Of all evangelists, pastors, bishops, arch-bishops and men of God, the perambulating preacher-man is the most effective.  He carries the word of God on his lips and goes on foot to deliver it to straying soul.  Sometimes he does so at dawn when people are likely to be fornicating.

When someone is committing a sin while listening to the word of God, he can feel the word like a spear piercing his heart.  And unless he has mortgaged his conscience, he will continue the act but not enjoy it.  An adulterer will be struck like Saul on the way to Damascus.  He’ll be on top alright but lose his manhood.  He can no longer crow!

The basic truth about sin is that it is pleasurable.  If it is not enjoyable, it will not be worth committing.  What will be the incentive to commit adultery for instance when it is not titillating and ultimately orgasmic?

For some men, married women are the only category of women that turns them on.  According to them, it is more pleasurable making love to a woman who does not belong to you.  And because she does not belong to you, better do you worst with her before she returns to her bonafide owner.  To some mortals, illicit sex is sweetest.

The aim of the preacher-man is to make the word of God sound nasty in the sinners’ ear.

The preacher-man will then urge the adulterer to go straight to his knees, confess his sins and cry for forgiveness.  From there he must repent and believe that the Lord Jesus is his saviour, his redeemer, his alpha, his omega. And then he will be accepted into the assembly of saints and given a passport in preparation for a journey to heaven.  No visa fees! No debriefing!

The truth also is that, some people hear the word and harden their hearts like Pharaoh did.  They will always deride the word of the preacher-man.  “Listen to the nonsense that idiot is spewing.  He won’t think about himself”.

When I got very sick and my heart was failing, a kindly student nurse wanted to check out on Saint Peter to organise my traveling arrangements, because she was sure I wouldn’t make it, for the fact that my kidneys were also malfunctioning; my liver in tatters.

She came to my bedside and found me extremely weak, waiting to pass on.  The night earlier, four people had died in my ward.  In the medical ward where heart patients were, it was getting pretty fashionable to die.

Those of us lingering on in pain and refusing to die were considered old-fashioned.  You had to be in vogue.  The vaults of the mortuary were yawning for new inmates.  Why not kick the budget and take your spot?

The young student nurse asked politely: “Are you sure, Mr. Merari, that if it happens, God forbid anyway, that you die now, will you go to heaven?”

I looked at her, a bit warily.  Was the young woman prophesying my home-call, precisely my obituary? I ignored her.  But she asked me the same question again and again. “I don’t know!” I said weakly.

“Now since you don’t know, why don’t you make sure that in case you die, you won’t go to hell?”  I didn’t quite bring myself to cogitating why this nurse was disturbing my peace with this hell and heaven business.

“Are you aware that you are bothering me?” I asked.

“Yes,” she answered, “but I want you to go to heaven”.

“It is too late!”

I thought she was going to leave me alone now.  She didn’t.

“I want you to accept Jesus Christ as your personal saviour,” she said.

“I did that six years ago.”

“I want you to do it again”.

“How many times do I have to do it?” I asked.  “You want to tell me that six years ago the Lord was deaf?”

The young lady laughed at my suggestion.  After all, the dying man at least had some sense of humour.  “You’re funny, Mr. Merari,” she said and looked at my skeletal frame and shook her head.  There was practically no flesh on my bones.  The skin was loose, my hair white like that of a 90-year-old man. I looked like a scare-crow.

“I am going to pray for you, Mr. Merari,” she resolved.

“If you insist,” I said. I had lost hope.  I was prepared to go! Life no longer had meaning, I began seeing my dead mother and I went to her crying. “Mama, I can no longer bear this pain; I want to come to you. She looked at me and said, “Kwame, go back; nothing will happen to you.”

I heard the nurse praying for me and I saw my guardian angel.  I called to him.  “Thomas, do not leave me at this hour.”