The night before her mother died, Liezl Copham’s mother told a friend she did not fear death

Marita Ackermann had survived cancer. On the day before that fateful day at St James’ church, Kenilworth, Sunday 25 July 1993, a friend, “Liz” visited for a braai. Ackermann told her she did not fear death because of God’s mercy.

She said she had been unable to move beyond Philippians 3:10–11 for almost two weeks and believed God was telling her St James’ Russian ministry was coming to an end. They sat on her bed, bowed their heads and prayed.

Roughly 24 hours later Ackermann was shot in the heart during Sunday service at the church and was declared dead on arrival at hospital.

This is a second instalment on the massacre and the people who died in it or survived it in People’s Post, the first appeared last week. Now Copham shares a first-hand account of her mom, the woman whose hospitality had brought Russian sailors into the congregation that night.

Her parents had joined St James in 1979, leaving the Dutch Reformed Church, where segregation formed part of church life. Copham described St James as “a countercultural sanctuary, a community attempting to live according to a different kingdom”.

For an Afrikaner family in apartheid South Africa the shift was profound. Copham’s mother had grown deeply in her faith and developed a passion for hospitality and sharing the Gospel.

“It didn’t matter who you were if you were in my mom’s orbit; she would ask you if you knew about the love of Jesus. Despite being an introvert, she was bold when it came to sharing why knowing Jesus was life changing.” As a teenager she found this embarrassing.

Strangers at the harbour

In August 1992, ice trapped a Soviet research vessel on its way to Antarctica. The ship docked in Cape Town. The arrival of Russian seamen, engineers and scientists had made headlines.

Copham said it was her father who suggested the family go down to the harbour to “see what the Russians look like.” The family communicated with the men through sign language, broken English and Ackermann’s schoolgirl German.

“They showed us photographs of their families and their work in Antarctica. They gave us Russian chocolate and USSR [the former Soviet Union] pins. And then my mom invited them to church.”

About eight men attended St James the following Sunday. Copham’s father drove them there via Chapman’s Peak Drive. “Dad had to show off,” Copham recalled.

The pastor asked congregants to host the men for lunch. People opened their homes. Copham said her parents believed the encounter was no coincidence.

“The language problem was not a reason to do nothing.” Ackermann found a Ukrainian Christian translator in Cape Town. The single harbour visit grew into a full ministry. Russians returned on later voyages and became family friends. By 1993, Ackermann was learning Russian; Copham recently found a notebook with Bible phrases translated into Russian.

The front pew

Ackermann sat in the front pew near a door at the evening service. She wanted easy access to leave with the Russian group for their translated sermon in another hall.

The attack began during the final hymn. Ackermann’s funeral took place on what would have been her 47th birthday. Copham was 18 then.

A father’s forgiveness

That evening Copham’s father gave a televised interview at the church. He looked into the camera and said: “I don’t know who you are. I don’t know why you’ve done this. You’ve taken my wife and mother of my children away. But in the name of Jesus Christ I forgive you and want you to turn yourself in.” His message was broadcast around the world. Copham believes her mother would have forgiven the men who killed her.

“Forgiveness does not make what happened right, nor does it mean that justice doesn’t matter,” she said. “That is why, 33 years later, I remember my mom, Marita, as someone who lived a life always pointing others towards knowing the love, mercy and soul-saving grace of Jesus Christ.”

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