THE starting point for my vocation was my identity as a Shona, and an African Christian. I grew up in Zimbabwe, and my background is Pentecostal. My first encounter with the Church of England was when I moved from Leeds to Barnsley and followed a friend who attended a charismatic, evangelical Anglican church. I was welcomed beyond my expectation by a white couple who invited me back to have lunch with their family.
The Anglican liturgy was structured, but the worship and songs had some similarities with the African Pentecostalism that I had been part of. The incumbent, Canon David Munby (now retired), used to preach inspirational sermons, with less repetition than I was used to — I cherished the sense that I was learning something new. And the fact that the church was diverse, including people from Iran and, later, continental Africa, helped me to settle.
For the first time, I thought that I, too, could also be a priest — the vicar was reflective and was not shouting or preaching in what I thought was the expected way. I felt that I could grow as a person and that I had found a mentor. Friends and “prophets” in the Pentecostal tradition had told me that God was calling me to ministry, particularly the teaching ministry, but, as an introvert, I didn’t fit the mould of charismatic pastors; so I couldn’t see how it was going to happen.
WHEN I first told the priest in Barnsley that I wanted to be ordained, he said that they would need to get to know me before we could talk of the priesthood.
A year or so later, he recommended me to a vocations adviser, and I spent a discernment year at Mirfield, where I did three part-time modules at the Leeds School of Ministry before continuing with the discernment process and being recommended for ordination.
My bishops’ advisory panel (BAP) recommendation suggested that the structured prayer pattern in a high-Anglo-Catholic context would help me to develop a broader rhythm of ministry, and to be more deployable in a church that sees itself as a via media.
My personal circumstances made training a challenge — my wife had secured a position to train as a nurse at Sheffield Hallam University, but eventually a contextual training pathway emerged and I was one of the pioneers to follow this route in the Wakefield diocese (now part of the diocese of Leeds). My training supervisor had also been born in Zimbabwe, and he (Father — now Bishop — Stephen Race) helped to immerse me in high churchmanship.
Learning Anglo-Catholicism was like a right-handed person learning to eat with their left hand. At first, I struggled with the ritualistic aspects of it, but, little by little, I was formed to be a priest in God’s church.
It was hard, learning about the blessed sacrament, votive candles, the statues of the saints; and the issue of the Virgin Mary was a challenge (we said the “Hail Mary” at the end of all intercessory prayers). But I was open to learning, and, eventually, my undergraduate dissertation was on Mariology, focusing on whether Our Lady of Walsingham reflects African motherhood.
MY TRAINING was deep: I learned contextual theology, every assignment was a reflection; and, with time, I became better at weaving my own African experience into the theological text.
I was the only Black in my class, and it took great effort to develop a sense of belonging and to thrive. Having the opportunity to give a presentation on “African theology” was a major highlight of my training — it affirmed my identity as an African Christian within the C of E.
In addition, the preparation that I had to do for it exposed me to a wide range of African theologians and scholars. This has led me to combine the perspectives of African theology — with its emphasis on cultural issues, particularly in relation to African traditional religions and their relevance to the African diaspora — with those of Black theology, which tends to focus on the socio-political dimension of society, especially the poor, and the reasons for their poverty.
It would have helped me to have known that Black people have been part of the enrichment of Christianity from the beginning. But I had a life-transforming experience when I was among those students to represent St Hild College in Bossey Ecumenical Institute. This made me realise that theology can be approached from different angles around the globe, which in turn enabled me to try to make sense of my experience of growing up in sub-Saharan Africa, and to realise that an African understanding of God (Mwari in my vernacular language) is sometimes different from a Western one.
Though this seems obvious to some, for me it was a major cause of my failure to appropriate theology as it was being taught in the theological college curriculum. But I used the skills I developed to excavate my own history growing up in Zimbabwe, studying the biographies of Bernard Mizeki, and Fr Ashley Crisps (some of the pioneer clergy there), and particularly the way in which they tried to make the gospel relevant to African culture.
Being with students from Latin America, North America, and Europe has helped me to see things from other people’s perspective. The perspectives of Asian Christians have shown me that there are things to be learned from other religions, such as Buddhism, which actually help me to understand my own faith in greater depth. I, in turn, bring to the C of E perspectives from the global South.
When I first joined the Church of England, I wanted to “delete” my Pentecostal experience but Fr Stephen showed me that it was part of who I had become.
Learning to embrace my own identity has been key to accepting and loving others whom I have found to be different.
GERALD HIESTAND’s and Todd Wilson’s book The Pastor Theologian: Resurrecting an ancient vision challenged me to associate scholarly activity not solely with universities, but rather to see the parish as a “mini-university” which can enable theology to be developed in the local context. This helped me to see that theological education is an integral part of my vocation
Now, I have the challenge of a dual position as a parish priest and a university chaplain. Sometimes the posts complement each other; but, more often, they mean that I’m required in two places at the same time.
After a year of working very unhealthy hours (and with a young family), I realised that I needed to re-prioritise. What I have found helpful is to divide my day into three categories: morning, afternoon, and evening, and concentrate my work into two out of the three.
My learning at St Hild has convinced me that our spirituality has to include some notions of social justice since there is plenty of Biblical evidence that God was focused on these issues. As someone influenced by liberation theology and the works of Jean Marc Ela, I believe that theology should be developed in the struggle of parish life. If it is only in the academy or in seminaries, it risks becoming a privileged discipline for a select group, perhaps excluding those who need it most.
My hope, just like the biblical Amos, is to be a “voice for the voiceless”: for those on the margins of society.
The Revd Dr Ericcson T. Mapfumo is Missional Priest-in Charge of Christ Church, Moldgreen, and St James’s Rawthorpe, in Leeds diocese, and Anglican Chaplain at the University of Huddersfield.
