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 25th, 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.
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| Main House - Hess Farm in Wedza |
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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!
