The Hand of God

 

 

[1]

 

Romans 15:13 Contemporary English Version

¹³ I pray that God, who gives hope, will bless you with complete happiness and peace because of your faith. And may the power of the Holy Spirit fill you with hope.

 

A couple weeks ago I was visiting Solusi University in Zimbabwe. Dad had gone there in 1954 to turn this mission station into a university to train local leaders to take over the work. Adventists in the country now number over a million members—a witness to the success of this endeavor. As I stood in the church Dad built, the Dean of Students, Dr Ndlovu, asked me preach for the Sabbath service there in two days.

I should have said no right then. As a professional mathematician, I can’t make a sermon with an otherwise full schedule in the next 36 hours. But I let him twist my arm. I decided to simply tell the story of Solusi as I remember it. So, between all my other engagements, I stole a few minutes here and there to jot down the history on my phone. I was twelve when we went to Solusi. So I remember much of that famous African Adventist mission from that time forward. I concluded my talk with the great hope of Christians everywhere: Jesus died to forgive us our sins and cleanse us form all unrighteousness. I felt inadequate, to say the least. Adding to the stress, electricity went out Friday night and caused me several extra sleepless hours.

At 5:12 Sabbath morning the alarm on my phone went off. I got up to shut it off before it woke my wife, Sylvia. But the alarm shut off by itself in my hand. Then I searched my phone—I found no evidence that any alarm had been set. After about 12 more minutes, I said to myself: There’s no way that I’ll go back to sleep now. Furthermore, I need to go through my sermon, which I haven’t had a chance to do yet. It must have been set by the hand of God. He must want me to think about the notes I have written.

The electricity was still off. So I went into our bathroom, closed the door, and spoke out loud the message I wanted to deliver later that morning. Of course, the phone had its own power. I rearranged things, deleted some and added others. I thanked the Lord profusely for giving me this time. When I stepped in front of the believers later, I did so with confidence and enthusiasm.

I count this experience as a real privilege to deliver a message in the church Dad built over 50 years ago.

 

Lord, thank You that we can follow in the footsteps of the pioneers who served you so sacrificially.

 

---

[1] Picture of me preaching in the Solusi Church that Dad built. ©Uni Clarke 2023

From Lusaka to Harare--Almost

[i]

Galatians 1:8, 9

King James Version

But though we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel unto you than that which we have preached unto you, let him be accursed. As we said before, so say I now again, if any man preach any other gospel unto you than ye have received, let him be accursed.

Hitchhiking from Lusaka, Zambia, to Bulawayo, Southern Rhodesia, I caught a ride in a little, old gray Hillman. The driver, a kindly man old enough to be my father, stopped and offered me a ride as far as Salisbury, now Harare, Zimbabwe. I accepted gratefully, tucked my suitcase in the boot (trunk), and climbed into the front seat next to him. We exchanged the usual pleasantries and spoke of our various occupations. I was selling Christian books in the Copper belt region of Zambia to earn my way through Helderberg College. I forget his actual occupation, but he was a leader in the Jehovah’s Witnesses in Zambia.

After an hour or two we started down the escarpment into the Zambezi River valley. Suddenly a great, tropical thunderstorm burst upon us. Lightning flashed, thunder rolled, and the rain came down so heavily that we couldn’t see beyond the bonnet (hood) emblem of the car. He found a spot on the shoulder and pulled over to let the rain ease off.

While we sat there he started talking very earnestly about the doctrines he held so dear. One of the topics he spoke about at length was the eight New Testament verses that Protestant pastors use to support their keeping Sunday, the Catholic holy day. I had been exposed to those verses previously and countered with proofs he couldn’t contest that none of them supported a change of the holy day to Sunday. Another was the Arian heresy that Christ was merely a good man and not divine. Again I countered with Scriptural evidence that indeed Christ is God.

We drove down and across the mighty Zambesi and on up the escarpment on the other side. As we travelled he went through the major doctrines of the Witnesses, and I very ably countered each one. I confess that at the time I was not a believing Christian and was doing it purely for the joy of intellectual debate. My knowledge of Scripture clearly matched his and was probably better. My speech exhibited neither Christian love nor concern for his soul. On the other hand, he was really pleading with me for my soul.

Eventually I had angered him beyond what any God fearing person should ever do. Hours from Salisbury there was a Sinoia Hotel made for travelers who would stop for the night or at least for some liquid refreshment along their journey. The Hotel was well off the road, but he stopped along the shoulder, got out, and took my suitcase and placed it firmly on the ground. “You’re getting out here!” he commanded. I did.

The exuberance of besting a knowledgeable opponent lasted a long time. But the shame and remorse of misrepresenting my gracious Savior has lasted longer. The poor man did not understand the grace of Christ, and it should have been my responsibility to convey this to him. Unfortunately at the time I had no better understanding of grace than he did.

Thank You, Lord, for Your limitless grace and love for all of us, JW’s included. May I not be accursed because I teach “another gospel”!

---

[i] https://c1.staticflickr.com/3/2369/5715069061_6b1f693e34_b.jpg