Daggers drawn as stones fly in chaotic church (PART 2)

MWINGA WRITES:

CONTINUED FROM PART 1: I was panting like an antelope that had dodged a ferocious and hungry leopard or an athlete who had just missed a world record. My frightened face; torn, dirty and dusty clothes, made me look like a twin-brother of a confused, scared and crying Dracula.

It was a stunning contrast of how I had walked in majestically in church that morning; wearing sharp and neat clothes, a Bible in hand and a smile across my face. I firmly and happily shook the hand of an usher, who directed me to a seat. Everything seemed normal to me and the mayhem took me by surprise. That it could happen in a sacred place, executed by believers, targeting the new priest, left me bewildered.

Later I gathered that I had received criticism and accolades in equal measure from the chaos organizers. I was accused of blowing cold instead of hot when it mattered. This was an operation for hard-ballers and not people who play soft-ball. Finally I was kept out and ignored because I was considered a weakling. I was accused of referring excessively to the Holy Writ in tough situations that called for tough solutions by tough warriors in tough times using tough weapons.

The story went that the local priest had been transferred by headquarters from that church to another. He had refused to go and get out of comfort zone. He connived with the so-called warriors in church to frustrate the new priest. He was not ready to cede ground. He wanted it to look like the locals refused to allow him to go due to public demand. And so, he had organized the chaos but cunningly remained behind the scenes.

The climax of the matter had reached its zenith that chaotic Sunday. It was prearranged that no sermon would take place to send a strong message to the headquarters and twist its arm to rescind the transfer. Believers came fully armed with crude weapons: Daggers, clubs and machetes were hidden inside their garments. Loads of stones concealed in their pockets. Highly intoxicated and explosive minds made them blind. It was a replica of the Calvary catastrophe being replayed in contemporary times scene for scene, only this time there were no Roman soldiers.

The intoxication was not from anything imbibed with their mouths. It was intoxication by demonic forces. This was to make the believers to behave like phantoms under the control of demons. The spiritually intoxicated believers reduced a priest to size in church in front of other believers. There was no difference between demons and the believers. I guess other demons had celebrations in hell as a consequence, where they enthusiastically toasted glasses and danced in front of their leader.

As a result, time without number, I asked myself many questions: What spiritual staff was between their ears? Were these flying stones coming from a quarry? Why brandish a machete dangerously in holy grounds? Why call for bloodshed in church? Were these believers really saved or not? No straight answers were forthcoming. In my spiritual mind, I knew sincere salvation delivers a believer out of himself and into God. And I found all their comedy being a tragedy.

I felt pity, sorrow and mercy upon myself. I was definitely out of place and out of step with the Lord. I was inside a bus heading south yet my destination was north. I had to alight even if the bus was moving at a terrific speed; whether it was suicidal or not. I thought I was on a super highway proceeding to heaven, but alas, I was on a dual carriage-way racing speedily to hell. I was to journey in the right direction in spite of everything. I bolted and boarded another bus, which I presumed was heading north for all practical purposes. I never went back there and I will never go back there, not even for a visit.