Showing posts with label speaking in tongues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label speaking in tongues. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

79 — Overturning the Rhodesian Paradigm in a Church (Harare: Feb 1984)


Chisipite Baptist was on the outskirts of the city. It was also on the outskirts of the vibrant life that Christians were experiencing in the centrally located ministries such as Rhema, Christian Life Centre, Faith Ministries and Family of God. Even mainstream denominational churches were experiencing a bit of a rebirth in Harare as they became multiracial.

You would assume, therefore, that Chisipite would be excited at the prospect of holding an evangelistic event on their grounds. There was excitement, but not of the kind for which we hoped. Instead of anticipation of dramatically expanding the size of the African congregation, there was disinterest on the part of the white congregation except for the three deacons. John B attempted to marginalize me by asserting that I was only interested in the African work. For that reason, he should become the senior pastor and leave me to work only with the African congregation. John was thinking like a Rhodesian. In his mind, it was still up to whites to oversee the affairs of Africans. The African pastor, Morgan, should have reveled in the increase in his responsibilities and focused on preparations for evangelistic effort. Instead of taking an active role in a series of events that would conceivably improve his status and income, he joined John B in a scheme to defame me with the white congregation.

While Pegi and I were hanging posters and passing out handbills, John B and Morgan went behind the deacons’ backs to organize a meeting to “examine” my beliefs. It was their contention that since I was friendly with people from Rhema and was working with Felix who believed in praying for the healing of the sick, that I was a “threat” to Chisipite Baptist Church. John and Morgan asserted that Felix had even “spoken in tongues” during a Sunday afternoon service in the African congregation. Somehow, this endangered the future of the congregation.

Fundamentalist Christians often suffer from an irrational fear of “tongues” or any kind of charismatic ministry. As a new Jesus Freak, I had been warned to “stay away from Charismatics and Pentecostals . . . they are dangerous!” During the nine years I was associated with Berachah Church and RB Thieme, I embraced that fear. I was to discover during my own “charismatic” period from 1983-87, that the source of the fear was its illogic.

Faith itself is extra-logical. Faith cannot be rationalized, deduced or formulated. As, the scholar Rudolf Otto explained, faith is “another way of knowing.” It is not subject to the mind. It is “other.” Although I can narrate the events that have surrounded my own experiences of “faith,” I cannot explain them—no one can. Miracles, signs, and wonders also seem to defy rational explanation. That is what makes them “a wonder.”

When apparently rational people encounter unexplainable events, they have two choices. They can either believe in their reality or dismiss them. For the average evangelical, the seemingly miraculous ministry of speaking in tongues and healing was rejected. Unable to “believe” in their reality, many evangelicals dismissed such charismatic ministry as illegitimate. For those evangelicals, such as John B, who saw themselves as “guardians of the true faith,” charismatic ministry was not only invalid, but a dangerous heresy that would pollute the true character of a ministry. In such a mindset, in the manner of generations of inquisitors before them, John B and his camp followers sought to expunge the cancerous heresy from the body of Christ.

If the inquisitor can’t understand it, it must be dangerous! Therefore, the carriers of this vermin must themselves be purged. Of course, you probably recognize that such an attitude is not confined to matters of faith. Turn on the news and listen to the self-appointed guardians of truth who populate the cable channels as they decry anything that they themselves cannot rationalize. For them, it makes no difference if the subjects are political parties, social issues, foreign affairs, immigration, economics, education, etc. It seems that whatever they cannot understand must be evil!

It was pretty clear that Pegi and I were not understood by John B, Morgan and their willing followers. A special meeting was called to discuss our collusion with Felix, “the evil tongues-speaker.” We declined to attend our own lynching! Instead, we continued our preparations for the upcoming evangelistic events.

Afterward, we heard this interesting anecdote. The so-called “tongues” that Felix was accused of uttering had happened on a previous Sunday. Felix had been interpreting for me into Shona. In his excitement, sometimes he would stutter just a bit as he searched for the correct interpretation of my American experience into something that made sense to a largely uneducated group of domestic servants. It was this stuttering as Felix got stuck between English and Shona, “Uh, uh, the, the, . . .” that Morgan and John assumed was “tongues.”

Of course, Felix did often pray in a so-called “tongues prayer language,” but he would never do so in the role of an interpreter. The concept of a special prayer language is an indirect concept inferred from Paul’s writings. Many Pentecostal/Charismatic Christians vouch for its validity nonetheless. Interestingly, the original purpose of the “sign” of tongues in the New Testament in Acts 2 was actual interpretation of the gospel message into languages other than the local Aramaic dialect. In that case, Jewish disciples of Jesus were speaking to the Jews in Jerusalem  gathered for the Feast of Shavuot (Weeks), claimed by later Christians as the Feast of Pentecost. These Jewish disciples of Jesus spoke to “diaspora” Jews in their own native dialects, dialects of which the speakers themselves were likely ignorant. So, if somehow a miracle had happened that would have given Felix the interpretation to this African audience of my experience as a diaspora Jew, such a role reversal would at least be interesting!

There was nothing of interest in Felix’s stuttering, except for John B and Morgan as they searched for a way to stop us from ministering at Chisipite. They were right about one thing, however, we were seeking to overturn the current paradigm for ministry at Chisipite. We sought to inject life into a dying church. We taught both the white and black congregations how to praise and worship God using modern music. We replaced dusty hymnbooks with freshly mimeographed chorus sheets. I employed enthusiastic teaching, freely moving away from the pulpit into the congregation. Instead of speaking in third person monologues, I shared personal experiences and directly engaged the listener, often drawing the audience into the discussion.

Instead of a sleepy Sunday experience, Chisipite began to vibrate with activity. Attendance increased at all services and consequently, people began to give sacrificially. I discouraged the tired practice of tithing. Instead, I encouraged “giving from the heart.” In short order, the offerings increased as people freely donated their time and resources for the furtherance of the kingdom of God. To me, the most significant change would be for the African congregation to break free from the Rhodesian paradigm of control by the whites.

As the date of the Saturday evangelistic event approached, Morgan decided to leave the ministry. Actually, it was leave or be fired. After the aborted attempt to oust us, Morgan found himself the focus of his own congregation’s attention. Although we had counseled him not to borrow money from his congregation, things had only gotten worse. In addition, he had begun a side business of questionable morality. Members of the African congregation told the white deacons that they were no longer happy with Morgan. They expressed their willingness to participate in the financial support of their own pastor, but not if that pastor was appointed by the white congregation. They wanted Morgan to leave. He had been hired and appointed over them by the white congregation. They wanted to be involved in “calling” a pastor whom they could trust. When faced with the ultimatum to subject himself to the governance of his own congregation, Morgan decided to leave the ministry.

With Morgan gone and John’s subterfuge “on hold” for the time being, it was time to demonstrate that Jesus was still “alive” at Chisipite Baptist Church.


Tuesday, March 17, 2009

18 -- Chris the Hippie Meets Chris the Hippie! (Madison: Jan 1971)

What were we doing standing outside in a winter storm?  Since John had a car and was heading to what he claimed was a well-heated church building, I gladly agreed to accompany him and meet his preacher friend. 

I hadn’t been inside a church since a visit with my 10th grade Temple confirmation class.  We had visited Catholic, Methodist and Unitarian churches as part of a Comparative Religions class.  And, I was required to attend Sunday services at the base chapel as a recruit. 

John’s church was run by a Pentecostal preacher from the Appalachian mountains of Kentucky.  John was new to born-again Christianity, having been raised Roman Catholic.  He was also naïve enough to believe that there would be some sort of affinity between this preacher and me because we were both from Kentucky! 

The building was empty since it was noon on a weekday, but the heat was cranked up, so I was happy.  The preacher was a hillbilly high school dropout who had spent a year at some Appalachian ministry training school.  When John introduced me as a Jew who was “born-again,” the preacher and his wife began shouting “Praise the Lord” and some sort of gibberish I could not understand.  They explained to me that they were “speaking in tongues,” and without stopping to catch their breath, or to let me thaw out, asked me if I had been “baptized by the Holy Ghost.”

I explained that I had been baptized in water at a beach in California that last summer.  They told me that I needed the Holy Ghost to baptize me with the fire!   It was cold out, but that seemed a bit extreme to me!  This uneducated preacher had confused the New Testament teaching of the Holy Spirit of God’s baptism of believers and a future baptism of fire for unbelievers.  Of course, since he believed that the King James Version of the Bible from 1611 alone was the inerrant Word of God, his misunderstanding of the King’s English was matched only by his butchering of the English language in general!

They were insistent that I had to speak in tongues, and since I really didn’t want to go outside again in this weather, I agreed to let them “lay hands on” me and pray for me to “receive the baptism.”  The preacher and his wife had me kneel before the altar of their church.  Then they placed their hands on my head and began babbling in some sort of guttural syllables.  They told me:

Just let the Holy Ghost take control of your tongue.  Just keep saying “thank you Jesus” over and over and the Holy Ghost will take over.

This went on for about ten minutes.  Their hands were getting heavy on my head.  Their bad breath was about to cause me to pass out.  And with all the shouting and the proximity of the sweating preacher and his wife, I was getting uncomfortably warm.  I imitated some of the syllables I had heard them uttering:  “shondai, yisto, brocha blasto” plus a little French, Spanish and Yiddish.  When they heard this they started jumping up and down and shouting, “That’s it!  That’s it!  You got the Baptism . . . you got the Baptism!”

While they were celebrating, I got my coat and got out of there, hitchhiking back to campus.

Later that day, I went to the student union to meet John’s Jesus freak friend, Chris.  I assumed that this was the same Chris the Hippie that I knew.  Instead of a blonde, blue-eyed Chris, this Chris had long black curly hair.  This Chris was of Hispanic background.  But, he was a Jesus freak and he had come from California.   He had come to Madison with the intention of witnessing in the hippie community.  That was my new mission as well.  We became friends immediately. 

Chris the Hippie II and I set off to find Chris the Hippie I.  To keep this from being more confusing that it already is, we will refer to Chris the Hippie I (of Dave and Chris fame from the previous summer), Chris “H” which was the initial of his last name.  We will call Chris the Hippie II, Chris “A” for his last name.  As Chris “A” and I went searching for Chris “H”, we ran into Barry, my ZBT and tripping buddy who had originally travelled with Chris H, Dave and me to Santa Cruz. 

You may remember that Barry had skedaddled when we got to the Jesus commune in Scott’s Valley.  Well, Chris A and I cornered him on the sidewalk in front of the student union and pretty much forced him to accept Jesus as savior.  He prayed to receive Christ half-heartedly and we carted him off with us to find Chris H.  Looking back on it now, what Chris A and I did to Barry was similar to what the Appalachian preacher had just done to me.  It is no wonder that Barry was a non-committal convert and would get us into difficulty in a few days.

Anyway, with Barry in tow, we wandered over to the Mifflin Street Coop to look for Chris H who we heard was in the area.  We also wanted to pick up some of the Coop’s “Guerrilla Cookies.”  The recipe of oats, raisins, black strap molasses, etc. was said to be everything you need to survive as a “guerrilla in the revolution.”  Of course, very few of us took the revolutionary talk very seriously anymore.  But, that was Hippie marketing and the cookies were really good.  I pretty much lived on a diet of these cookies, yogurt and rice in those days.

At the co-op, I enquired about Chris H.  It turned out that he had just been there a few minutes before delivering loaves of bread for sale that he baked.  The address of his “bakery” was just a two blocks away in a rental house.  As we knocked on the door, we could smell the aroma of fresh bread baking.  We found Chris inside tending several kitchen ovens. 

I introduced the Chris the Hippie H to Chris the Hippie A.  Now, counting the reluctant Barry, there were four of us. 

Departing from our meeting with Chris H, we ran into Howie, a New York Jew who had come to Madison for school, but had abandoned studies for the hippie lifestyle.  We had become close friends just prior to my trip to Santa Cruz.  I “shared my testimony” with Howie and he immediately professed his faith in Jesus. 

Within the course of 24 hours, there were five of us.  Chris H mentioned that the bakers were going to move to another building to allow for greater bread production.  We could rent the “bakery” house and turn it into our own Jesus commune!  By the end of the week, the five of us took up residence, joined by some other Christians that Chris and Chris had met.  One of them, Priscilla, was a walking biblical concordance.  By that I mean, that she could instantly recall and quote verbatim any verse in the Bible.

Suddenly, we had almost a dozen Jesus freaks living together in this little house right smack in the middle of the hippie culture of Madison.  We started to hold Bible studies on Wednesday evenings, but our most important activity was witnessing to the hippie community.  In order to formalize this, we decided to put a sign out on our front porch to let everyone know who we were.  Chris fashioned a sign out of wood that we hung from the awning of the front porch.  

The sign had one word:  Christians