Pray and Do Nothing

Have you ever had people knock on your door at that exact moment you are about to fall asleep, and when you open the door, you see two ‘sisters’ and a ‘brother’ with bibles clutched tightly to their chest and the fakest smiles plastered on their faces? I used to hate them so much because my conscience would always get them best of me and I would let them in and pretend to listen while conjuring ways to kill them. Guess who eventually became one of them?

Ding ding ding!

Yours truly. In my first year, I bumped into an association in my church where evangelism was the norm and I was too proud (or too afraid that thunder would fire me) to leave. So my preaching life began and I knew almost immediately that it was not my scene.

Over the years, I learned to accept, and maybe even enjoy it occasionally. I have had so many strange experiences. For some, I have prayed for the ground to swallow me, for others I have prayed for the same fate for my listeners - judge me all you want. I have been embarrassed more times than I can count, but I have had amazing experiences too where I would go home with more prayers than I could ever offer. The best days were always the weird ones with the weirdest people. You would be surprised the kind of people you get to meet outside your comfort zone.

Last week, I was with my partner and we walked into this girl’s room (after knocking of course). The first thing I noticed was that she was beautiful. The second was that she was welcoming. We did not get that often - at least not at first - and honestly I was so glad to meet someone that was willing to listen to us. So I talked and she listened and I talked some more. I hate to compliment myself and I’m not even great at responding to compliments, but I am sure talking is one of the few things I am good at; talking about the bible with three or four people at a time at least. I hate crowds.

Somewhere in the middle, she mentioned new terms that I was not very familiar with. She talked about divine health and divine healing. They sound harmless, right? I will tell you what she told me. Divine health meant that she believed she could never be sick in her life. Jesus had died for her and taken her baggage with him. About divine healing, she said her church (at home) was very keen on that one. They believed that no one needed to go to the hospital. Every ailment could be prayed away. I was stunned, then I was angry, then I was perplexed. Not seeking health care was like sticking to a blackberry curve when android and ios had so much more to offer. It was laughable, but no one was laughing. That would have been rude. I wanted to grab her and shake sense into her. I wanted to tell her to take me to her church so I could burn it down. All I could think of was all the pregnant women that arrived at the hospital too late just because they were trying to deliver their babies in church. I wanted to puke.

Her convictions changed my mind at a point. I like the kind of faith she had. It might have been a bit over-the-top and twisted, but she was not ashamed of it. I stayed silent for a few seconds, before I finally spoke.

“Were you ever sick when you were little?”

“Yes. So many times, but I don’t get sick anymore,” she said proudly. “I use ginger, garlic and turmeric to cook. I also drink a lot of water.”

Was that supposed to make me feel relieved?

“Will you go for antenatal visits when you get pregnant?”

“If my husband wants me too,” she replied reluctantly.

I spent the rest of the preaching time begging her to change her mind. When she would not listen. I begged that she should consider antenatal care at least. I told her a few heart-wrenching stories about bad things happening to good people and how God would not let doctors succeed if he thought they were so useless. I tried to explain that doctors were also working through God and that churches needed stay out of the way for doctors to do their jobs. No one ever calls the pastor to pray for a house to appear (because Christ is the stone that the builders rejected) or for shrubs to prune themselves (because Christ is a vine dresser). I might have taken the conversation too personally and although she agreed to give me the name of her church at home as well as their sister church, I felt I was pouring water on a rock.

As I went home that day, I realized that the piece of paper in my bag was pretty much useless. I was not going to do anything about the names she had given me. I had barely succeeded in convincing one human being. How would I deal with a crowd? What could I possible say to them? Do you want to die? Who told you your pastor does not see a doctor? I felt powerless and worthless.

In case you are reading and you have that mentality too, I will tell you a quick story that my lecturer (an obstetrician) told us. A certain pastor was giving his church member the deliver-like-a-Hebrew-woman sermon while she was supposed to be prepping for surgery and he walked in. Apparently, Mr Righteous’ wife was his patient and she had had three caesarean sections for his three kids. I don’t know about you, but I believe that is the height of hypocrisy.

I hope you think about this the next time you are sick and someone tells you to pray and do nothing else.

#TheRita Side

Inspired by Oluchi who kept calling me Rita this morning. Thank you for making me feel so guilty. Nothing else would have killed this writer’s block.

Photo by Samuel Martins on Unsplash