Daggers drawn as stones fly in chaotic church

MWINGA WRITES:

Before I dived and started swimming in the word of God, almost immediately after getting saved, I came face to face with the devil in his true colours inside a church. I got saved in this church and was fervent to grow spiritually. But my spiritual growth encountered a myriad of drawbacks.

There are Christians who are preoccupied with maintaining religious practices, and have allowed God to become remote in their lives. Little did I know I was in the middle of religious jackals. With time, I started to get alarmed by the believers who refused to grow and change. Talk of religious babies and you will not be far off the mark.

For them what was important was confession. Like it changed them from their old ways in the kingdom of darkness without amending their lives. They turned the church into a personal property, which they proudly owned. Their sense of spiritual responsibility was somewhat deficient. I found the church being trite and hackneyed. The church ought to be a place of refuge, safety and salvation. But is that what I encountered?

Where I had landed was like Noah’s Ark, where all and sundry were given refuge. Some believers had crossed over from the kingdom of darkness to the kingdom of light but had not shed away their old traditions. They behaved like a snake that sheds its old skin to get a new skin, but still remains a snake, being dangerous and poisonous. And strange and barbaric. I found it to be a place of danger, abuse and exclusion; not a place of welcome, care and a haven of peace and tranquility.

Believers believe, and successful believers continue to believe, and continue to develop new spiritual concepts. Believe it or not, one Sunday, I found myself in the middle of a hail of flying stones directed at the pulpit. I could not turn my face backward to see the source as I feared getting my face smashed. The new priest hid behind the pulpit for physical protection. My oblongata changed gears and quickly went into overdrive. It reminded me that cowards die many times before their death. I had to act like a tough and muscular warrior. But my fighter blood did not shoot up. My fertile mind registered that my safety came first. I told myself that a good soldier lives to fight another war. It ordered me to get to safe grounds with immediate effect using all known and unknown strategies.

But shocked by what was happening, my knees had turned into jelly. On my back, at the left shoulder, a Bible landed on me. It was a heavy and devastating blow. It shoved and startled me. My warrior blood let me down. It did not get to boiling point as it would have happened previously. I was a pale shadow of myself. My quick mouth was not only slow but it was shut. However, the hit was forceful and hard; were it not for supporting myself by holding tightly to the seat in front, I would have bitten the dust.

It was a signal I was on the line of fire. Previously, it would have been fire for fire. But now my warrior blood went cold and did not come to my rescue. I pressed teeth on my jaws hard on my upper teeth, trying to provoke myself into an animal but without success. My tail remained firmly between my legs. I guess the coward in me popped up after seeing the light and getting humbled by the Word of God. What a transformation!

Hurriedly, I ducked and found myself on my knees. Next action: My hands reached for the ground as well and I went into motion. I crawled on all my four limbs heading to the nearest exit. It was a case of a bridge too near yet too far. Hell had broken loose inside a sacred place. There was a mad rush to get outside for all cowards like me. I consoled myself that I would live for another combat.

I guessed real warriors were left behind shouting obscenities; with daggers drawn and raining more stones aimed at the new priest at the pulpit. My difference with other safety seekers was that some rushed out bending, others just made a dash while upright, yet others behaved slightly like me and we looked like a herd of cows hurrying to a grazing field on our fours. The difference was that we did not possess tails.

It was each for himself and God for us all. The entrance was smaller compared to the number of those bolting out at the same time without order. It turned into a stampede. Legs treaded on me in the mad rush. I lost balance and fell near the exit. As I gathered myself to stand up, someone gave me a knock and I fell to the ground. With arms outstretched and earnestly swimming where there was no water, I became a stepping stone for many as they jumped outside stepping on my body.

How I got out was a miracle but I found myself outside. Panic and consternation registered on my face. I looked like one having been chewed properly by a cow but missed its throat by a whisker and fell to the ground. I was drained and haggard. 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.