In many ways my first year in South Africa was the most difficult – it was 1967. I was filled with great expectations, high aspirations, and a sense of divine calling. But I ran smack into apartheid, the ugly policy of racial separation.

White South Africa was a prosperous land dominated by European society. The people who ruled were Dutch, German, French, and British. They enjoyed life with every modern convenience while most black South Africans suffered in deep poverty. My call from God was to the black people. But if I was to continue under authority, I would have to submit to the program the Velberter Mission (VM) and the Apostolic Faith Mission had created for me.

We took up an extended temporary residence with Reverend Stephanus Spies and his wife Cecilia in Ermelo. They were very kind and provided well for us until we were able to move out on our own.

They lived in the designated white part of the city. Ermelo also had a town for blacks.  The Apostolic Faith Mission had church buildings in both the white and black areas. The congregations worshipped separately. Reverend Spies informed me, I would not be allowed to preach in white Apostolic Faith Mission churches.

“That is no great loss to me,” I said. “I came to preach to black Africans.”

“You will not be allowed to preach to blacks either.”

“Excuse me?”

“You will not preach at all until we have taught you the South African way,” he said. “And, of course, we have to examine you to be sure you are not a Communist. After that, you may get your own district.”

At first I thought he was joking. He was serious. The Communist Party had gained traction in South Africa because of apartheid. There was a lot of fear that a revolution might break out.

Soon after, he gave me a preaching assignment in the black church in Ermelo as well as in his whole district. I was so happy for this opportunity. I spent much time in prayer, asking God to give me just the right words for this group of believers. Spies drove me to the church and introduced me.

This was so special. My first sermon to a black audience in Africa. In my mind I saw the shape of the gospel and preached the words that filled the outline. I felt a great anointing. It was a message from the throne of God. And I could tell that the Lord had answered my prayer. The faces of those beautiful people lit up with delight as I delivered the ABCs of the gospel in a way that made them know they were the apple of God’s eye, not second-class citizens in the kingdom of heaven.

After the meeting Spies took me aside. “You committed grave errors,” he said.

“What errors are you speaking of?”

“First, you shook hands with black people. That is not to be done. Then, in your sermon you called them ‘brother’ and ‘sister’.”

For a moment I could not believe my ears. “What should I call them?”

“Call them ‘mense’.”

“What is mense?”

“It is a word that means people. They understand it. It is apartheid.”

I looked at him for a long moment before answering. Then I shook my head. “Reverend Spies, if the blood of Jesus does not make us brothers and sisters, then I will never again preach the gospel.”

It was as if I had hit him with my fist. He turned red at the collar and pale around the eyes. He could not reply. We were two preachers from two different planets. I was beginning to wonder if we preached two different gospels.

As we talked it over, Anni and I decided we could not dismantle apartheid on our own. We would not be able to preach the gospel if we made that our aim. But we could preach the true gospel, which brings liberty not bondage. And we could resist the system in as many ways as possible.

One day Reverend and Mrs. Spies came to visit. I had continued to receive the missionary magazine put out by the Velberter Mission of the ACD (Pentecostal Church) in Germany. One issue featured South Africa. It cited a statistical study of whites and blacks, comparing income, life expectancy, infant mortality, and other quality-of-life issues. It vividly demonstrated that the standard of living for blacks was far below that of whites. The differences were disturbing. I showed the study to Mrs. Spies and asked her opinion. She scowled and studied it but made no comment.

Days later, Reverend Spies asked me to come see him at his office. As I took a seat, he placed the copy of the Velberter Mission magazine on the desktop between us. Apparently his wife had given it to him for his opinion.

“Are you making a habit of distributing offensive material?”

“A habit? No, sir. In fact, I have better things on my mind.”

“Was this the only copy in your possession?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“You didn’t order extra copies?”

“No.”

“You didn’t distribute this material here?”

“No. I am, of course, still on the ACD mailing list. And I am here with the cooperation of the Velberter Mission. It is only natural that I would continue to get their magazine. I don’t write it. I don’t edit it. They decided to do the feature on South Africa on their own initiative.”

He pushed the magazine toward me with disgust. “Well, Reinhard Bonnke, your traffic light in South Africa has turned from green to yellow. One more incident like this and it will turn red.”

With this, I am afraid I hit my limit. “Reverend Spies, my traffic light is worked by heaven. If heaven turns my light red, only then will I go.”

I must make it clear that even though Reverend Spies and I stood squarely opposed, we did become lifelong friends. This was especially true after I was no longer under his supervision. But our confrontations during those days built a kind of bridge of personal respect between us. All of South Africa was headed for a tremendous upheaval in the years ahead. These events would force the ruling regime to enter the modern era. Spies represented the old way that was passing. By following my calling, God had automatically aligned me with the future.