06/01/2026
Africa is a place where Christian missionaries invested more than a century of
effort before my coming. I must say that I respect the work they have done. I am constantly reminded that the harvest of souls I see today is a harvest I did not plant.
Others sacrificed their lives to scatter the gospel seed to these regions long before the invention of the tools we use to harvest massive crowds today. Those who have gone
before us have labored in obscurity, laying the foundations of faith among these tribes. I must never forget that.
However, the mystery to me is how the life-giving message of Jesus can become dead, how a fresh move of God can grow stale. It happens. The first step, I think, is when methods that worked in the past are enshrined, and any new wind of the Spirit is resisted. Old ways are repeated without inspiration by many who labor as professionals. Perhaps they do it for money. They become what Jesus called a hireling for the Lord.
If one comes who dares to break the accepted patterns, he is persecuted. They have forgotten that the Lord seeks a living and growing relationship. He resists being entombed
in a method, or a building, or an organization – no matter how successful it might once have been.
Jesus spoke of the problem of putting new wine into old wine bottles. The old bottles will burst, He said. This helped me to see my way forward in Lesotho. I told Anni
that I was not going to invest myself in those dead churches. I did concede to preach at the local church onSunday, but the rest of the week I began to seek out new converts on the streets and in the villages of Lesotho. I am
happy to report that my approach of going to the people with the gospel eventually brought revival to those dead churches as well. But that happened many years after this small and very discouraging beginning.
I began to take my accordion to the streets and play and sing to gather a crowd. I would take up a spot near the market and at bus stops, any place where people were likely to be passing. Eventually people would gather to hear the nice-singing German boy with the blond hair and blue eyes. Then I would take up my Bible and launch into the ABCs of the gospel very quickly, before they could get away. It was just like my first street meeting as a boy in
Glückstadt. In both cases I saw someone come to Jesus.
At the end of my very first sermon at a bus stop in Maseru, a tall, thoughtful young man stepped forward. I’ll never forget him; his name was Michael Kolisang. He wore a colorful blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It was
the popular fashion for Basuto tribesmen, those who still worked cattle. He spoke to me through my interpreter. “I want this Jesus you have just preached. I want Him.”What better response could I ever want to a sermon? “I
want this Jesus you have just preached.” I thought, maybe it will be this way every day in Maseru! Little did I know it was beginner’s luck, pardon the expression. After that day
I preached many sermons and saw no response.
I took him into the front seat of my Volkswagen microbus.
With the interpreter helping from the backseat, I led him through the salvation scriptures. Then I prayed with him to accept Jesus as his Savior. Michael Kolisang has been at
my side ever since. He is today a bishop in Lesotho, pastoring a thriving congregation of thousands, overseeing several other churches and running a nationwide Christian Radio Station called Jesu Ke Karabo.
- Reinhard Bonnke ( Living A Life Of Fire)
- Spiritual Notes
