The Jordan River

I was the last one in the sanctuary again today, because I felt a stirring in my spirit that wouldn’t let me leave without praying and dwelling in the presence of God. I’ve been hoping that my friends will soon join me for these priceless moments with Jesus, but I’m not pushing them too hard yet. Selfishly, I’ve really been enjoying having the whole sanctuary to myself after service, with no one to pick at my prayers or the pitch of my voice when the Spirit takes over. It’s indescribable bliss.

Being the last one means I have to ensure that the office keys are all placed in the safe before I leave. Pastor Patrick Dlamini had no trouble giving me the passcode to the safe when I began these after-service meetings with Jesus. He loves nothing more than a young individual perceiving glory and desiring all that heaven has for them. His yes was as easy as mom’s yes when I offer to wash her car.

I walked over to the boardroom and leadership offices to check that all the windows were closed when I heard a choked cough coming from the pastor’s office. I didn’t know anyone was still in here. I immediately tip-toed to his office door, hoping that my prayer wasn’t overheard and scrutinized by the man of God. I felt a rush of fear at that thought as I approached the door to peep through the slight opening. Before I leaned into the crack, I reasoned that if I were caught lurking, I’d simply explain that I thought I heard something and wanted to make sure no stray cats had found themselves in there. I nodded and chuckled to myself, ignoring the obvious conviction of the Holy Ghost concerning that ‘white lie’. I decided that I’d discuss my little lie with Jesus later and peeped into the neat office.

Pastor Dlamini was sitting at his desk, leaning into his chair and turning what looked like a needle between his fingers. I didn’t know that our pastor was ill so I lingered silently, ignoring the rising fear that I may have been witnessing a forbidden truth. He pulled open the table drawer to his right and picked out a small, transparent bottle full to the brim with a brown-ish liquid. I couldn’t see myself, but I felt my eyes widened in that very moment. Is that what I think it is or what it looks like? I was asking this with no intention of getting an answer or assuming the answer. I watched my leader thrust the needle into the bottle and suck the contents into the needle tube. My eyes began to water as I fought to steady my wobbling knees.

As he drilled the needle into his arm, I wept silently and watched. My mind was remembering every word of this man’s testimony which he’d just shared on the pulpit. It spoke to addiction and how it has no power over the blood of Jesus. He’d mentioned his struggle with drug abuse when he was a teenager and boldly stated that he’d struggled with it for a few years until Jesus took him through a near-death recovery in a hospital bed. I’m quite certain that testimony immediately placed Satan in salvation’s hot-seat. But…what was I looking at now?

I felt the urge to barge in and scream ‘HYPOCRITE!’ when the Spirit of God whispered “go away from here and pray for him”. I know it was a whisper but it felt more like a thrashing to the judgment I’d already administered in the spirit. I remembered to tip-toe backward, until I reached the room with the safe for the keys. I walked toward it, sniffling softly and wiping the perpetual streams from both my eyes simultaneously.

All I could feel was deep sympathy and sorrow, not from disappointment but from love. I was pacing between compassion and anger, yet peace set in my heart as I approached the church altar. As if to punish myself for what I’d led my eyes to witness, I fell onto my knees, wailing and praying. This went on for about thirty minutes when I felt a slight headache, interrupting this instructed prayer. I didn’t recall much of my prayer but I ended it with a confession that God deserves all my praise and that my hope for the pastor rests in the Lord. I also contended for the Gospel of Jesus Christ, confessing that He saves us from all things that wish to tear us from Him and keep us bound.

The sanctuary was still as empty as before, but it felt smaller now. Just like that, my place of comfort turned into a red-zone I wanted to escape immediately. I scanned the room through aching eyes and located my purse and water bottle. Racing to grab what was mine, I glanced one last time at the pulpit and fought the urge to cuss.

“If one thing is true, it’s that you, Lord, will not let your righteous be put to shame. The pastor will live to confess a new testimony, because this is not his ending. IT. CAN. NOT. BE”.

I fixed the sling of my purse over my left shoulder and marched out of the sanctuary.



Four months later, while I was mopping the church floors, following a beautiful service honoring the elders of the church who’d served for over a decade, I was still interceding for Pastor Dlamini. The prompts to do so intensified each week and so I made sure to add it into my prayer roaster – as a new prayer item. Four months since I’d last seen the pastor in the sanctuary. He hadn’t preached since that fateful day I’d witnessed and numerous congregants inquired of his whereabouts, to which I’d purposely respond concisely, mentioning that my guess was as good as theirs. In all truth, it was, but that in itself was bothering me. Of course, I tried to figure out what was going from the Holy Spirit who clearly was ignoring my questions. I’ve found comfort in that, for His name’s sake, God will withhold any further information from me to uphold the integrity of my prayers.

Although I was partly comforted by not seeing him for a while, I was equally concerned that something awful had happened. Like he was yet to be discovered dead somewhere or that he’d decided to leave the church and the faith. The idea disrupted my peace most days but reading my bible and confessing its truth, in those moments of worry, was keeping me hopeful. I didn’t know what’s coming next, but keeping what I knew to myself was harder than anything I’d done in the name of Jesus, yet.

“Phayo, are you staying behind again today? I want to dash and the Deacon left me with the keys”, Melo startled me with her question.

“Oh! Hey Melo. Sure, leave it on the table in the front. I’ll take it back when I’m done here. Thanks.”

I didn’t even bother looking her in the eyes. I simply turned my back to her and pretended I was rushing for something in another room. This burden felt too heavy. I resurfaced in the main hall and spotted the keys on the table I’d asked Melo to leave them. Relieved by that, I sank into the first seat I could, rested my neck on the chair frame and closed my eyes.

“I need you to tell me what’s going on, or at least confirm that he’s okay, Abba. Where is he? Did he see me see him or did he give up?” I dared probe my Almighty Father.

I prepared to sigh when I heard someone take the seat beside me. I kept my eyes shut, pretending I was deep in whatever I was doing. Then I waited.

“He says I should tell you you’re a good and faithful servant, Phayo”, Pastor Dlamini finally spoke.

My eyes popped open. I jumped and shouted ‘oh my God!’ involuntarily.

“Pastor!”

“He’s proud of you. As for me…I’m simply grateful. I wasn’t sure but I’d hoped it was you who saw me that afternoon. The guilt pointed me straight to the rehabilitation center and I vowed to Him that I’d be back when I was really clean. And delivered”, Pastor Dlamini confessed.

My mouth would not open.

“I’m sorry you had to see that. And I’m sorry it may have tainted your view of me as a leader indefinitely. But most of all, thank you. Thank you for praying.”

The pastor turned in his seat and looked directly at my right cheek.

“Your intercession was not in vain. That much you should know and believe. The bible tells us the prayers of the righteous carry weight, and yours really do.”

Pastor Dlamini turned again to face the pulpit, as he wiped a tear from his cheek.

I was still too stunned to speak but I had joy in my heart. Joy and relief. The man I was starting to believe would never step foot in the sanctuary again was back, and from the sound of his voice and conviction, I knew he was going to be alright. I broke a slight smile and felt my tongue drop from the roof of my mouth.

“You would’ve done the same for me, Pastor D”, I stated firmly.

I wasn’t looking at the preacher, but the corner of my eye caught him nodding slowly.

“Yes. I would’ve.”

The two sat in the empty sanctuary, both appreciating the silence with their eyes shut.