ZAOGA’s succession matrix: Unpacking the genius of Apostle Ezekiel Guti

In the aftermath of a powerful leader’s death, institutions often reveal their true character. Some fracture noisily, others limp along, held together by nostalgia and litigation.

A few surprise us by doing neither. They move forward quietly, almost deliberately, as if the absence itself had been anticipated.

That is what unfolded recently in Zimbabwean Christianity when Joseph Guti, known widely as Joe Guti, assumed the office of Archbishop of ZAOGA Forward in Faith.

To outsiders, the transition looked unremarkable. Another title passed on, another ceremony concluded. But within the history of African charismatic movements, it was an anomaly.

Churches founded on towering personalities rarely survive their founders intact. Authority blurs. Family claims collide with institutional ones. Faith becomes a vocabulary for power struggles. ZAOGA did not follow that script, and that fact alone demands attention.

Archbishop Ezekiel Handinawangu Guti, who died in 2023, left behind more than a vast global church. He left behind a question that haunts every movement built on vision and charisma. What happens when the visionary is gone?

In much of Africa, the answer has been predictable and often painful. Yet ZAOGA responded with composure. There were no public leadership battles, no splinter pulpits, no doctrinal improvisations to justify ambition. Instead, there was continuity.

That continuity was not accidental. It was engineered.

Guti approached succession not as a mystical event to be resolved by prayer after his death, but as a leadership responsibility to be discharged while he was still alive and authoritative.

His planning was neither rushed nor coy. Authority was defined early. Roles were clarified. Responsibility was distributed across councils, regional structures and senior clergy. Spiritual legitimacy remained central, but it was anchored within governance.

In doing so, Guti quietly rejected the dangerous idea that charisma alone can outlive its bearer.

The elevation of Joe Guti illustrates this approach. His ascent was neither sudden nor contested. It followed a known path, one that had been signalled to the church long before it was required. That matters more than it seems.

Succession succeeds not only because of who takes over, but because of what the community expects. Uncertainty is the accelerant of conflict. Guti extinguished it in advance.

Inevitably, questions of family arise. Joe Guti is Ezekiel Guti’s grandson, a fact that triggers familiar anxieties in a continent littered with religious dynasties that devolved into family fiefdoms.

Critics might argue that lineage, however dressed up, remains lineage. But this is where ZAOGA’s structure complicates the charge.

Family continuity exists, but it is constrained. Authority is mediated through councils. Leadership operates within systems. The church is not administered as an inheritance but as an institution that permits lineage without surrendering to it.

This balance is rare precisely because it is difficult. Many founders refuse to choose between family and structure, hoping loyalty will resolve the tension. It rarely does. Guti chose discipline instead.

By embedding leadership within bureaucratic oversight, training and evaluation, he limited the scope for personal ambition to hijack the movement. Charisma was preserved, but it was not allowed to rule unchecked.

The contrast with other African charismatic churches is instructive. Across Southern and West Africa, the deaths of founders have often triggered years of litigation and fragmentation.

Assets become symbols of legitimacy. Doctrine becomes elastic. Congregations scatter. These failures are often spiritualised, blamed on attacks or betrayal, but the underlying cause is usually structural neglect. Succession was postponed, avoided or left deliberately ambiguous.

ZAOGA avoided that fate because succession was normalised rather than feared. The church was prepared psychologically as well as administratively. Members knew who would lead. Regional structures understood their place.

International partners were reassured that continuity would not mean paralysis or doctrinal drift. By the time the transition occurred, allegiance could transfer without anxiety. Faith did not have to improvise.

There is an irony here. Charismatic movements often resist structure for fear it will suffocate the Spirit. Yet history suggests the opposite. Where structure is absent, power rushes in unregulated.

Guti understood that discipline can be an act of humility. Planning for a future without oneself is perhaps the most honest test of leadership.

None of this guarantees permanence. Succession is not a moment but a process. ZAOGA now enters a phase where the founder’s authority must be sustained without his physical presence. That is always the true test.

Family proximity must not harden into entitlement. Institutional loyalty must continue to outweigh personal allegiance. Systems must remain stronger than personalities, especially as younger leaders emerge and global expansion introduces new pressures.

Joe Guti inherits not only a title, but an architecture. His leadership will either validate or weaken it.

The measure of success will not be reverence for the past, but the ability to govern without leaning excessively on it. Continuity must coexist with adaptation. Peace must not become complacency.

The lesson here extends beyond the church. African institutions, from politics to business, struggle with leadership transition precisely because they revolve around individuals rather than systems.

When those individuals exit, disorder follows. ZAOGA offers a quiet rebuttal to the idea that continuity requires stagnation. Structure, when designed thoughtfully, does not strangle vision. It protects it.

Ezekiel Guti planned for a future in which he would not be present. In doing so, he secured a present marked by restraint rather than conflict.

In a landscape where religious movements often fracture at the moment of succession, that achievement stands out. It suggests that unity is not a miracle, but a choice made early and enforced consistently.

ZAOGA’s experience does not offer an easy formula. It offers something more demanding. It asks leaders to imagine their own absence and to prepare for it honestly. That, more than charisma or legacy, may be the quiet mark of genuine leadership.