Editor's Note: I think it is time to take a break from the political commentary and share this great piece written by one of my friends and posted on his Facebook Wall. I found it interesting but also very thought-provoking. Happy reading.
For other articles by Amakeze, Michael Chigozie, please click here.
For other articles by Amakeze, Michael Chigozie, please click here.
It was a sea of heads, mainly women’s heads, each head mounted atop a body draped in flowing white robes, whose flailing in the wind was diminished somewhat by a girdle around each waist. They were standing on a holy land which forbade the wearing of any footwear. So they were all barefoot. But no one seemed to mind. In the sanctuary of the spiritual, such things are but vanity of vanities…they are only but desperately mundane...
The atmosphere was charged, the music fast-paced, loud; the clapping emphatic; the dancing energetic. The spirit of God was moving powerfully. The congregation was thrown into a holy hysteria.
Prophet Amaziah sauntered in from the back. He has dreadlocks and sported the full complement of a moustache and a beard; with all the dignity of a seraph, he carried an ornamented bronze staff in his right hand and a bell in his left.
As soon as he was sighted, the rhythm changed. Even the light-bulbs which were lit and were hanging at the end of long loops of wire which came down from the ceiling began to sway. In the presence of the Holy Man of God, even the elements shuddered.
There was a surge as people tried to touch the hem of his garment in the hopes of getting a healing. Was it not reported that that woman who had been barren for 12 years had become pregnant with triplets after touching the hem of his garment 6 weeks ago? Never mind that she was yet to put to bed; the Spirit had revealed that she was going to be the mother of triplets. Two boys, one girl. The Spirit had said so. The Spirit cannot lie.
Some others did not join the surge to touch him; but if they did not use their arms and legs, they did use their voices, frenziedly praising him as the mouthpiece of God. He did not respond to the praises. He did not have to. He merited all of it and more. Oh, if only these people had eyes…if only they could see what he saw…
But he had to get to the altar to talk to his people…the people who God had sent him to deliver. They could touch his garments some other time. For now, he had a message that had to be given to these people of God from the altar. And quickly too.
The altar was an elevated platform at the other end of the building. Immediately the Prophet mounted the altar, the frenzied pitch and rhythm of the music moved up several notches. There was wild excitement and outpouring of emotions, too deep for words.
The anointing was multiplied. People fell to the ground in ecstasy as his shadow fell on them. His gaze sent evildoers spinning as their lips poured forth confessions of misdeeds past. The lit bulbs which had been swaying earlier, were now dancing wildly, overcome, as it were, by the power of his presence.
And then he rang the bell twice and all was quiet.
He silently surveyed his flock from behind that blank inscrutable stare that he almost always had. As his eyes moved from aisle to aisle, the eeriness of the silence became more and more apparent. More tangible. More magical.
And then, without preamble, he dropped the message he had been sent to give to these people:
“God is angry”
The very foundations of the auditorium resonated with the sound of his voice. The people remained still. His gaze, now accusing, penetrated the captive crowd. Then he stabbed a finger at the crowd. The tails of his cloak fluttered agitatedly in the stifling silence. The bleary weather contributed to the apocalyptic feeling amongst the crowd. It just felt like the quiet before a storm. Maybe it was.
"You have offended God with your sins", he declared.
And then came the avalanche. Tears were let loose. People moaned and cried for offending so good a God and his mighty Prophet.
"Quiet!", he shouted.
And quiet returned.
He closed his eyes and then started making some ooohs and aaaahs, all the while turning his head like a freshly beheaded chicken. It was indeed as if, on account of their sins, he was experiencing a sharp pain in his loving heart.
"Yes Lord, yes Lord", he muttered under his breath. It was a message coming in from God.
That was another thing about this particular Man of God, to the exclusion of all others – the frequency with which the Lord talked to Him; he was always in communication with God; they were such good friends. It was the Lord indeed who had changed his name from John to Prophet Amaziah when He first called him.
And now the rest of the message from the Lord was delivered to his people:
"God has directed that you give offerings to appease His righteous anger and escape the impending doom".
Immediately, the band, which had been as dead, came to life and switched straight into high gear with another round of music. Offering boxes were taken round. People gave and gave. It was a little sacrifice compared to their sins.
"Blessed be the Lord God of hosts and his holy Prophet Amaziah", they chanted.
Prophet Amaziah left the stage quietly. He needed to be with God for more messages.
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