Bhengu and Miraculous Experiences
Profile by Dr CUTHBERT CHIDOORI
My First General Conference of the Assemblies of God
The Congress on Mission and Evangelism held in Durban
W F P Burton and some Congo Missionaries
Nicholas
Bekinkosi Hepworth Bhengu
– His Youthful Dreams
– His Preaching
- Bhengu and Education
- Bhengu and Money
- Miraculous Experiences
- Spiritual Happenings
- The Sanctifying Spirit of God
– His Departure
Bhengu’s “Isinthunzi”
- Government and Politics
– Some Faults, Virtues and the Burden
of His Heart
President Lucas Mangope of Bophuthatswana
William
Frederick Mullan
The Fairview Assembly
Fred Mullan and the Gifts of the Spirit
A Miracle and a Vision
The Revival in Norwood
James E Mullan
Paul O Lange
William Branham in Durban
Oral Roberts in South Africa
Billy
Graham in Salisbury and Durban
The American Missionaries from Springfield, Missouri
C. Austin Chawner and the Portuguese Work
August Kast and the Mount Tabor Mission Station
Colin
La Foy and the Coloured Leadership
The Work in Zimbabwe
Mauritius and Reunion Island
Special
Answers to Prayer – 1
Special
Answers to Prayer – 2
A Beautiful Square with Good Vibes
Prayer and the Hippie Revival
The Young Turks
Tensions within the Group
The Split
of 1981 – Part One
The Split
of 1981 – Part Two
The Beginnings of the Faith Movement in South Africa
The Statement of September 1989
The Charismatic Renewal
The Start of the Pentecostal Revival World Wide and The Swedish Pentecostal Assemblies
Epilogue
APPENDIX 1 : How to be Filled with the Holy Spirit
APPENDIX 2 : The National Church by Nicholas Bhengu
APPENDIX 3 : Article from the Argus 5/02/1981
APPENDIX 4 : Pointers to the future of the Assemblies of God in the New South Africa (10/06/94)
My
belief, like that of most Pentecostal teachers is that when one
is baptised with the Holy Ghost, one can speak in tongues. That
is not to deny that many Spirit-filled Christians don’t
speak in tongues. I merely assert that if such were well-taught
Biblically, they could and would speak in tongues.
Nicholas Bhengu had reservations on that dogma. He believed strongly in speaking
in tongues but he deprecated the insistence of some Pentecostal enthusiasts on
trying to get people to speak in tongues.
A few Xhosa women
at a meeting.
The
reasons for his reticence are understandable. For one thing,
he used to say that were he to lay hands on his converts, some
of them would make such a big thing of it that forever after
they would claim a special charisma because his hands had been
laid on them. He understood the people he was ministering to.
He also used to claim that if he told them to speak in tongues
they would say something, whether true or false, genuine or simulated.
He preferred to trust God to come down in his meetings in spontaneous
outpourings of the Holy Ghost. In his evangelistic crusades he
used to expect this to happen. He used to speak of the event
as a “breakthrough”. When the “breakthrough” came,
as invariably it did, wonderful things would happen. People would
be baptised in the Spirit. Healings would take place. The power
of God would sweep over the
people with mighty revivalistic force.
Many of our missionaries from overseas were greatly offended by Bhengu’s
approach, even though he never entered into controversy over it. In 1964
when missionaries from the American Assemblies of God split from us to
form what they named, “The International Assemblies of God”,
this matter of the “initial evidence” as they called it, was
used as a stick to beat Bhengu with as though he were doctrinally unsound.
Yet Nicholas Bhengu experienced as much as and probably more of the Spirit’s
working in his life and ministry than any other person I have ever known.
One of the most outstanding was the healing of baby Anthony
Attlee. At the age of 22, Michael Attlee was a rugby-football star, captain
of his
rugby club, playing scrum-half at provincial level and generally thought
to be a Springbok in the making. The world was at his feet. But tragedy
struck with the birth of his first-born child, a beautiful little boy born
brain-damaged and blind. The medical prognosis was that the child would
never walk, would be able to sit up only at the age of seven and would
never have an intellect beyond that of a six month old baby. The doctor’s
advice was, “Mr Attlee, for the sake of your family life, put him
into a home, forget you ever had him, and raise a normal family. This is
not genetic. Your children will all be normal.”
Molly Attlee, Mike’s young wife, had a sister in the Port Elizabeth
Assembly where I happened to be pastoring at the time. Her name was Thelma
Botha. One Saturday morning she visited the Attlees to tell them about
Nicholas Bhengu and his wonderful healing powers, advising them that he
would be in Port Elizabeth shortly and suggesting they request prayer for
their child. She found Mike busy varnishing the floor of his flat, stripped
to the waist, wearing only a pair of rugby shorts. Mike was full of unbelief
and pride. His blood boiled at her suggestion. Instead of being grateful
for Thelma’s concern over his baby, he responded by saying, “No
thank you! No ‘black’ is going to lay hands on my baby!” Thelma
was shocked at his attitude. She replied, “Mike, you are more sick
than your baby.”
Her words stung the vanity of the young football star. Outraged, he stood
before her flexing his muscles, saying, “Sick! I’m not sick!
What’s wrong with me? There’s nothing wrong with me! Look at
me!” Certainly he was the picture of robust health: handsome, vital
and with a flashing smile. But now he was far from smiling. He gently took
Thelma by the shoulder, propelled her to the door, and said, “Please
leave my home; and never, ever, enter it again!”
But Mike was reckoning without his father who was dreadfully concerned
about baby Anthony. Attlee Senior lived on the North Coast of Natal. Incidentally,
he was a nephew of the famous Clement Attlee, prime minister of England.
Already he was on his way to be with his son in his hour of tragedy. When
he heard of Thelma’s confrontation with Mike over Nicholas Bhengu,
he made up his mind to have the man of God pray for the child. Doubtless
with a little more tact than Thelma had shown, he persuaded Mike to approach
Nicholas Bhengu.
So it came about that one evening over a Christmas weekend, there was a
knock at my door. It was Mike and his father. The elder man was a stranger
to me but everybody knew Mike Attlee from his photographs in the press.
I invited them into the cramped quarters Enid and I occupied in those early
pioneering days.
I must confess that I had no faith whatsoever that God would heal a brain-damaged
child, but I knew that the paramount need was for Mike and his father each
to call on the Lord for salvation. Taking the words of Job, “Though
he slay me, yet will I trust Him” I pressed home upon Mike and his
father the need to surrender to Christ, whatever happened to the baby.
Mike was humble and receptive as I spoke.
I told them, “Mr Attlee, Mike, were I to ask you now to kneel down
and commit your life to Christ, I know you would do so. But that would
be twisting your arm. Go home, both of you and pray at your bedside on
your own.”
That night Mike and Molly and Mr Attlee Senior all accepted Christ as their
personal saviour as I had suggested they do. But that was not the end of
what they were seeking. I was able to introduce Mike and Molly to Nicholas
Bhengu. Within a week I found myself with Nicholas Bhengu in the Attlee’s
comfortable little flat. We had come to pray for baby Anthony.
I well remember Bhengu that day. He seemed ill at ease in that social environment.
He perched awkwardly on a chair, placed together the fingers of his rather
large hands, and spoke quietly.
“
Well” he said. The word was drawn out into a long syllable, gentle
and musical. It could have seemed tentative, but it wasn’t. As he
spoke, faith began to rise.
“
Well .... with God, all things are possible”. He spoke for about
20 minutes, compassionately building up faith in Mike and Molly and in
me too, for I needed it. Then he prayed, in a low voice charged with feeling
and strength. One could not doubt that God was present and had heard such
a prayer.
Then followed a time in which the healing unfolded like a lily bud opening
petal by petal. From the first, Mike and Molly claimed the child was healed.
Mike testified of how he would feed Anthony with a spoon. One day, as he
put out the spoon for the baby to take, but before it touched the little
fellow’s lips, he opened his mouth. Hardly able to credit it, Mike
tried it again. Again Anthony opened his mouth. Mike screamed out, “Molly,
come and look. Anthony can see! He sees the spoon as I put it out to him.”
It was not so with me. I looked for evidence of healing but at first saw
none, until one night the Attlees brought the baby to our rooms. Our living
room was lit by one strong light hanging from the ceiling. The child was
in his pram, under the light. Gazing at him, I thought I detected a movement
in his eyes as though he were following something that was moving. Could
it be? Looking up at the light, I searched for anything that was moving.
Sure enough, circling the light was a little black speck, a midge or gnat.
Little Anthony was watching it. This little fellow, born blind, could see!
I knew I was indeed witnessing a miracle.
What followed stirred the rugby world throughout South Africa. Mike asked
me if he should give up his rugby career. I told him, “Mike, if I
tell you to, I know you will, simply because I say so. You must ask God.
Hear God about this matter.” About three weeks later at rugby practice,
Mike came to the decision to hang up his rugby boots. The news stunned
everybody. The papers carried banner headlines.
I called little Anthony South Africa’s miracle baby. As time went
on, he not only sat up but walked, talked and even went to school. Somewhere
among my things I have Mike’s testimony on a tape with a section
recording Anthony speaking in a bright, cheerful voice telling everyone
that Jesus had healed him. Mike’s voice concluded this utterance
in a feeling, almost-broken note, “You see!” He choked over
the words.
Anthony lived until he was about ten. At that age he began to have fits
and declined into a state of debility until the Lord took him. I cannot
understand why it all ended like that, but whatever the end was, it can’t
alter the fact that a little brain-damaged boy, blind and hopelessly retarded
was given ten years of pert existence and happiness. Only eternity will
reveal what those ten years did spiritually for Mike and Molly Attlee.
Mike
Attlee