Would Jesus have accepted a car from Mnangagwa?

Tendai Ruben Mbofana

The question is neither a lighthearted hypothetical nor a simple exercise in historical transposition; it is a direct confrontation with the political theology of modern Zimbabwe. 

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In a country where the state-sponsored distribution of luxury vehicles has become a primary ritual of patronage, examining how the foundational figure of the Christian faith would respond to an offering from President Emmerson Mnangagwa cuts straight to the bone of our national ethics. 

This is in light of the recent gifting of the Apostolic Faith Mission (AFM) in Zimbabwe president, Bishop Amon D. Madawo, with a brand-new Toyota Land Cruiser SUV 300 Series ZX. 

Similarly, we have witnessed a close associate of the president, Wicknell Chivayo, tirelessly gifting the Zion Christian Church’s Nehemiah Mutendi, several leaders and members of the Johane Masowe Chishanu Apostolic sect, and Bishop Mangango of the Bethsaida Apostolic Church, among many others.

The car-gifting frenzy has not spared the gospel music fraternity, with prominent figures such as Mai Olivia Charamba and Dorcas Moyo also accepting high-end vehicles.

To answer it, we must strip away the layers of prosperity gospel compromise that have paralyzed the contemporary Zimbabwean church and look directly at the radical, subversive nature of the historical Jesus.

If a pristine, top-of-the-range off-road vehicle or a luxury sedan were delivered to the dusty tracks of Judea—or the fractured streets of Harare—bearing the compliments of the highest office in the land, the response would be swift and uncompromised. 

Jesus would not have accepted the car. 

To understand why is to understand the profound difference between true spiritual authority and the transactional charity economy that defines the current dispensation.

The gospel narratives provide a clear blueprint for this refusal. 

Throughout his ministry, Jesus consistently rejected the validation, materials, and soft power of political rulers. 

When the crowds attempted to take him by force to make him an earthly king, he withdrew to the mountains alone. 

When Satan offered him the kingdoms of the world and their splendor in exchange for a gesture of alignment, he called it a temptation. 

When Herod Antipas desired to see him perform a miracle for entertainment, Jesus responded with absolute silence. 

The offer of a vehicle from a political heavyweight is never a neutral gift; it is a structural mechanism of co-optation. 

It is a social contract signed in the currency of prestige, designed to convert prophetic distance into political compliance.

In the context of Zimbabwe, the “gift economy”—typified by the frequent, highly publicized handovers of expensive vehicles to traditional chiefs, influential church leaders, musicians, and select public figures—serves a very specific political utility. 

It creates a network of indebted elites who owe their mobility, their status, and their relative comfort directly to the presidency. 

This dynamic creates an architecture of silence. 

A religious leader or public influencer driving a vehicle financed by the state or its close business allies is a leader whose tongue has been subtly but effectively tethered. 

How do you stand at the pulpit and condemn the structural corruption, the economic mismanagement, and the systemic inequalities that leave public hospitals without basic medication, when the very keys in your pocket are a product of that system’s patronage?

Jesus’s entire earthly ministry was a deliberate counter-cultural statement against this form of elitism. 

He chose a donkey for his triumphal entry into Jerusalem—a calculated, symbolic rejection of the military horses and chariots used by Roman occupiers and compromised local rulers to project power and dominance. 

A donkey was the transport of the common peasant, an intentional alignment with the marginalized. 

Accepting a high-status, exclusive vehicle from a ruling authority would have fundamentally shattered that alignment. 

It would have visually and socially segregated him from the very people he came to serve: the poor, the sick, and the economically disenfranchised.

Furthermore, the moral economy of the New Testament operates on the principle of stewardship and systemic justice, not selective benevolence. 

The real tragedy of the car-gifting phenomenon in Zimbabwe is the stark contrast it presents against the broader backdrop of national decay. 

While high-end vehicles flow to politically loyal sectors, ordinary citizens struggle with broken public transport, unpaved roads, and underfunded social infrastructure. 

The historical Jesus, who fiercely attacked the religious and political elites of his day for binding heavy burdens on the shoulders of ordinary people while lifting not a finger to help them, would look at this disparity with indignation. 

He would not participate in a spectacle that glamorizes individual privilege at the expense of collective welfare.

The contemporary church in Zimbabwe, however, has largely forgotten this radical legacy. 

Many prominent leaders have normalized the acceptance of these political handouts, framing them as divine blessings or “tools for ministry.” 

In doing so, they have traded their prophetic birthright for a mess of pottage. 

They have allowed the gospel to be weaponized as a tool for public relations, legitimizing administrative failures under the guise of piety.

To ask if Jesus would accept a car from Mnangagwa is to ask where the loyalty of the church truly lies. 

True faith cannot be bought, and a genuine prophetic voice cannot be garaged in the fleet of the state. 

By looking at the life of the person who chose to walk among the forgotten rather than ride with the rulers, the answer remains an uncompromising no. 

Power gives gifts to buy silence; Jesus chose the cross to speak the truth.

• Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. To directly receive his articles please join his WhatsApp Channel on: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaqprWCIyPtRnKpkHe08