A Story of Passion

Where do I start?

Yesterday began just like the last time I met a Sangoma. We went to a lot of houses, and no one was home. The last house left to revisit was the house of Lucky, the Sangoma. I had never been there before, but Joe and Christina had, so we decided to go back. Lucky and his mother who is also a Sangoma were busy in their workshop, so they told us to come back in 30 min. We took that 30 minutes to meditate and pray in the middle of a run down basketball court. Allen read Psalm 23 and Joe prayed the Armor of God from Ephesians 6. I felt like God was telling us that we should go into the situation without any expectations or assumptions about these people. We knew they were Sangomas but we didn't want to seem ignorant. Also, I felt that in everything, we needed to have love. Before we started preaching, we needed to love these people above all else. Finally, we prayed for protection as we willingly entered into a situation where the devil was welcomed.

We walked back to the house and when we walked in, we sat alone for a few minutes before anyone came to talk to us. Finally, Lucky came and sat down with us. Joe and Christina had never met him before. They talked with his father last time they were at this house. We started out asking questions about his family, but that didn't last long. It was obvious that he was a Sangoma because his hair was beaded with red and white beads. He had a chicken feather on the back of his head, and his arms held many bracelets, all signifying that he was a witchdoctor. Joe commented on his hair. "What are the beads in your hair for?" He laughed. "Is it because you're a Sangoma?" Yes. "What do they mean? Do they have any significance." He laughed again. Yes. They were in his hair because he had a dream that he should put them in his hair. According to his story, his ancestors told him how to put the beads in his hair. So he did. He became a Sangoma. "What are those necklaces for?" Oh. I bought this in Durban because I liked it. "What about the other one?" He laughed. Oh! This one is a for healing myself. (It had a bottle on it.) But only myself. It could not heal you. It could only heal me.

We went on for a while asking him about being a Sangoma. We asked him if he prayed to his ancestors. He said no. He said that he only asked them to ask things from God. We told him that in 1 Timothy it says that Jesus is the only Mediator between us and God and that by telling his ancestors to say things to God, it was like putting them at the same level as Jesus. He was upset. He said that he was not putting his ancestors at the same level because they would talk to Jesus and then Jesus would talk to God. Joe was a little blunt when saying, "Do you believe that your power is from God or the devil?" Obviously, he thought it was from God. This made me a little uneasy. I could see that he was feeling attacked. I tried to lighten the mood by asking him about his previous job at Nandos which is a restaurant in town, which I believe is similar to Red Robin. He said that he loved his job at Nandos.

After that, we shared Bible verses with him about ancestral worship and he was silent. Then he asked us to repeat. I think he was starting to understand. There was a seed planted, but he was still hurting inside. Somehow we got onto the topic of other Sangomas. We asked if he had ever known a Sangoma that stopped being a Sangoma. He said that he had heard of them and they died. "Have they all died?" No. Only some. "Are you afraid of dying?" Yes. I don't want to die. "I don't think I would like being a Sangoma because it sounds scary." I asked him if he found joy in being a Sangoma. Yes. He enjoyed it. Then we started talking about friends. He said that he used to hang out with his friends all the time but that when he became a Sangoma they all stopped being friends with him. He said that he didn't want friends anyway because they all disappointed him. I could tell that he was scared and hurting. We asked if we could pray for him, and so we did. I prayed that he would be able to desire God and come out of the sin that he was in. I prayed that he would find a friend who would not disappoint him.

All the while, I could feel the spiritual warfare. My eyes hurt and he kept rubbing his eyes too. Whenever his sister would walk into the room, I felt a greater presence of evil. She was not a witchdoctor, but she lived in a house full of them, and yet she did not look well. She looked tired and sick and hopeless. She looked like walking death. I remembered to pray for protection while we were there. I think that was important.

As we were walking out, Lucky walked us to the gate, and I told him that I would continue to pray that he finds a friend who does not disappoint him. He said he would pray that I would become a Sangoma. I told him that wasn't necessary and that I didn't want to be a Sangoma because that would be too scary. Pray for me, for I know that prayer to the wrong powers is still powerful.

We walked away and everyone was saying how great it was that we accomplished so much in the name of Jesus. I didn't feel that way at all. I tried to explain how much I could feel his pain about not having any friends. I could see that he was sad and hurting and scared. I felt so strongly that I have a treasure that he could have too. A great treasure that could take away the pain and yet he was not ready to have it. I felt God's jealousy for him. I felt like God wanted him so badly. Deja vu? It was the same feelings that I had for the last Sangoma, only greater. I felt God's desire for him. I felt the burden of wanting him to come to know God in a way that would free him and show him a life of joy. I felt such a strong passion for him just like last time. I tried to explain this all to them, but one of them said that he thought Lucky was only joking when he talked about his friends. I don't think he was. I think, even if not fully, there was some validity to what was said, and it broke my heart. I tried to explain how I was feeling about Lucky, but I couldn't get very far before I broke into tears and was unable to speak. The whole walk back to the church for lunch, I cried. It's so hard to explain to you how much I felt for this man. My friend Christina told me that it was good that I felt this passion for him because maybe God needed me to keep praying for him. It was an emotional day, but it was good. I felt God's love and passion for this man and that is a gift that I will truly treasure in my heart for the rest of my life.