Churches engaged in soul searching over role in Zimbabwe's crisis

Indeed, not all churches here agree that the government is responsible for Zimbabwe's current plight, or that it is the responsibility of men of God to speak out against it. The majority have remained silent.

Still others have sided with the ruling party. The Anglican Bishop of Harare, Nolbert Kunonga, uses his sermons to praise Mugabe and last year attempted to ban 19 parishioners from church property for their opposition to his pro-government stances.

While government foes here in Zimbabwe take inspiration from those like Nobel-laureate Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who was instrumental in ending South Africa's state-sponsored racism, and Martin Luther King Jr. - Motsi's personal hero - they also take warning from the places where churches here have failed.

Many African churches openly supported the slave trade, or opposed the fight for independence from European colonizers or for racial justice. In South Africa, for example, the Catholic church was criticized for its initial failure to challenge apartheid. In Nigeria, Christian and Muslim leaders have been accused of inciting religious violence that has left thousands dead in the past few years.

Still others have been closely tied to corrupt African regimes or have actively engaged in violence themselves. Last week, a Rwandan minister was sentenced to 10 years in prison by an international court for his involvement in that country's 1994 genocide.

"The [Zimbabwe] church runs the risk of becoming irrelevant if we don't speak out," says the Rev. Barnabus Nqindi, a handsome young Anglican priest who is saddened by the silence in his own church. "People will say, 'Where were you when I was hungry? When I was raped?' "

Fearing that churches are fomenting dissent, the government has tried to declare some meetings and church services illegal, and has prevented churches from feeding the hungry, saying that the food will be used to build support for the opposition party.

Motsi was arrested for distributing food, while Father Nqindi's colleague, Father Noel Scott, spent four days in jail before last year's election for leading a public prayer for Zimbabwe. Two weeks ago, a priest was strangled to the point of unconsciousness by police for taking pictures of a women's march against violence.

Back in his office before a trip to South Africa to garner support, Ncube - the man who may one day be remembered as Zimbabwe's version of Bishop Tutu - laments Zimbabwe's lack of religious leadership. In India, he says, there was Gandhi; in South Africa, they had Tutu.

Here in Zimbabwe, he says, there are more than 300 different churches, divided among and within themselves. While Ncube condemns Mugabe in Bulawayo, in Harare, priests serve him weekly communion.

"Mugabe has managed to divide us," he says. "Churches are no longer speaking with one voice."

"But," he adds, "we will not be bullied, whatever the cost."

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