Ray McCauley was never just a preacher. He was a phenomenon. Honestly, if you grew up in South Africa during the 80s or 90s, the name Ray McCauley South Africa carried a weight that went far beyond the Sunday morning pulpit. He was the man with the massive biceps and the even bigger vision, a former bodybuilder who traded the gym floor for a 5,000-seat auditorium in Randburg.
He died in October 2024 at the age of 75. But the shadow he cast over the country's spiritual and political landscape? That’s still very much there. People loved him. People criticized him. Some did both in the same breath.
From Mr. South Africa to the Rhema Pulpit
Before the tailored suits and the "God Squad" headlines, McCauley was a bouncer. He was a guy who took third place in the 1974 Mr. Universe competition in London. Think about that for a second. The man was literally one of the most physically imposing humans on the planet before he ever picked up a Bible to lead a congregation.
He went to Oklahoma in the late 70s to study at the Rhema Bible Training Center under Kenneth Hagin. When he came back to South Africa in 1979, he started a church in his parents' garage. There were 13 people there. Just 13. Most people would have quit or kept it as a small hobby. Not Ray. By 1985, he had built a massive complex that became a landmark of the Johannesburg suburbs.
Rhema Bible Church wasn't just big; it was loud. It was flashy. It was "American-style" Christianity imported into a country that was literally on fire with political unrest.
The Tug-of-War with Apartheid
Here is where it gets complicated. For a long time, the charismatic movement in South Africa was accused of being "too heavenly minded to be any earthly good." Basically, they were ignore-the-injustice-and-pray-for-a-miracle types.
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McCauley eventually admitted he was wrong.
In 1990, during the Rustenburg Declaration, he stood up and apologized for his apathy. He realized that you can't preach about a God of justice while staying silent about a system that treats your black congregants like second-class citizens. This was a massive turning point. He went from being a "prosperity gospel" guy to someone who walked alongside figures like Desmond Tutu and Frank Chikane.
He didn't just talk, either. Rhema became one of the first truly multi-racial megachurches in the country. In the middle of the 80s, when the law said you couldn't sit together, Ray’s church was doing it anyway. It was a "prophetic picture," as some called it, of what the new South Africa could look like.
Ray McCauley South Africa: The Politics of the "God Squad"
If you want to understand why Ray McCauley was so controversial later in life, you have to look at his relationship with the ANC, specifically Jacob Zuma.
In 2009, McCauley invited Zuma to speak at Rhema. The backlash was instant. People were furious. Why was a pastor getting so cozy with a politician? McCauley ended up forming the National Interfaith Leadership Council (NILC), which the media quickly dubbed Zuma's "God Squad."
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- He defended the government on issues that made most people cringe.
- He argued that religious leaders needed a seat at the table to influence the moral fiber of the nation.
- Critics argued he was just providing a spiritual shield for political corruption.
It’s a debate that never really settled. Was he a bridge-builder or a power-broker? Maybe he was a bit of both. You’ve got to admit, the man knew how to stay relevant.
The Prosperity Gospel and the Private Life
Let’s talk about the money. You can't mention Ray McCauley South Africa without talking about the "Prosperity Gospel." The idea that God wants you to be rich.
McCauley lived well. He had a nice house. He drove nice cars. He always argued that he earned a salary equivalent to a CEO of a medium-sized company. But in a country with the highest inequality in the world, that didn't always sit right with people.
Then there were the divorces.
When he divorced his first wife, Lyndie, in 2000, it rocked the charismatic world. It wasn't just gossip; it was a theological crisis for his followers. A huge chunk of the congregation left. He eventually remarried Zelda Ireland, separated, and then remarried her again. It was messy. It was human. It was very unlike the perfect image usually projected from megachurch stages.
The Final Handover
In 2022, Ray finally stepped back. He handed the keys of the kingdom to his son, Joshua McCauley, and his daughter-in-law, Tara. He was tired. His health was failing.
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When he passed away in 2024, the tributes came from everywhere. President Cyril Ramaphosa gave him a Special Provincial Official Funeral. That’s a big deal. It shows that despite the controversies and the Zuma years, the state recognized him as a foundational figure in the "New South Africa."
Why His Legacy Still Irritates and Inspires
Ray McCauley was a bundle of contradictions. He was a bodybuilder who became a pastor. A white leader in a black-majority country who actually managed to build a multi-racial space when it was illegal. A man who preached wealth but also set up AIDS clinics and orphanages.
If you’re looking for a simple "hero" or "villain" narrative, you won't find it here. He was a man of his time—ambitious, flawed, and incredibly influential.
What you can learn from the Ray McCauley era:
- Adaptation is key. He moved from a narrow "spiritual" focus to a broad socio-political one when he realized the world was changing.
- Representation matters. Whatever you think of his theology, Rhema was a place where thousands of South Africans saw a version of the future before it actually happened.
- Ownership of mistakes. His 1990 apology at Rustenburg remains a masterclass in how a leader should acknowledge past apathy.
If you are researching his work or the history of Rhema, the best move is to look at the Rustenburg Declaration documents or the TRC (Truth and Reconciliation Commission) transcripts where he testified. They give a much clearer picture of the man's internal shift than any tabloid headline ever could.
Check out the archives at the South African Council of Churches or visit the Rhema North campus if you're in Joburg. The scale of the place alone tells you everything you need to know about the man's ambition.