How I got Raped at Christ Embassy
So I woke up today (as always) and wondered what church woud be granted the privilege of my attendance. Mind you, I had consecutively skipped two sundays of service in the last two weeks (duh) simply because since graduating, I am yet to find a church as “befitting” as my campus fellowship.
Now don’t get me wrong. My fellowship wasn’t perfect. Hell, no. We had our flaws. The occasional dweeb who was screwing the choir mistress, the lazy-ass technical leader who managed to do a pretty banged-up job of sounding for the service every fricking sunday, and the sunday school leader who – obviously – didn’t know much more about the bible than a praying mantis.
Still, I felt at home in all five years of my stay there. You know why? Because we embraced our imperfection, and made adorable efforts to improve. I learnt everything about the scriptures there, understood the “body” of christianity, and began to serve God simply because I wanted to, and not because I had to (to “feel among”)
Too bad, my contract with ’em ended when I graduated. They sent me forth (the bastards, lol) and here I am, churchless after five years.
Oh, well, nothing spoil. I began church-hunting again. And that’s how I landed my butt in Christ embassy. The experience was less than adorable, friends.
Maybe it’s just me, but I found most of what happened a tad barbaric, and it felt like I was raped spiritually.
First, at the entrance, a lady (let’s call her sister Rosemary; Lol her name’s really Rosemary) hijacked my two sibs and I (innocents, us) and began to…minister to us, right?
She huddled with us at a corner and taught us how to pronounce her name Fluently (I can say Rosemary in Russian now!), taught us to say “Sister Rosemary invited us”. Like lambs, we stashed the info.
Getting into the church proper, oh what sights that didst astonish our eyes! We filled a “guest log”, and I had no sooner gotten beyond dotting the I’s of my name, when La Rosemary swooped in and asked “what name did you put in?”
In my head, I was like “nna bebe, lilax.” Assuring her that we had written her name, we got our seats, and listened to the pastor.
Our pastor was a young (ish) banker who, apparently, gives his tithes in hundreds of thousands (woah: you remember that’s just one-tenth of what he earns), and plans to give a million naira each month as tithe from 2013. Damn.
I was sweating profusely in this “rich” church, because apparently, in the joyous richness of the church, someone had forgotten to install ACs. And that was where I (and the rest of the church, my brothers inclusive) came in. We were supposed to come out and “sow” for the Glorious AC project.
I survived the first service. And the fear of church was stamped in my heart.
Sadly, this stamp was not a permanent one, and two weeks later, it began to smear, and I attended the church. That is today.
A short man in black waistcoat pounced on us this time and whisked us off to a “special seat” where we sat like lambs (wait. Lambs don’t sit, do they?) Another lady, Vera (who had bugged, I mean, called me all week) came and swooned “oh, you finally make it” and admonished me not to give anyone my number.
Short waistcoat came and asked me what that woman was doing around me, and I told him that technically she invited me, and waistcoat began to throw tantrums, telling me she was a pain in God’s ass. Vera returned and asked what the short dude was saying, and I said (meekly) “nothing. He was asking if I was comfortable”. She vexed too, and began to tell me he was the problem from her village (well, not in those words though)
See me see wahala oh.
Next thing I know, we dey write name for paper, and submitted it at the altar. You know how that love feast thing is done, right? Well, I ended up with the head Pastor’s name (you know, the millionaire tither).
People were hooting, “boy, you are blessed! Lucky you!”. So I decided to find out just how “blessed” I was.
I, like Jesus did some time ago, wept.
Apparently, I have to buy him a pair of suits and his favorite perfume. Hehehehe. Abrahams blessings are mine.
So, that’s it folks. Believe me, as long as this post is, I have omitted a lot of other things (like a cell leader who said anybody that left the church would not rise higher than him in life).
Ol boy ee!