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7. Racial Tension In South Africa 
There is only one lamp post in Luderitz. Around it, on that day, gathered a large crowd of black faces awaiting the start of our outdoor witness. As I spoke, I happened to mention a story about the funeral of Abraham Lincoln, and a black woman in the throng watching the coffin of the assassinated president go by. Holding up her little child to see she said, "Look, there is the man who died that we might be free." As I finished, the bishop whispered from behind, "Look, Cap, you'll get us all in trouble mentioning Abe Lincoln!" This was not America, but racially torn South West Africa!
An invitation came from Bob Mize, my good friend and Head of the Associate Mission in Hayes, Kansas, who had just been consecrated the bishop of Damaraland. Bob wanted me to work with his native lay workers, hoping to form a Church Army from them as the Sioux Indians had a few years earlier. Even as I climbed the steps of the plane in California, I wondered whether I would really make it. Church Army Headquarters in America, who had seen scary newspaper reports of bubonic plague in Namibia, wanted me to stay at home. The National Director, knowing my determination, had written simply saying, "Go Ahead."
Flying into Windhoek, I knew that I had made it. The capital looked like a diamond oasis cast into a golden setting in the glinting sun. There to meet me at the airport was the bishop, a very imposing flamboyant looking figure. Some Bishop's assistants I met later at the cathedral were equally unusual. Bishop Mize did not delay and put me to work on the South African border in the diamond mining center of Orangemund. The overland journey in a bumpy security bus through the sun baked Namibian desert was long and arduous. Some roads turned into impassable floods in the rains. After many stops we arrived in the mining settlement. Immediately there were frustrations and problems. My first meeting came as a shock. As I made my responses I discovered that four languages were in use simultaneously. What a garble! The confusion reminded me of the tower of Babel.
Passing Along the Good News
Then there was the color problem. I wanted to hold a service on a location for the workers' families. I discovered that I had to have a pass from the Police stating how long I intended staying and what I planned to do. Security men lurked everywhere. Queues of workers lined up for a humiliating x-ray search of their persons before they could leave town. I didn't mind the humiliation for the privilege of meeting with the five native and one white congregation in town. Wherever I preached, the interpreter invariably embarrassed me by telling me that the people had said, "Your presence assures us that Christians in America really care."
On one evening, several hundred men gathered in a big tin recreation hut in town. As I preached, James Kalauma, a cheerful twenty years old catechist by my side translated. When I finished, he too gave a message in his own tongue. Everyone hung on his every word. From his action, he was retelling the story of the Prodigal Son. The only white man there, and hardly understanding a word, but his message came through to me loud and clear. Afterwards I just had to shake his hand in appreciation and admiration. James had I sensed, a great future.
A Flower for James
I recalled the stories he had told me about his father's four wives, and the pagan home he grew up in. His confirmation had been a crucial point in his life. "My friends severely shook my family beliefs at my confirmation," he told me. They had jibed, "You seem no different from before!" Jarred by this criticism, he prayed that night for forgiveness and received a wonderful experience of new life in God. Later, he became our first Church Army officer from Namibia. After training in Nairobi, Kenya, he flew to America and despite the odds against one with an eighth grade schooling, successfully completed an M.A. degree. Returning home, the church ordained him and in 1978 the wonderful news of his election as the Bishop of Damaraland came through.
Had God brought me to South Africa, so that this one man might flower in his ministry? What a glorious God, who works across many thousands of miles to fulfill his will for men!" Sometimes Bishop Mize sent me out on preaching missions alone, but on others he came too. At one evening service in Luderitz, he sat directly behind me in the sanctuary as I finished addressing the congregation plus a large group of children at the front. As I sat, the Bishop stood up from his throne and strode forward resplendent in cope and mitre to the front of the church. Rapping his staff on the hard floor to make his point he told us . . . "Everything the captain has said about the Christian faith is true! Believe it! Follow it!" With each crack of the steel tip the children's eyes almost popped out of their heads!
Unexpectedly Home
After only two months in South Africa, the government did not renew my visa. I had to return to the States. The Church Army raised serious doubts about the future of work in South West Africa. Another problem I personally had to face on returning home so quickly was what people thought of me. So many friends had sent me off so wonderfully to Africa, I hardly dared face them! "What could I say?" Then, a comforting letter arrived from a long time friend Dale Connor. "I would not worry what people will think when you return, Ray" he wrote. All of us have the problem that very often things don't turn out as we plan them. People understand, then quickly forget. Together our plans will become clear and the direction you are seeking will come from God. Trust Him, my friend, as you have taught me and so many others to do.
Soon after I arrived home, I was for a time guest in one place that had given me a tremendous farewell when I left for Africa. Most of the church people, if a little surprised to see me back, were very gracious. They said, "Well, it is good to see you again!" My other great concern was how not to discourage my friend and colleague, James Kalauma, who was then at the Church Army College in Kenya. I had written to tell him my reasons for remaining in America, and was relieved to receive his reply." Dear friend in Christ, I believe that this is God's own will. We are blessed because the Lord does not allow us to make mistakes. He is always showing us the right way to do his work. Praise Him for guiding! I am still praying that God will bring you back to Africa in His own right time. Your brother, James."
"You've gotta have a glory in the things you do, an alleluia chorus in the heart of you" 
