SHORT STORY

LEFT BEHIND Short Story by Ananiya Alick Ponje The nave of the church was bulging at the seams. Pastor Dr. Kingsley Mbisa walked softly towards the pulpit to feed his flock with the word of life. His black gown was flying loosely as the wind blew tenderly through the open windows. His smiley face traced the kind of joy that was hidden in the deep recesses of his heart. He had founded the church four months ago and it was already rewarding him handsomely. Having failed in all areas of finding money to feed his family with, he had just resorted to founding this church. “In this world, it is not what we receive but what we give out that makes us rich. Blessed is the hand that gives for where it takes God replaces tenfold,” Pastor Kingsley Mbisa preached in the church as he left the pulpit and began to walk across the pews. His church was one of the many divergent churches that had mushroomed everywhere across the earth and it was just in its honeymoon. Its pastor and founder, Dr. Kingsley Mbisa, always preached about prosperity. He was a man of thirty-something and he had no first degree in Theology or any other field yet he comfortably embraced the doctorate title. He did not extol the virtues of soul salvation but always preached about wealth. He had reached the point of claiming with absolute vehemence that only his flock would be saved from being damned and they worshipped the ground he walked on. In his church, all those who did not have a penny to their names were practically considered as outcasts. As the pastor returned to the pulpit, he placed a big plate near the lectern, telling the congregation to come and throw money into it and proceed to receive blessings. So definitely those who did not have the money were not blessed. Blessings were being bought with silver and gold and the phenomenon was becoming a dime a dozen. “Give and receive, this is the second greatest commandment,” said Pastor Mbisa, walking across the nave with a gait of a man eligible of being revered. “Shall a man who has devoted his whole life to feeding the sheep of God with the word of life sleep in the wilderness? Shall he starve in a land of plenty?” “No!” in unison the congregation responded. He dipped his hand in a bowl of baptism water and sprayed the water at the hilarious congregation. “Therefore, go out there and bring more lost sheep. Remember that everyone out of this church is lost. There is no redemption outside this church. I want to give hope and comfort to the downtrodden, peace to the depressed and love to the forsaken,” he said and added before winging up: “this is not my ministry at all. I’m only a carrier of good news to you.” His eyes brown and clear, were glued at the plate which was brimming with all types of banknotes. A young girl who resembled Pastor Dr. Mbisa took the money into the sacristy. The pastor wished three days were the time lag between prayer days. He was making fast money! He looked around the church and when he saw that his daughter had already gone into the sacristy, it was as though he would never set his eyes on the money again. The last prayer was said so quickly that amen came just after three seconds. Mrs. Mbisa was the treasurer of the church and her daughter the secretary. Other people outside the Mbisa’s family relationship held positions where money never went through. The church was Pastor Mbisa’s personal property and therefore he could not entrust anyone outside his family relationship with money matters. It would be better for his other half or his daughter to mismanage money at the church other than anyone else, he always told himself. Everything was over and the pastor was alone in the sacristy, making final arrangements. He was satisfied with what he had made that day. He had discovered the trick: people were eager to buy blessings and sometimes they bought them with all what their pockets held. As Pastor Mbisa stood to leave, he heard someone knock at the door of the sacristy and he ushered them in. In front of him sat a girl clad in top-of-the-class clothes. “I have something to tell you, pastor,” said the girl even before taking the load off her feet. “Have a seat, please.” He thought she had come to thank him for the wonderful message he had preached in the church for many people had already done so before. “Without wasting much of your time, let me say that your message in the church today was very misleading. You forced people to give.” Within seconds, his eyes were gleaming with indignation. “My message was misleading?” He darted her a warning glance. “Yes, pastor,” she said, discounting his countenance. “Extol the virtues of soul salvation not worldly wealth. Preach about the kingdom of God not man. If you know that you cannot serve God honestly then I’d advise you to stand down as pastor.” “Whoever you are, do you think you are a paragon of wisdom?” “No, I’m not. But still consider my plea. The earth is squeezing towards the centre.” “Would you get the hell out of here!” the pastor snarled. “Otherwise, I’m going to rip you open now, you bastard.” And those sour words were coming out of the same mouth that had been pouring blessings on people about half an hour ago. The girl left the sacristy, shaking her head somberly. Stopping at the door, she turned around and looked behind. She smiled sadly. “My efforts to convince you appear to have come up against a brick wall. I have washed my hands. But I still insist that you should think better of how you are handling these spiritual matters. I do hope that I haven’t incurred your displeasure to the worst point for I know that I already have.” She said. “Goodbye, pastor. In every person’s life there always is a turning point; we only choose to ignore it.” He scowled at her as though she was some filthy waste. * * * * * It was midnight and Pastor Dr. Mbisa was in the church together with five members of the youth organisation of his church. It was like he had just fetched up there. One of the five youths lit three candles and glued them to the floor. Then they all separated, carried their Bibles and hymn books to their chests and began to pray. Sweat was dribbling down their faces and tears streaming from their eyes like constant drops of rain on a slanting sheet of glass. They were praying for the spirit of God to be always there at the church for rumour had been rife that some people were on a mission to destroy the church. Out of the blue, Rev. Mbisa’s other half and his daughter appeared, such that there were eight people in the church altogether. As they went on with their prayers, the pastor saw the greatest mystery of his life. The boy who had lit the candles was being carried into space by imaginary powers. The pastor, his wife and his daughter were flagging. They dashed out of the church, screaming on top of their voices. The other four intrepid fellows remained there, unfazed and unflappable. They began to pray again as the pastor watched them through the window. The candles were burning out and the girl amongst the youth lit others. When the prayers reached the climax, a sudden rush of wind blew across the church. Enigmatically, three out of the four remaining youths were missing. The only one who remained was lying there on the arctic floor, sweating like a pig. Pastor Dr. Mbisa called his wife and his daughter who were a good distance away from where he was. They all stared in amazement at the clothes, Bibles and hymn books belonging to the missing people. The things had been left behind. The pastor gathered them and began to pray together with his wife and his daughter. When their prayers trailed off, a rush of wind blew across the church again. Then a person in a pure white robe and with a face that was shining like the sun held Mbisa’s left hand and said in a resounding voice, “you are not eligible of entering the kingdom of God.” He slapped him and he screamed. He was panting like he had just finished a marathon He had been dreaming. Heaving a sigh of relief, he wiped his face with a wet napkin and looked at a piece of paper on his wife’s dressing table. It had not been there all along. He picked the paper and held it cautiously between his thumb and his forefinger. The writing on the paper was brief: confess and repent, or you will indeed be left behind. That dream marked Pastor Mbisa’s tuning point.