ON a Sabbath some weeks ago, I paid an unexpected visit to Mabayi, nearby outstation where services have been started quite recently. On my arrival at the pole-and-mud structure which serves as a school on week-days and as a place of worship on Sabbaths, my first duty was to ring the bell to announce that a preacher had come and that a service was shortly to commence. The “bell-ringing” consisted in striking a long iron bar suspended from a tree with a shorter piece of the same metal which is kept for the purpose in a fork of the tree. A wait of half-an-hour and still no sign of a congregation! The “bell-ringing” process was then repeated and twenty minutes later one woman appeared. She informed me that all the regular attenders except herself and a few children were either sick or from home and that the rest of the people of the district were at a big beer-drink which was being held at a kraal some distance away. “Is the kraal very far off?” I asked. “Oh, no, it is quite near.” “Then let us go to them since they will not come to us.” The woman willingly offered her services as a guide and off we set by a winding and most circuitous footpath. When we had tramped at least a mile I asked if the kraal were much further away. “Oh, yes, it’s quite a long distance yet,” was the unexpected reply. Sure enough, we had walked a further two miles before we caught sight of the kraal in a little clearing in the heart of the forest. The revellers were taken completely by surprise and consternation prevailed when they saw a white man suddenly appear in their midst. The majority had never seen me before and must have taken me for an agent of the powerful and much-feared “Government.” One or two of the men ventured to step forward and to enquire with much deference who I was and what was the purpose of my visit. When told that I was the missionary from Zenka and that I had come to hold a service, the relief which portrayed itself in their faces for a moment, quickly gave way to shame and uneasiness as they glanced round at the futile efforts of their companions to conceal the traces of their unseemly revels. The owner of the kraal was particularly embarrassed and sought to make the best of an awkward situation by showing great zeal in summoning his guests and herding them towards the shade of a big tree where the service was to be held. This done, he drew me aside and assured me that they were all very glad to see the missionary and have a service, but, he added, “let the service be a short one.”
Of the sixty to seventy persons gathered under the tree, the great majority were quite sober and listened attentively as I spoke to them on Matthew, chapter 7, verse 21, but some were highly intoxicated and interrupted the service several times. One old woman with a baby on her back was particularly troublesome and when told by her companions to keep quiet and to sit down, she exclaimed repeatedly, “Is the missionary the only one who is to be allowed to speak at this meeting? No! No! I must speak too.”
If the embarrassment of the owner of the kraal was great before the service, it was still greater when the service was over and words of warning and reproof were still fresh in his memory. Leading me to the back of his kraal he poured out thanks which were profuse if not sincere and ended up by saying, “Do you see that red hen over there? You have done a fine thing to-day in visiting us like this and I am going to show my gratitude by presenting you with that hen. Will you take it with you now?” With a final word of warning and exhortation and an assurance that I would gladly accept his hen on some other day, I turned homeward leaving the astonished beer drinkers discussing in subdued tones the strange experience of the day.
May the Holy Spirit bless the seed sown in such unpromising soil!
Standing out in sharp contrast to my experience at Mabayi, is the hearty welcome accorded us by the people of Lutsha, 14 miles farther down the Lupani valley, when Alexander Mpofu and I visited this station towards the end of January. Alexander is one of the two lay-preachers who have been appointed to the Shangani district this year.
A few minutes after we had drawn up at the school on a Thursday afternoon and while we were making preparation for an outdoor meal, a company of men, including the teacher and the local headman, came along to welcome us. “We heard the sound of your car,” the headman explained, “and we have come to tell you how pleased we are to see you.”
After a lengthy chat, our friends returned to their work in the fields, but not before they had asked us to notify them by the ringing of the school bell of the hour of evening worship.
We expected ten or twelve people at most, but long before the agreed signal was given, fully twenty people had gathered in the little school, and when we were ready for worship we had a congregation of about thirty-five persons. When worship was over, the headman thanked us for bringing them once more the Word of Life. “My friend,” said Alexander, “there is no use in your thanking us with fine words unless you repent and believe the Gospel. Neither God nor His true messengers are satisfied with nice words. If you are really thankful for what you have heard from us to-night and on other occasions, give thanks to God by turning from sin.” “Oh, well,” replied the headman, somewhat abashed, “that is what we are trying to do but what we need is regular gospel preaching among us. We are greatly encouraged by a visit from our missionaries but when we do not see you again for a long time our hearts become weak and we are ready to slip back. You should try to get us a preacher who would live with us and teach us day by day and week by week. No man with any worldly wisdom gathers together a flock of sheep and then goes away and leaves them to the mercy of wolves and lions. Sheep need constant attention and so do we.”
We explained that if it were within our power we would gladly grant his request but as stations are numerous and preachers few, we could promise only an occasional visit, while commending them at all times to the care of the Great Shepherd of the Sheep. As the company showed no inclination to disperse, we continued talking of spiritual things until a late hour. Stories like “The Good Black Doctor” were related and their point carefully explained, while young and old listened in rapt attention.
The following day, after inspection of the school, we held a service attended by the majority of the school children and about twenty adults. The whole congregation waited to give us a hearty send-off and they begged us to return as soon as we possibly could.”
Paul Magaya who has visited Lutsha three times since then, reports that two men and a woman are seeking the way of salvation and that one of the men, formerly a great drunkard, has altogether given up his beer.
On a recent visit to Inkuba, a station on the northern side of the Shangani river, encouragement was blended with sorrow. The teacher sprang a pleasant surprise by arriving for worship at 8 p.m. with more than thirty of his school children. After worship they sang psalms for fully half-an-hour before lining up and marching off to their homes under the care of their teacher.
Scarcely had the sound of their singing died away when it was replaced by the hideous yells of drunken fighters at a kraal half-a-mile distant. The quietness of the night was rent by loud threats of death and destruction. Alexander and I hurried to the scene, and by firm measures brought the strife to an end and restored a measure of order.
On the way back to the school Alexander quietly remarked, “That is always Satan’s way. Whenever believers get something to encourage them, he does his best to depress them with his evil works.”