Reasons why I turned Catholic

Sometimes I wonder what they could be saying. And why they are saying it so loudly.

Nothing gets my feelings more bent out of shape than the sight of 318 people crammed inside one large tent passing for a church, their hands in the air, their faces contoured in a million places and their voices joining into one loud river of prayer as they speak in tongues.

Sometimes I wonder what they could be saying. And why they are saying it so loudly.

But then they seem so much in the prayer zone that I think if you bring a microscope with you and examine the top of their heads, you will see little flames dancing there.

I never developed a keen interest in religion. While kids were busy doing what kids used to do in Sunday School, I would be out there somewhere playing “bano” and eating mandazi bought with the offering money, knowing very well that I will receive a dog’s whooping from mum for this when I get home later.

When I teenaged up, (I have always wanted to use that phrase because it’s one of those phrases people never use even though it makes so much sense) I went to a high school where they brought these movies of how unrepentant sinners would burn in the eternal fires of hell to the fiery Christian Union sermons every Sunday, before screaming at people to get saved or else…

So I became Catholic.

Now I am ferrying Pastor Oscar (bizarre name for a pastor) to Flames of the Holy Spirit Revival Church along River Road. I have never had a pastor in my car before so as soon as he introduces himself, I find myself throwing questions like, “What’s the difference between a pastor and a conman these days?” his way.

He is a passionate man. The kind that would approach a lady and say at the top of his voice, “I saw you across the room-ah! And I couldn’t breathe-ah!” And before the poor lady could ask if he needs an oxygen tank he says something about how he would like to share the blood of Jesus with her.

The kind of pastor who would have a throne at the front of his church; where the congregants would approach on their knees and touch his feet so they can be blessed.

“I think I lost my way completely Pastor, when the message changed to wealth creation through miracles.” I say to him.

A girl I liked before I met my wife used to go to one of those churches and I followed her there to try and get into her... well, you know what I mean.

The pastor preached about boundaries being extended. And the more you give (in terms of offering and tithing), the more your boundaries will be extended. “Utabarikiwa mpakaushangae!” he said seven times into his microphone, each time louder than the last, rivers of sweat streaming down his face, neck and chest, waterfalls of saliva droppingfrom his mouth and onto the face of anyone close enough.

Small envelopes were passed around and people stacked them with notes. I only had forty shillings to my name and I gave it all, mostly due to congregant (read, peer) pressure and walked back home because I had left my return fare in that envelope.

I hope the more they gave the more they earned back because for my forty shillings, I didn’t even get the girl.

That didn’t stop me from trying again the following Sunday. The message was still the same. Hard work wasn’t mentioned in this neck of the woods. Only miracles. If you pray loudly enough, speak the most flowery version of tongues there is and of course don’t forget to drop enough money in the offering basket, you will be blessed tenfold. “There are genuine pastors,” says Pastor Oscar, “And there are the false prophets mentioned in the Bible. Some people want to hear the word of God and genuinely work on their relationship with Him. Others want to hear about miracles and shortcuts.

The way I see it, these false prophets wouldn’t exist if there wasn’t a demand for them. But there is a high demand for such services and so they offer the supply. It’s business.”

I guess he is right. Some people want to be told that they will get that big house and that beautiful wife by the end of the year if they contribute towards buying their pastor a chopper. We wouldn’t have false prophets if people weren’t interested in being lied to.