“My father! My father! The chariots of Israel and their horsemen!” — 2 Kings 2:12
People of God, children of the Promise, Bishops, Elders, and the weeping heart of Africa:
We stand today in a silence that is louder than thunder. We stand in a shadow cast by the setting of a sun so bright, we thought it would never go down. The earth beneath our feet feels different today. The air in Zimbabwe creates a vacuum in our lungs. A Giant, a Titan of the Faith, a General in the Army of the Lord has laid down his sword.
Mutumwa Paul Mwazha of Africa has gone to be with the Lord.
To say our hearts are broken is an untruth; our hearts are shattered. How do you say goodbye to a man who was more than a father? How do you bid farewell to history itself? For 107 years, he breathed the air of this earth, and with every breath, he exhaled the holiness of God.
We look back today, through the mist of our tears, to where it all began. We look back to 1918, at the height of the Spanish Influenza. We see a grieving mother holding the cold, lifeless body of a baby named Mamvura. We see the despair in that room at Holy Cross Mission. The grave was dug. The mourners were ready. Death had claimed him.
But God.
God looked down from His throne and said, “Not this one. Death, take your hands off him.” We remember the moment Father Schmidt poured the water of baptism over that silent chest, and the Spirit of the Living God jump-started his heart. We tremble when we remember the words that echoed from the spiritual realm: “Mwana amutsirwe basa!”—The child has been raised for a mission!
Today, we stand as the evidence of that mission! Look around you! Look at the millions in white garments, stretching from the Zambezi to the Limpopo, from the Atlantic to the Indian Ocean. We are the “Basa” (The Work) that he was raised for!
He was not just a preacher; he was The Divine Commission in flesh and blood. We remember his encounter on the holy mountain of Guvambwa. While the world was chasing the fleeting winds of politics and money, Mutumwa Paul Mwazha was hearing the voice of the Lord asking, “Who is going to Africa?” And with the humility of a servant and the courage of a lion, he answered.
He loved Africa with a fierce, burning love. He championed the “Recreation of Africa” (Kudzoreredzwa kweAfrica). He taught us that to be African is not to be lesser; he taught us that God loves the dark soil of this continent. He took the Bible and planted it deep in our hearts, watering it with the Ten Commandments.
Oh, how we will miss his voice! That voice that did not need a microphone to shake the foundations of hell. That voice that called out, “It is written!” He taught us the sanctity of the Sabbath. He taught us that salvation is not a negotiation. He walked barefoot on this earth so that we could walk on streets of gold in the next.
As Jesus said in John 11:25, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die.” Mutumwa believed. And because he believed, he led us to the water of life.
There were times we felt lost, times the world felt too heavy, but we knew that somewhere, the Man of God was praying. We slept soundly because the Sentinel of Africa was on the watchtower. Who will pray for us now with such fire? Who will plead our case before the throne with such intimacy? We feel like orphans in a storm.
But as the tears stream down our faces, let us listen to the spirit of his life one last time. He would not want us to faint. He would not want the African Apostolic Church to scatter. If those closed eyes could open for one second, he would look at this sea of believers and say: “Keep the Commandments. Love one another. Finish the race.”
The Baobab has fallen, but its seeds are scattered everywhere. We are the seeds.
Go well, Mutumwa. Go well, you Great Intercessor. You have fought the fight. You have kept the faith. The angels are rejoicing. The heavenly choir is singing a song of welcome that we cannot hear, but we can feel.
Rest in the bosom of Abraham. Fambai zvakanaka, Mutumwa. Tichasanganiswa munaJesu. (Stay well, Messenger. We shall meet in Jesus.)
Amen.