Help! I’m Tired of Religion by Pearl Adams
Chapter 6
Confess Scripture and Get Rid of Poverty
“Christ took our place that we might take his. Think about a blood-bought position at the right hand side of the Almighty; that’s yours for the asking. Anyone who rejects such an offer despises God’s mercy. That’s why nobody will have an excuse on judgment day. God deliberately made salvation the easiest thing in the world for everyone to reach for and accept. Arise and possess the things God prepared for you before the foundation of the world. Arise and chase out the devil out of your life!”
As I listened to the baritone voice of my pastor, Benjamin Dabin, adrenaline shot up in me. I was ready to do battle with the devil himself. Pastor Dabin’s tapes were my constant companion since I joined the Assembly of the Righteous Church. They ministered to me even after I succeeded him as pastor of the church.
Before I gave my life to Christ, I was more or less an atheist. This was difficult for my family and close acquaintances to relate to, as my grandfather, Rufus Amba, was the pioneer Bishop of the Anglican Church in Ghana. Like the prodigal son of the Bible, I sowed my wild oats early in life and reaped in good measure.
I left home shortly after my secondary education in Ashante, and moved to Accra in search of the Golden Fleece. Unlike the prodigal son, though, I left home without an inheritance. I was in Accra for two years when I realized how stupid I was to leave home without my parents’ blessing. By then, I was too ashamed to retrace my steps.
I had a long line of menial jobs—waiter, cleaner, bus conductor, and the like—yet couldn’t make ends meet. I thought of enrolling for a computer course at a satellite campus of the University of Accra, but hadn’t the courage to try such a stunt, considering the state of my finances. It was a big struggle for me all the way.
Looking back, I realized that it was the mercy of God that prevented me from joining bad company. I know it was the Lord because, after my conversion, my parents told me they “soaked me” in prayer every day. Certainly, my destiny would have been truncated had dad and mum not stood in the gap for me.
After three years of living from hand to mouth, I got so fed up that I even contemplated suicide. Added to this, I felt some uneasiness in my soul that I couldn’t place. As the saying goes, once God is about to show up, the devil tries a trick or two to cause man to focus on self. This was exactly what happened in my case.
One day while on the way to the photographic lab where I worked as a cleaner, I picked up a tract at a nearby bus-stop. The message caught my attention. It said an evangelist called Will Mueller, a German, was coming into town “to set the captives free.”
Among those mentioned as captives were drug addicts, the insane, those with terminal diseases, as well as those under the yoke of oppression and poverty. I almost scoffed at the idea of a man claiming to have the power to perform such a feat, but something held me back. I wanted to be free from poverty, but was religion the way out?
I was acquainted with a number of Christians who were in the same boat with me. Was there a way they hadn’t trod? Did this evangelist have access to any secret denied other Christians battling with poverty?
Since I didn’t know where to go for answers, I decided to attend the crusade. I didn’t have much to lose, anyway.
Having made that decision, I went home and brushed my only pair of sneakers. My shoes had long given up on me after several “renovations.” The sneakers were my old reliable. As I brushed the shoes, I took stock of the items in my one-room apartment. Poverty was written all over everything in the room. I don’t know when a tear drop found its way to my cheek.
I wiped it off and picked up a bucket to fetch water from the public tap close to my residence. I said a silent prayer to God for the little mercy of not having to trek long distances in search of water. Some ghetto dwellers in my country were not so lucky.
About three o’clock, I left home and caught a bus to the venue of the crusade. Although the program was billed to commence by 4:00 p.m., a large crowd had already gathered as I walked to the pavilion. I was able to get a seat at a vantage point close to the podium prepared for the evangelist. I surveyed the faces of the people sitting close to me. Most of them were youngsters like me.
A few of them were in their early forties. I could see the look of expectation on their faces. Some were talking excitedly. From what I could gather from their conversation, the “man of God” had special powers to create the “atmosphere for miracles.”
A lady holding a child of about six years said she had been at a crusade hosted by the evangelist where three blind men received their sight. Another woman cut in that the “man of God” had even raised the dead at one of his crusades in Cape Town, South Africa. She said her maternal uncle, a pastor, was at the venue when the miracle occurred.
Hearing such testimonies, my hope soared. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one. A young man my age leaned towards me and said, “It’s nice to know that God still works wonders. Let’s pray that we’ll see action today. I’m tired of hearing stories of God’s intervention. Let him show up today. I really need a miracle. I’m Kofi Addax. I came all the way from Ashante.” Immediately, he straightened up and turned his attention to the stage where the choir had taken position to start the service.
I felt drawn to the young man, but I didn’t want to be distracted from my quest for deliverance from poverty. Eventually, I tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Sorry I didn’t respond to you earlier. I had much on my mind. I’m Michael Amba.”
I don’t know what I expected him to do, but I was put off by the far-away look in his eyes. I wondered why he bothered introducing himself if he wasn’t ready to make friends with me. I forced myself to give him a smile and resolved to focus on the crusade. God knows, I wasn’t in need of friends.
A tumult close to the first gate of the pavilion brought me out of my reverie. The “man of God” had arrived. I didn’t need to strain myself to see him, as the podium was close to where we sat. The moment he took up the microphone, the crowd cheered wildly. I found myself joining in some of the choruses I had sung as a teenager. I clapped, danced, and jumped to the beat, all with the consciousness of my desire to be delivered from the plague of poverty.
After the praise session, the evangelist took time to explain the message of salvation. Some people around me broke down and wept, but I wasn’t moved. I wanted to experience whatever it was that broke their heart, but tears were very far from my eyes. I looked at Kofi. He had a pained look on his face. What’s with this guy? What could be eating him up?
At the end of his sermon, the man of God invited those who desired new life in Christ to meet him at the altar. Frankly, I had no idea what he meant by new life. I joined the throng of salvation seekers, believing that God would somehow honour my identification with the cause of his Son, Jesus Christ.
After leading us to the Lord, the evangelist charged us to join any Bible-believing church close to our homes. In fact, ministers from a number of churches participated in the documentation of the converts, and used the opportunity to solicit patronage of their denominations. One of them, a large man in dark suit, took special interest in Kofi and me. He introduced himself as Benjamin Dabin, pastor of Assembly of the Righteous Church.
He pulled us aside and pleaded with us to “come and be blessed” in his church. I was noncommittal, as I didn’t want to start my Christian life fending off advances from hawks looking for members. I wanted to serve God on my own terms. I don’t know what Kofi said to the man, as I quickly returned to my seat to join in the worship session which was in progress.
While the crowd worshipped, the evangelist began to call out healings from across the pavilion. I stood stupefied as I saw a child with twisted toes healed right before my eyes. After about forty minutes, the evangelist beckoned the crowd to stop singing. He said it was time for the people of God to testify.
I turned around to look for Kofi, but he wasn’t in his seat. I was offended that he left the pavilion without at least saying goodbye. It wasn’t until the line of testifiers grew shorter that I saw him, sandwiched between two heavy-set men. I was curious to know what God had delivered Kofi from, since I hadn’t seen any evidence of disability on him.
When his turn came to testify, Kofi broke down and wept; obviously, he was overwhelmed by his healing. The evangelist embraced him and whispered something in his ear. Whatever that was, it brought a smile to his face. He raised the microphone to his mouth and shouted, “God humiliated Satan in my life today.
My brethren, join me to thank the Lord for his mercy towards me. I had blisters all over my body arising from HIV/AIDS complications. I had to wear two shirts to prevent people from noticing my disability. As we worshipped the Lord earlier on, the man of God said someone had been healed of AIDS. I knew I was the one. The blisters have completely disappeared and I have been made whole. Praise the Lord!”
Kofi’s testimony literally brought down the roof. I joined other Christians to praise and thank God on his behalf. As he returned to his seat, I felt an urge to embrace him, but I restrained myself. I didn’t want to be snubbed again. Immediately he sat down, he leaned towards me and said, “The God who set me free is also willing to meet you at your point of need.
Just put your trust in Him and not in your own righteousness.” Not knowing the right “spiritual” thing to say to his exhortation, I thanked him and expressed the hope that we would meet again to get to know one another better. We left the pavilion together at the close of the service, but took separate buses into town. He gave me his phone number, though.
On getting home, it dawned on me that the evangelist didn’t address the issue of poverty as I had thought he would. In fact, no mention was made of it, except for his assurance that Christ would set us free from all bondages the moment we accept him as Lord of our lives.
The more I thought about my dashed hope, the angrier I became. By 11:00 p.m., four hours after I got home, I was still seething with anger. Why couldn’t God at least have prompted the evangelist to call out deliverances from poverty as he did with those with physical disabilities? Somehow, I felt envious of Kofi.
I remembered that my granddad once said that God hadn’t any favourite and that all sinners require the same mercy through the blood of Jesus. Could that have been true from what happened at the crusade? Why did God heal some people and send others back the way they came?
I recalled the look of resignation on the face of a crippled man in a wheelchair as we moved out of the pavilion. Why didn’t God touch his tired frame and take away his misery? Is God selective in His healing? If so, what qualifies one for His touch?
I slept with these questions still running through my mind. I wasn’t used to having dreams. In fact, I used to ridicule friends who tried to share theirs with me. I was therefore surprised by the encounter I had with an unidentified personality in a dream that night. I was at a stream in a rural setting.
The water was sparkling clean and I was very thirsty but couldn’t bring myself to stoop down and quench my thirst. I was walking away from the scene when a dark-haired man in a safari suit emerged from nowhere and offered me something that looked like a mug to draw the water.
Instead of accepting his offer, I fished in my pocket and brought out a soft drink bottle and gulped down the contents. I noticed that my throat became very dry from thirst, but I still refused to drink the water, despite the fact that it was so inviting.
The man smiled and returned the mug to a bag hanging by his side. As he turned to walk away, I realized that I was dying of thirst. My throat was parched and I had difficulty breathing. It was then I woke up, screaming for help.
I was frightened and didn’t know what to do with the dream. I would’ve called the pastor who had given me his phone number at the crusade ground if I had access to a telephone that night. I was too frightened to return to sleep. I didn’t, for the life of me, relish the idea of experiencing that burning sensation in my throat. It was terrifying even thinking about it
At this time, I didn’t have a copy of the Bible, so I read and re- read the tracts given to new converts during the crusade. One of them, titled “Where Can You Flee from God’s Spirit?” laid bare my life.
It told of the story of the prodigal son in the Bible, drawing similarities with the way God goes out of his way to reconcile sinners once there is evidence of repentance. Perhaps I should’ve prayed for understanding or asked God to show me the way out of the pit of despair. I did neither.
The next day, I called Pastor Dabin from a phone booth close to my place of work, and he gave me a 7:00 p.m. appointment. His house wasn’t too far from the photographic lab so I just strolled down, my thoughts still on the nightmare. At the entrance to the gate of the house he described for me, a car slowed down beside me.
I turned, expecting to see the pastor, but it was Kofi at the wheel. He beckoned me to join him, and I wasted no time jumping into the car. I was delighted to see him again and I believe the feeling was mutual. We chatted like long lost friends and walked into the pastor’s apartment together.
We were ushered in by a lanky boy in white coveralls. Dabin introduced him as his wife’s nephew. He explained that the madam of the house was in school pursuing her Master’s program. After we settled down, Kofi said he needed to have a word with the pastor, as he had another appointment at eight thirty. I stood up to move to the balcony, but the pastor waved me down.
He said they would use his counselling room. Left to myself, I tried to keep busy by reading some Christian literature that littered the sitting room. I didn’t want to give my mind any opportunity to dwell on the nightmare. About twenty minutes later, both men emerged from the room smiling. Apparently, they had a fruitful deliberation. Kofi took his leave and promised to keep in touch with me after I gave him my address.
The moment the pastor got back from seeing off his visitor, he walked over to the dining area of the room and pulled out two chairs. He beckoned me to join him there. Without much ado, I opened up my heart to him, especially my battle with poverty. He listened with rapt attention as I regaled him with my tale of woes.
After I was done talking, he said, “The major problem with Christians is ignorance. That’s why the Lord said in Hosea 4:6, ‘My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge.’ What you need right now is the word. Eat the word, drink the word, make it your friend for life, and watch poverty take its leave of you. You wouldn’t need to struggle to make ends meet.
Proverbs 8:18 says, ‘Riches and honour are with me; yea, durable riches and righteousness’. That chapter actually refers to Jesus as the wisdom of God. He is also the word of God and you know that God communicates his wisdom through his word. You need to enrol in our Bible College. It will enable you to fill your heart with the word.”
Seeing the look of consternation in my eyes, he quickly added, “Don’t worry about the school fees. We run a scholarship program for those who can’t afford the fee.”
I thanked him profusely, but pointed out that I needed to keep my job at the lab to keep body and soul together. Without breaking the smile on his face, he turned his seat to face me and said, “Michael, I know God’s interested in you. That’s why I care. I’m willing to pay you twice what you earn at the photographic lab if you accept to work for me as my clerk.
I don’t want you to miss the opportunity of starting the program at the college for the year. New students are reporting next week and I want you to join them. You could stay in the hostel free of charge if you so desire. We are flexible with our accommodation, especially for men. Only female students are required to stay on campus. Do you have any objection?”
With two hands supporting my chin, I looked at the face of the pastor. He had a smile playing around the corners of his eyes. He was, no doubt, God sent. I thanked him for the offer and promised to do my best in the school.
I bid him good night and left with my mind in turmoil. Was I in the will of God? I felt some uneasiness welling up in my heart, but I had no way of discerning God’s will for my life. I resolved to give the Bible College a try; after all, I had nothing to lose.
We started the program mid-September 2003, with forty participants drawn from several Pentecostal churches in Accra. While we were undergoing registration, the pastor announced that those yet to be baptized by immersion would be assigned instructors to prepare them for the important sacrament.
After the pastor’s address, a student from the Redeemed Assembly, one of the fastest growing churches in Accra, sought to know if it was proper to admit those he described as “baby Christians” into the Bible College. I noticed the smirk on his face, which told me more about his spiritual condition than his assumed maturity.
In response, the pastor brought out a Gideon New Testament Bible from his shirt pocket and read 1 John 2:27 which says, “But you have received the Holy Spirit and he lives within you, so you don’t need anyone to teach you what is true. For the Holy Spirit teaches you all things and what he teaches is true—it is not a lie. So continue in what he has taught you, and continue to live in Christ.”
He put the Bible back in his pocket and said, “In actual fact, no one can teach a child to know and love the Father. That’s why God said in Jeremiah 31:34, ‘And they shall teach no more every man his neighbor, and every man his brother, saying, Know the LORD: for they shall all know me, from the least of them unto the greatest of them, saith the LORD: for I will forgive their iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more.’
“Well, you might ask, if none of us needs to be taught to know God, why did Jesus provide for the office of a teacher among the five-fold ministries? We all know that God cannot contradict himself. Jesus, before he entered into his glory, spoke of the ministry of the Holy Spirit which the early disciples were awaiting. He said in John 16:13, ‘When the Spirit of truth comes; he will guide you into all truth. He will not be presenting his own ideas; He will be telling you what he has heard. He will tell you about the future.’
“This boils down to the fact that the Holy Spirit is God’s approved teacher for all his children. Those called into ministry to labor with the Holy Spirit are nothing but vessels through which God’s power and virtue are released for the edification of the body of Christ. But does this mean that everyone is at the same level of spiritual growth? No. What God desires is that all of us may grow up to be like Christ; to reason and act like him.
That’s why God allows us to set up a place like this to create an enabling environment for the Holy Spirit to transform lives without the distractions associated with the hustle and bustle of every day life. Of course, you will return to your various homes after your graduation, but we are hoping by God’s grace that your mind would be so renewed by God’s word through the anointed ministers assigned to your classes that you would impact your world positively for Christ.
“While it is true that we cannot in our strength teach you how to know and love God, we would try to share our experiences with you, hoping that you would be inspired to run the race faster than we did at your age. I want to leave you with a word from Paul that’s been the guiding principle of my life. Fight the good fight of faith and strive to be a vessel fit for the Master’s use.”
Beckoning the instructors to follow him, the pastor walked out of the hall. As soon as they were out of earshot, some students took on the man who dared to describe the four of us as baby Christians. A burly man from Christ the King, Inc., a mega-church located on the outskirts of Accra, walked over to the culprit and demanded that the he should apologize to us, which he reluctantly did.
With that over with, we broke up into groups. I found myself with two guys from Rhema Ministries, and we hit it off right away. We were hardly apart throughout the one year we spent in the college. I learned so much from my interaction with these guys.
The oldest, Peterson Howard, said he gave his life to Christ at the tender age of twelve, but later backslid while at the university. The youngest, Edward Ambo, met Christ at the crusade where I, too, got converted.
Life in the college was hectic. We started our days with general morning devotion at 5:00 a.m., during which we took turns to read at least two chapters of the Bible. During our break in the afternoon, we shared from chapters read earlier in the day.
Our lectures consisted mostly of group discussions and Bible exposition by the instructors. The pastor took all the classes on leadership, while his spouse, Nene, handled counselling and lectures on marriage.
The convocation ceremony was held in July 2004, with some pastors from the participating ministries in attendance. To my surprise, the pastor had taken the liberty of inviting my parents and siblings. It wasn’t until the morning of the big day that he hinted that I might be entertaining some important visitors.
I just laughed it off, knowing that no important personality in Accra knew me enough to identify with my progress in life. It was during the presentation of certificates that I saw my folks. I was too delighted about the turn of event to bother myself with the propriety of the pastor’s action.
At the end of the ceremony, I walked over to my folks and embraced them. Not only was I excited with the fact that I now had a certificate to compensate for my educational deficiency, but I was done with poverty, as I now had enough word power to floor the devil.
After my graduation, I kept my job with the pastor, all the while hoping that things would change for the better. Initially, I was not perturbed by my inability to make ends meet despite the fact that I had many scriptures at my disposal to hurl at the devil and his agents. However, I became concerned when my situation didn’t improve two years after I left the Bible College.
To compound the situation, I met a beautiful Christian girl whom I was convinced was God’s choice for me. I was desperate for a miracle. I started bombarding the gates of heaven with prayer and fasting while at the same time engaging the enemy in battle with Scriptures.
In November 2006, God spoke to me for the first time. I had been studying the book of Jeremiah while preparing for a men’s class I was handling in the church. When I got to chapter forty- three, verse ten literally jumped out of the page. I was fascinated because I hadn’t experienced such until that day.
In fact, the part that gripped me was, “I will surely bring my servant Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon, to Egypt.” I was also perplexed because I couldn’t understand why a wicked king like Nebuchadnezzar should be described as God’s servant.
It was then I heard a still, small voice right within me say, “Your late grandfather had many servants. How many of them bear his name today? You query me for calling Nebuchadnezzar my servant. Your thoughts show the level of your ignorance about my ways. How do you read 2 Timothy 2:20? Does it not say that the vessels in a great house are deployed for use at the discretion of the master of the house?
“I decide who serves me and I also choose those I adopt as sons. You have shared often from John 1:1–13, yet you don’t understand what you profess, because your vision is clouded by idolatry. What’s the motive behind your religious pretensions? Is it not to escape from the clutches of poverty? You have been searching and memorizing Scriptures with the sole intention of delivering yourself from poverty.
“I say unto you, except you are born again by My Spirit, you cannot enjoy the things I’ve reserved for my children. I know the thoughts in your mind. My son, Dabin, didn’t mislead you. I gave him the discernment to single you out in the large crowd at the crusade ground because I knew you’ll one day turn your back on religion and seek me with your whole heart.
“As I said in John 1:13, the rebirth or new life comes from me. You don’t become born again because you willed it. No one comes to my Son except I draw him by my Holy Spirit. You are at liberty to follow my ways or continue playing religion. The choice is yours.”
As the Lord’s words hit me, I felt too ashamed to raise my head. I felt like a cad for trying to make God a means to an end. The conviction was so heavy on me that I sobbed uncontrollably for hours. When I eventually gathered myself together, I repented before God and pledged my undying love for him.
It dawned on me that I truly loved the Lord and I could tell him so unabashedly. Suddenly, the light of heaven flooded my being. I felt light-hearted and accepted in the beloved. I lost the desire to make money through whatever means, and dedicated my life to the Lord afresh
Six months later, I was ordained Associate Pastor of my church. I served in that capacity for nine months before the Lord elevated me to the substantive position to replace Pastor Dabin, who relocated with his family to Natal in South Africa to plant another church there. Two months after I took over the church, I wedded my heart throb, Jenny Kellio. The Lord has blessed us immensely and I return all the glory to him.