Ziba

 

 

Here at Mwanza in the Belgian Congo, when we find that the spiritual tone of the churches seems to be cold, we gather for three or four days, or even a week of prayer, ministry of the Word and waiting on God.

On one such occasion the crowd of believers was too big for a united meeting so my wife took the women into the building, another missionary going with the young folk to the shade of our orchard, while I went with the men to pray under the shade of some great forest trees. After a time of quiet prayer in which one after another led, the Holy Spirit swept over the meeting like a wind across a field of wheat, the whole crowd started praying, while I kept a quiet eye on them to be assured that there was no undue excitement or extravagance.

I was struck with the earnestness of a young man, Ziba, whose eyes were closed and his lips moving rapidly. I tip-toed round to where he sat, and listened. He must have been quite unaware of my presence. He was a simple village lad and had certainly never had any opportunity to learn a European language, since we speak and preach to them entirely in their own tongue.

To my surprise he was speaking in tongues and I could understand every word of it. It was absolutely perfect and in my own language. He was speaking of Christís return to earth to reign, and of the glories of His millennial kingdom. There was neither unscriptural sentiment nor ungrammatical expression and not a trace of foreign accent! What moved me deeply was that this miracle was obviously for my own personal benefit alone. When Ziba resumed worship in his own language, I moved quietly away, awed, and he does not know to this day what happened during that worship meeting.

 

W. F. P. Burton

 

From: W. F. P. Burton, Signs following, pages 35-36

 

 

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