Zim time

 I am listening to the strange sound of rain on a thatched roof. It is both thumping on the roof and running down off the verandah behind where we sit, dry, indoors.

 

We are staying in an old cottage in the Harare suburb of Borrowdale, an area settled by Europeans, largely around the time of independence, which for Zimbabwe happened relatively late—and under unusual circumstances. The white Ian Smith led the Rhodesian Front, first fighting for independence from England then fighting the black militant ZANU forces, with majority (i.e., black) rule not coming to Rhodesia/Zimbabwe until 1980. During that prolonged struggle many white families moved out to places like Borrowdale as blacks began to take up residence and business in former white areas of the city.

Today we talked to Tim, who heads up Scripture Union in Harare, and was one of the first blacks to attend Central Baptist Church. Until then blacks were not allowed to use the sidewalks in the city, could only walk in certain areas, and only to and from work (for whites). They had to live in designated areas, often alongside industrial sites, could only shop in certain places and were prohibited from buying certain things, like the local Castle beer. Not quite apartheid, but close. So today Tim is one of the leaders at Central and heads up a Christian ministry that takes Bible literature to government schools, even teaches classes on scripture to students.

Central started in the city center in 1928 as Salisbury Baptist Church (Harare was named Salisbury until independence) but today is a mostly black church. The church has had a black pastor but currently the senior pastor is white and associate is black. Vibrant only begins to describe it. We’ve had a great time getting to know senior pastor John Bell, a lifelong Zimbabwean and my original contact here and now friend and outstanding host, and Asafa, the assistant.

Today after Central’s service, Asafa took us to a “high-density area,” the government term for the projects, so that we could experience “African worship” in native Shona tongue. Pastor Gardner Moyo and the congregation were welcoming. 

As we readied to leave, a member of the congregation, whose name is Knowing God (really) prayed for us as a family, and for us all to “grow together in Christ.” Shona names are always meaningful, and in addition to Knowing God, I’ve met Zimbabweans named Thank You, Six Pence, Grace, and learned tonight that at one time Wireless was a popular name (given by parents jealous of the whites’ telegraphs and telephones).

Listening to Shona then English then Shona and Scripture recognizable to all and among people who live in houses made of brick, corrugated metal, and cardboard & plastic was a reminder of something emphasized at Lausanne: Christianity is the only truly world religion. It breaks the barriers.

But none of that’s to say that Zimbabwe is easy, or easy to understand. We spent yesterday visiting high-density areas all over the city, shocked by the extent of poverty, woeful housing (high-rises of one-room lodging once meant as hostels for single men now housing families), chaos, and crime. As John said, “We live in a land of sadness.”