The remarkable true life story of Peter Newman (Part 13)

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Shut Up In A Room

"Brother Newman," the man said as we all prayed in a large room in Holland, "God is going to make you into His donkey so that He can ride on your back." Stupid man, I thought angrily. I hadn't fasted and prayed for nine days to hear something as dull and uninspiring as that.

I'd gone to Holland with some Christians I'd met, shortly after waiting on the Lord on Kit Hill. I felt that God would answer me on that trip to Holland, so I shut myself away to seek Him. I prayed, fasted, read my Bible and spoke in tongues, but the only result seemed to be nausea and headaches, until that morning meeting when a brother came over to prophesy over me. I was quite prepared to dash back to England and book the Albert Hall, but when he started to talk about donkeys my heart sank. A racehorse, yes, Lord, but not a tatty old donkey ambling from one assignment to the next. I can't describe exactly what happened in my spirit at that point, but I do know that something within me seemed to die. I was prepared to be many things for God; I'd been called a fool for Christ many times; but I wasn't prepared to be His donkey.

I left Holland a disappointed man. Somehow that stirring enthusiasm which had driven me for so long had withered up and died. My ministry began to change from that point onwards. In many ways God started to do more exciting things than ever in my life, but the bubbling joy and excitement which used to be with me was no longer there.

Instead of holding missions and meetings, God started to tell me to go places, and He always led me to individuals, not crowds. God did some remarkable things. One day I was sitting on a train heading towards Stuttgart in Southern Germany. I was watching the beautiful scenery round the Rhine when God told me to speak to a young man sitting opposite. There were four of us in the compartment: myself, the young man and a married couple. I reckoned all three of them were German so I told the Lord I was going to have difficulty obeying His request. The young man, who was probably in his late twenties, stood up and went out into the corridor. I followed him.

We were standing next to each other looking out of the window. "It's beautiful scenery," I started to say in English. He just looked at me blankly and indicated that he couldn't understand what I was saying.

"What now, Lord?" I asked.

Then the Lord told me to do a very strange thing. I had to speak in tongues! I wasn't all that keen to do as the Lord had asked, but I obediently opened my mouth and spoke in tongues. Immediately the young man started to reply in Dutch. God also gave me the ability to interpret. The young man told me he was a lorry driver travelling to Italy to pick up his lorry. He said his parents were Salvation Army officers who ran a hostel for alcoholics and down-and-outs in Amsterdam.

I then told him how God had sent me to tell him about His love. We talked for a long time. I don't know if he ever gave his life to the Lord but I, at least, had the assurance that I was in the right place at the right time.

I travelled to Africa, to Israel; all over the world. I often set off without any idea of the purpose of my journey, but I always saw God working. Yet there was still a dryness in my spirit. I felt I was doing things almost mechanically: it was no longer wonderful to serve God. Deep down I resented the fact that God wasn't going to make me another A. A. Allen, Oral Roberts or some other great world-famous evangelist. There was no denying that I was becoming the donkey God wanted me to be, but my heart was still fighting Him. I felt He was holding me back in some way, denying me the public profile I had become used to.

I suppose it was out of this restlessness and lack of fulfilment that our African venture was born. Barbara and I didn't feel at home in any fellowship or church in England; so when we met these loving, caring Christians who lived in a commune in South Africa, we packed our bags and with our two daughters, Elaine and Sharon, we set out to join them. It was several weeks before we realized that some things were not quite right. We had had no idea, at first, that we had joined a cult.

How could an evangelist be so lacking in discernment? Well, every Christian needs to be in close fellowship with a praying church. Wise church leaders might have seen the dangers and helped me to look more carefully before I leaped. My problem at that time was that good men of God wanted me to represent their denomination, while I was concerned more for the furtherance of God's kingdom and less for the expansion of any particular denomination.

(Today I am surrounded by men and women who have my ministry at heart, and are in a position to advise and exhort me, for which I am thankful to God.)

The commune in Cape Town seemed to offer everything we needed. They cared about us, made a fuss of us, loved us, talked about being born again. A lot of cults are harmless at first sight: it's only once you're in them that you find out their true teachings and beliefs.