangelistic meetings followed by daytime teaching sessions.  All of this was to culminate with a Sunday afternoon service that we hoped would result in the founding of a local church there.  The plan all along had been for Felix to lead this new congregation.

That evening the tent was up, the Youth Brigade had shown up to help us manage the crowds.  I had been concerned that they might be violent, but they were extremely respectful of the people and us.  I don't think we could have managed without them.  We did our normal routine.  Pegi and I sang and led choruses in English and Shona.  Then Felix led some more singing with us accompanying him. We showed the Osborn film and Felix spoke to the crowds in Shona afterward.  As usual, there was a sea of hands raised signifying those who had "accepted Jesus as Savior."  We estimated that of the 800-1000 who packed themselves into the tent, that about 200 might represent new converts.  However, by this time we had realized that people were saying that they had "accepted Jesus" for the "first time" pretty much anytime there was an opportunity.

The following nights were identical with people coming from as far 25 miles, some by foot.  The daytime hours were a constant stream of people seeking prayer for personal needs, healing, demon possession and all of those things that had been under the purview of the nhanga,  the traditional healer.  To me, it seemed as if we had become the new nhangas.  I was not convinced that this was any type of faith in the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.  People did not seem to be interested in learning about God.  Instead, they were accepting Jesus and our preaching simply for traditional needs.  When we offered a Bible lesson instead of putting on a show followed by healing, our attendance dropped from hundreds to less than a dozen.

Saturday night would be the last evangelistic meeting before we attempted our first worship service on Sunday afternoon.  It was at this point that Felix literally abandoned us!  He got on a bus and went back to Harare. He was no longer interested in taking the responsibility to lead the new congregation, even on a sporadic basis.  He wouldn't even be there that evening to speak, sing or interpret.  For half a year we had been partners in ministry.  The whole idea for coming to Matsine was because it was close to Felix's childhood home.  Now, with a feeble excuse, he was gone.

That meant that it fell to me to be the speaker that evening with Norman Kalilombe interpreting.  Our singing got the best response ever and I decided to "teach" about faith in God rather than showing the same film again.  That also meant that there would be no "miracle ministry" at the end, because that just wasn't me!  I wasn't going to be their nhanga.  And, rather than whipping them into a frenzy and getting them to pray out loud to "accept Jesus" for the second, third or fourth time, I asked them to spend a few minutes quietly talking with God for themselves.  I wanted them to at least understand that they could pray for themselves since the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob would listen to them as they spoke.  They wouldn't need a nhanga any longer.

On Sunday, Pegi drove Norman to one of the five farms near Lushington where he was serving as pastor.  I spent the morning reading my Bible and preparing to teach in the afternoon service.  Of course, now we had no leadership for this new church because of Felix's desertion.  We would just have to see who showed up and then draw on some other young ministers to help us.

As I sat alone inside of the tent, a gray government truck pulled up.  Four or five African men in their twenties disembarked and asked a 14-year-old boy who was "in charge" here.  He pointed me out and I introduced myself.  I sensed trouble, but was confident that we had all the "permissions" necessary.  

The leader of this group smiled without introducing himself or his title.  It was obvious that he had some sort official capacity since he was driving a government vehicle.  He could have been police, ZANU-PF, Ministry of Information or one of a number of official and often officious authorities.  He asked about our meetings and I gave him the history of the last week ,not forgetting to drop the names of all the officials who had authorized us.

He seemed uninterested in all of that saying, "I am here to invite you to a meeting of ZANU-PF just up the road near the Matsine shops."  Trying to ignore his threatening tone, I replied, "Oh, thank you so much for inviting me, but I am afraid I have to decline.  I have a service here in about an hour and cannot leave right now."

That didn't work!  He looked at me sternly saying again that I was "invited" to the meeting of the local ZANU-PF Communist Party.

I declined again adding that I was responsible for the tent and equipment.  With an authority that I had encountered with Immigration officials, he replied gravely:

But you have been invited!  This young man will watch over your equipment won't you young man?  Now, you will come with us to the meeting to determine IF you will be allowed to have any services here.

I finally realized that I had been invited!  I climbed into his truck and rode up the road to Matsine.

Next:  88 — All Politics is Local (Wedza:  July 1984)

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81 — Taking Our Show On the Road (Wedza: April 1984)

Our outdoor meeting was a small success compared to the claims of major ministries. But, it was a start, and not bad for a couple of independent operators who had very little support from the USA. That’s right—very little support! The promises from our Christian “supporters” at home remained unfulfilled. Yes, we had managed to raise the $2400 to pay for airline tickets, but that had been the end of it. If it hadn’t been for the hospitality of our Zimbabwean hosts, we would have nowhere to stay and nothing to eat.

How could we hope to compete for the attention and support of American Christians, especially when those who had promised to assist us refused to communicate with us. We wrote letters every day to our “friends” at home to no avail. We heard nothing. The week following the outdoor meeting at Chisipite, we finally received a package of mail from Arnold and Mary, the couple who had volunteered to run our American ministry affairs.

With great anticipation we opened the package to find several enclosed letters. None of it was good news. There was no news of additional support from our home church, nor from the 150 people on our mailing list to whom we had been sending monthly newsletters with personal notes to each. Instead, there was a note from our “pastor” saying that they would “consider supporting us in the future if there was good fruit from our ministry.”

Pegi and I realized that there was just no way to compete with the American television evangelists. How did our news of 27 converts stack up against the sensationalist claims of of tens of thousands “saved” in sports stadium venues. Nope, we would let the international ministries compete for American support. We only needed food, transport and a roof over our heads. Zimbabweans were more than happy to provide that kind of support as we ministered together with them to promote the kingdom of God.

Every day was a new opportunity for us to be co-workers with Zimbabweans to advance the kingdom of God. Each week we visited St Mary’s township where I led a bible study for about 30 women. Felix had personally introduced us to many of the local African ministries. We had invitations to speak in Harare churches every weekend and most Wednesday evenings. Although Chisipite was still making up their minds about a permanent pastor, they kept us busy in ministry to both the European and African congregations.

On Thursday mornings, I led a “school of ministry” for a half-dozen young men associated with the Chisipite African congregation. I believed working with small groups of motivated believers was the most effective way to not only spread the gospel message, but also to teach those who could in turn “disciple others also” (2 Tim 2:2). After all, Jesus had turned away from the multitudes to work with 12 men who in turn would change the course of religious history.

But, it was time for us to get out of Harare to the rural areas with their large “unreached and unchurched” African populations. Dave Hess had invited us to minister on his farm in Wedza. Felix had grown up in Wedza, so we decided that we should take our “show” on the road to Wedza first.

Two weeks after the Chisipite meeting, Felix, Pegi and I piled into the Alfa-Romeo that had been loaned to us and headed for Wedza. Our actual destination was the Hess farm, but Felix wanted us to see his childhood home first. As his father had passed away, Felix was the owner of a small group of brick and thatch rondavels. The property was outside of the Wedza business district on a hill top.

With Felix on the road to Wedza

We left Harare about 8:00 am, arriving in Wedza about 9:30. The tarmac ended just past the Wedza bus stop, about 5 miles from Felix’s place. No sooner than we had turned off onto a dirt road, Felix saw a lone woman sitting in front of a large boulder. He had me stop the car. We got out and approached the woman who looked to be in her early sixties. As Felix spoke to her in Shona, he told us she was deaf.

Making signs to her, he asked her if we could pray for her healing. She seemed to understand, bowing her head and closing her eyes. Then he turned to Pegi and me and instructed us to lay our hands on her and pray for her to be healed. Now, we had never done anything like that before! We were open to the possibility of the miraculous, but were personally skeptical. We had been to countless “healing” services, never seeing a verifiable miracle.

Felix insisted that God would heal her, so we placed our hands on her head and meekly asked God to give her back her hearing. After a couple of minutes, when it was evident that nothing had happened, we backed away. Felix approached the woman and spoke to her softly in Shona. She turned and replied to him in Shona, attesting that she could hear again for the first time in years.

Well, we were surprised—we never expected anything like this! So, was she really healed or not? There is no way to know for sure, but she sure seemed happy about the turn of events. Felix sat down with her and shared the story of Jesus with her. A few minutes later, she was praying herself, inviting Jesus to be her savior. So, maybe she had only been partially deaf, or not deaf at all. Who knows? But, did it really matter? What seemed to matter was that she was pleased and now claimed to be a member of God’s kingdom. To me, that is all that really counted.  

This was the first of several instances in which people claimed to be healed either directly or indirectly associated with our ministry. At the time, we remained skeptical, but began to report these "miracles" in our newsletters as this seemed to be what many of our "supporters" expected in the way of "good fruit," especially our American charismatic friends.  We will discuss this as we begin to travel "The Tobacco Road."

About another half mile and the road became impassable. We got out of the car and walked for about 15 minutes to Felix’s homestead. Taking in the beautiful scenery for a few minutes, we headed back to the car and arrived at the Hess farm just before noon.

Hiking the trail to Felix’s home in Wedza

                                                

The view from Felix’s place in Wedza

                                        

Pegi teaching at Hess Farm with Norman interpreting

                                        

Pegi with Norman and the kids at the Hess Farm

After lunch Dave took us down to the worker’s compound where his 30 farm workers and their families lived. Once there, we met Norman Kaliombe. Norman was Malawian-born and his father had been a Baptist pastor. For the last few years, Norman had been working on Dave’s dairy farm. But, when Dave discovered that Norman had graduated from a Bible school, he took him off dairy duties and paid him as a full-time minister to the other workers. For the last few months, Norman had been leading Bible studies on surrounding farms.

He, Felix and I became instant friends and began discussing how we could begin evangelizing and planting churches on each of the farms bordering Wedza. Norman was a quiet man and proficient in leading studies. He welcomed Felix’s evangelistic skills and my ministry instruction. Before the afternoon was over, we had plans in place to reach a large portion of Wedza with evangelism, church "plants" and ministry training.

As a beginning, Norman gathered all the women and children for a spontaneous Bible lesson from Pegi. She quickly put together some visual aids. After she, Felix and I led off with some Shona choruses, she taught her first class in Africa.

This show was on the road!

Next:  82 — A Tale of Two Phone Calls (Zimbabwe:  May 1984)

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73 — The Road to Wedza (Zimbabwe: Jan 1984)

So, after less than two weeks in Zimbabwe, we were a bit dizzy from the roller coaster ride of experiences.  Ministries in Harare were self-centered and seemingly disinterested in the 80% of the population that lived in the rural areas.  The English-speaking churches were overwhelming white.  For the most part, they seemed more interested in personal charismatic experiences than in the Gospel message.  For the white Christians, their lives were little different than what we had seen five years before in Rhodesia.  The singular difference was that now they no longer had to endure rationing and military call-ups.  

The churches we visited seemed totally disinterested in us as visitors.  It seemed that they didn’t take notice of us or any other visitors either!  Rather, their focus was on the pastor and the ministry around the pulpit.  The charismatic churches were the most oblivious to the needs of the audience.  The ministers would “prophesy” and announce that “someone here needs healing for their back” or the like.  Unknown tongues were interpreted to tell of various problems that “someone” was having.  Those people were encouraged to come forward for healing, deliverance from demons, or “to receive an annointing from God.”  This was done through the laying on of hands and long lines of supplicants would wait their turn in front of the pulpit as the pastor walked by and pushed them on the forehead so that they fell back into the hands of waiting ushers.  It was all kind of silly, but seemed to be of utmost importance to those ministering.

I wondered how that with all these supernatural “gifts, signs and wonders” that no one ever heard from God about our crying personal needs!   At the time, we were open to the possibility that these spiritual gifts could be real.  It would take us quite a while to finally close the door on the possibility of reality in charismatic ministry.  However, we were quickly discovering that this was self-deception on the part of the ministers at best.  At worst, it was showmanship and snake oil sales.  

Our experience with Zimbabwe Immigration was stranger indeed.  The Zimbabwe Embassy in D.C. had encouraged us with regard to our residency applications.  Of course, as soon as we got to Harare, our request had been abruptly denied.  Within 24 hours we had contact with a senior Immigration official assuring us that our residency would be approved as soon as we had a job.  And now, I was only 10 days from a formal job offer from NCR computers.

We had traveled to Africa on the flimsy financial promises of our home church and were quickly running through the last of our $1000 in travelers checks.  Fortunately, for all their obliviousness to our personal struggles, the Zimbabwean Christians were incredibly hospitable to us.  But with the job from NCR, it seemed that our personal financial crisis was about to be over.

Nevertheless, we felt incredibly alone.  We hadn’t come back to this country to enjoy the lifestyle.  And yet, as hospitable as the local Christians were, they were resistant to our overtures to participate in ministry to the African population.  They seemed to see us as “competition” for the same ministry dollars that they were feverishly trying to raise from outside Zimbabwe.

As we got closer to December 25^th, both headaches and minor illnesses kept us at the Silk’s house.  I think all the travel and emotion had begun to catch up with us and we just needed some downtime.  I spent most of this time in Bible study and reading the Christian literature in Howie’s library.  He had dozens of books from leaders of the Word of Faith movement whose elder member was Kenneth Hagin.  I was shocked at just how poorly his books were written and at his total ignorance of the biblical text.  I quickly discovered that he and the other leaders of the Pentecostal/Charismatic movement were uneducated country preachers whose sole claim to fame was their “claim to fame”!  It was scary how ignorant they were of the Bible.  They were no more literate than the Pentecostal preacher from Appalachia whom I had met during that 1970 Madison snowstorm. [18 — Chris the Hippie Meets Chris the Hippie!]

This Hagin guy was the leading light of the Word of Faith movement?  Oy!

I can’t remember how it happened, but we had received an invitation to visit a dairy farm in Wedza.  The owners were a Christian and his wife, (Dave and Jen Hess), who had moved there from South Africa in the early 70s, and had kept the farm intact through the war.  We just needed to get away from Harare and the monochrome English-speaking churches.  A trip to the rural areas sounded perfect.

We splurged and rented a car for the three hour trip.  As we left Harare, the dark mood that we had settled into seemed to lift.  A half-hour outside of Harare, our flagging spirits revived.  The craziness of the last few weeks was left behind.  After a couple of hours, we turned off the main road at the small town of Marondera.  I had been through here during the war when the town was still called Marandellas.  

Here, the two lanes of tarmac turned into one.  The trick was that you would drive down the center on the tarmac until traffic came at you from the other direction.  Then you would pull off to the side (left) and pass each other with two wheels on the tarmac and two in the dirt.  This worked fine for the approach of most vehicles.  However, when being approached by a rural bus, it was best to pull all the way into the dirt.  Many of the rural buses had damaged suspension and kind of came down the road at you almost sideways!  It was best just to get out of the way.

We came to a fork in the road.  The single lane of tarmac headed off to the left toward the Wedza communal town center.  We took the dirt road to the right to get to the Hess farm.  This looked strangely familiar too.  I seemed to remember traveling this same road when I had accompanied Bill Dodgen out here during the war.  Of course, on this trip, we no longer had to worry about landmines buried in the dirt!

About 45 minutes later we pulled off this main (dirt!) road onto another dirt road that was in pretty bad condition from the recent rains.  This was the road that led to the Hess farm.  As the owner, he would have been responsible for grading and maintaining it himself.  This too seemed very familiar.  When we turned through gate in the security fence and parked in front of the main house, Dave walked out to greet us.  He was the same farmer I had visited in 1977 with Bill Dodgen!  [43 — Farm Life in a War Zone]

Of course, he didn’t recognize or remember me.  I had just been there for tea while Bill spent time with him talking about their common church concerns.  Also, back then, I had just been another sergeant in camo.  Now, I was in civilian clothing and bearded.  But, Dave hadn’t changed at all and I remembered his beautiful home overlooking the Wedza valley.

Main House - Hess Farm in Wedza

Above:  Bungalow that would become our home on the farm.

Below:  Dave and Jen Hess

 

We spent the day eating and conversing with him and his extended family who were there for the New Year’s holiday.  Dave’s parents were from Chicago and he had grown up as a missionary child in Africa.  Jen’s brothers were there as well, both of them pastors.  One was ministering in their home country of South Africa.  The other was serving as pastor of a church in my hometown, Louisville.  That church actually met in the building that had been my childhood synagogue.  [Ah! Now I remember!  We had met Jen’s brother in Louisville.  He had given us Dave’s contact information in Zimbabwe.]  

There were two other pastors enjoying the afternoon there that day.  Both had been in the regular Rhodesian Army, one as a Selous Scout, the other as an instructor at RLI when I had been in training there.

It turned out that Dave had moved to what was then Rhodesia, not to farm, but to minister to the rural African population.  He had bought this old dairy farm as a means of support and center of ministry.  He shared a similar vision to mine.  He wanted to train African Christians on the surrounding farms.  In turn, they could evangelize their coworkers and eventually serve as pastors of the farm churches.  [These large white-owned farms had worker populations of 60-150.  The workers and their families lived in what was essentially a rural village on the farm property.]

Dave and his brother Jim had grown up in the Plymouth Brethren church.  That meant that I finally had someone with whom I could talk Bible.  Especially after the biblical ignorance that we had encountered with the Word of Faith crowd at Rhema, this was a relief.

Dave walked us out as we left late that afternoon.  He gave us an open invitation to come live at his farm and minister together in Wedza.   We could come out here on weekends after each week at NCR.  What an exciting prospect!

As we climbed into our rental car for the trip back to Harare, there was an envelope taped to the steering wheel.  In it was a note from Dave and Jen formally inviting us back and Z$100.

What an afternoon!

Next:  74 — Fun and Games with Zimbabwe Immigration (Harare:  Jan 1984)

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