Would you buy your pastor a car?
As I write this, my head is reeling, just thinking about the amount of money I will part with at the end of this month.
No, I’m not talking about those bills that we all have to pay to survive; I’m talking about the heap of harambee cards in my bag.
I have three Women’s Guild fund-raising cards, courtesy of relatives who are collecting money for church projects, two to offset hospital bills, and three “goat-eating” cards sent by close friends who want me to chip in towards their weddings some time this year.
Talking of weddings, I know someone who would rather remain friendless than part with his hard-earned money to finance anyone’s wedding.
His take is that if you cannot afford to pay for a wedding, then you should wait until you can afford it rather than burden others with what is, according to him, clearly not a matter of life and death.
Fund-raising to buy car
But I digress.
Two days ago, I bumped into someone I hadn’t met in a long time. After a few minutes of catching up, she whipped out a card from her bag, and informed me that their pastor was fund-raising to buy a car.
“Ehe?” I heard myself mutter in disbelief. I must have recoiled from the outstretched hand holding a pink square card because of the thought of the others sitting somewhere in my handbag. Or maybe because I had never heard about anyone who had fund-raised to buy a car. Anything else, but a car.
I politely declined the card and, from the way the smile quickly faded from her face, I knew that should we ever cross paths again she would pretend that she had no idea who I was.
This incident reminded me of an almost similar one three years ago. A friend had asked me to accompany her to church and, out of curiosity, I agreed. It was a fast growing church which was quite popular with young people.
We were only a few minutes late for the morning service, but we found a packed church, and had to sit in a tent pitched outside and follow the preaching via two giant screens.
The service began with some energetic singing and dancing, and by the time the pastor took to the podium, we were all revved up for some inspiring sermon.
The “surprise”
Just before the offering, someone who was seated near the dais, stood up, and announced that so far, they had raised almost half a million shillings, and needed another Sh300,000 to pay for the “surprise” they wanted to give “Mum and Dad”.
Everyone around me, including my friend, who was seated next to me, cheered. As the offering baskets were passed around, extra ones to collect money to go towards the “surprise” kitty followed.
Later, I asked my friend what the surprise for Mum and Dad that called for an extra offering was all about. Her explanation left me even more puzzled. Apparently, Mum and Dad were their pastors, and the surprise was a car that they planned to buy for the couple.
I found it hard to believe that “Mum and Dad” didn’t have a car in the first place. The two, both popular televangelists, had featured on television and in newspapers. On the screen and outside, they came across as wealthy.
“They don’t have a car?” I inquired, genuinely confused.
“They do, but we thought it would be nice if we bought them one that they could use to take their children to school,” my friend replied.
Saving for diploma
I was dumbstruck. Now, my friend doesn’t own a car or a house. In fact, at the time, she was saving money to pay for a diploma course she had wanted to study for a long time.
If I were her, I would have been hesitant to contribute towards such an expensive “surprise”.
Or am I making much ado about nothing? Tell me, could it be that I am not a committed Christian?
