Pastor Kuchiva
God is weak, Pastor Regedzai Kuchiva thought.
He stood beside the wooden pulpit he had bought when he had decided to start a home church, watching those who had come for the service gather around the tables Aunty Abigail and his daughter, Runyararo had set out.
They swarmed around the tables like flies, eager to get a taste of the biscuits, sandwiches and cake; the Mazoe and tea that had been laid out. All of which he had bought out of his own pocket, which came from their tithing and giving. But he wasn’t upset, all these people would pay it back eventually. He laughed darkly within himself.
The service today had been a success. All the regulars had come, faithful and consistent as ever, they had sat in their seats, riveted by his words. Nodding and agreeing; moved. He had spoken about blessings today, emphasising that the only way they could be blessed was to give.
He had used carefully selected verses to support all he said. Whether he used them in the correct context or interpreted them correctly, he didn’t care. All that mattered was that all of them would be convinced to give. And they had given, tithing as much money as they could.
He was pleased. Whilst their pockets were emptied, his would be filled and with his new wealth he would gain more power and influence. He smiled; a wolf-like grin. Yes, he thought again, God is weak.
He had so much power over these people, they were all under his thumb and they all served him. If God was really so powerful, surely none of these people would have fallen so easily into the trap of his words?
“I see your son did not attend church today.” Pastor Kuchiva was pulled out of his thoughts by a sharp voice. He turned to find one of the church attendees, a woman in her fifties wearing a large pink hat, and a purple jacket and skirt standing beside him. Amai Kudakwashe. She was a nosy woman, always inquiring after his family, prying into his life.
At the mention of his son Pastor Kuchiva felt annoyance would rise up from his belly like fire, until it burned his throat. His son’s lack of attendance was a rising topic of discussion amongst the congregation. He did not really care that his son did not believe in God. But the fact that he did not show up for church reflected badly on him, Pastor Kuchiva. He did his best to play it off like Clemence was just a wayward and lost sheep, a prodigal son who would return home soon.
“Ah, yes. You know how children can be very stubborn,” he replied, trying his best to hide his annoyance.
“Mhmm. Very true. Very true,” she said, nodding her head enthusiastically. “Mwana wangu? Kuda? He was just the same. Never going to church, just spending time with his friends going to parties. Playing around. But eventually I just said you know what? Enough is enough. One day I said to him. Kuda, if you do not stop this nonsense. I am going to kick you out of this house. You must go to church. He he. Did he not change his attitude that day? Mhmm? Where else would he have gone? he cannot afford to live alone.”
“Mhmm, yes. You know I should probably try that with my son. It could work.” Pastor Kuchiva replied. He nodded, pretending to be thinking over the words she had said but inside he cursed her. This woman talked too much.
“It will work, I tell you.” Amai Kudakwashe continued, “ My friend-” , he was saved from hearing another of her long stories when she was interrupted by the approach of one of the church elders, Baba Toravanhu. He was a stocky man in his late sixties, with thick limbs and a firm, round belly.
“Ah, Baba Toravanhu,” she exclaimed excitedly, “Mwangwanani, makadii? You came at a good time. I was just telling our pastor here how best he can convince his son to attend church.”
Baba Toravanhu smiled, “Is that so?” he chuckled. “I am sure he is finding your advice very useful. But I am sorry that I will have to interrupt. I must speak to our dear pastor about some church issues.”
“Oh yes yes. That is very fine,” she said, more than eager to accommodate him. “I should be going anyway. There is much to do at home. Food to prepare, cleaning, and you can’t always trust these maids to do the work properly.” With that she waved at them and made her way back to the people gathered around the tea table, most likely to talk to their ears off before she actually decided to head home.
Pastor Kuchiva took a deep breath, and the rush of air helped cool the heat of his rising irritation.
“I see I came just in time,” Baba Toravanhu said, chuckling. He too had had to entertain Amai Kudakwashe’s chatter many times.
“You did!”
Baba Toravanhu laughed even more at his loud reply. “Pastor. It is good to spend time talking to the congregation. You must keep up appearances. This is the best way to do that.”
Baba Toravanhu had told him this many times and Pastor Kuchiva understood how important it was to make sure everyone believed his “good pastor actor”.
“I know. I know,” he said.
“Good. Good.” Baba Toravanhu replied, nodding his head. “Oh yes, I came to remind you that we will be having a meeting tonight.”
As if Pastor Kuchiva had forgotten about it. It was these meetings that had helped his church become as successful as it now was. It was these meetings that helped him become successful.
“Eh he. I remember. Will it be held at your house?”
“Yes. At ten o’clock. The others will be there. ”
“Alright.”
“Good. Alright,” Baba Toravanhu began clapping his hands together. “I must be taking my leave now. My wife is waiting for me.” He clapped Pastor Kuchiva on the shoulder and shook him slightly. “And my friend, don’t you worry about these talkative people,” he brought his head down until his mouth was by Pastor Kuchiva’s ear. “Remember, they are the key to making you rich. Mhmm?” He stepped back and then shook him once more before letting go. “I will see you tonight, Pastor.”
Pastor Kuchiva watched as he headed to his blue Mercedes which was parked by the side. As Baba Toravanhu walked away, Pastor Kuchiva’s earlier feelings of frustration were replaced by gleeful anticipation.
Baba Toravanhu had reminded him of just why he had chosen this position in the first place. Things were moving well for him and if he attended this meeting they would continue to do so. The nosy words of some woman would not change that. He smiled, pleased once more. Yes, all was well. All was very well indeed.
