Finally, I found a church that took me in just the way I am

By Asunta Wagura

Two questions that I almost always have to answer are whether I’m saved, and which church I go to. While I have no problem answering these questions, my concern is, are these the only prerequisites for spiritual satisfaction? I believe it requires more.

When I tested HIV-positive and was given a six months to live, my hopes of the church coming to my rescue were crushed by the man of God.

“She deserves no pity,” he thundered. “It’s written that the wages of sin is death, and that’s it.”

When I didn’t die like everyone had prophesied, I decided to give church another try. But this time I had a different reason.

“Where I go after I die is immaterial,” I reasoned. “All I need is a well-attended funeral, which will be presided by a pastor. Or is that not the tradition whether you were a saint or not?”

But my plan unravelled. I made the mistake of confiding in one of the women ushers at the church where I worshipped because she seemed friendly, very “saved”, understanding and motherly: I told her I was HIV-infected. Unknown to me, she told the pastor.

The following Sunday, when it was time for announcements, the pastor said he had an announcement to make. Normally, someone else did this before giving the floor to the man of God to minister.

“My church, which I founded under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, will not be used by the devil,” the pastor said. “My church will not accommodate the works of the devil.”

Then he called me by name to go in front, but not anywhere near the altar.

“What you see here is nothing but the work of the devil, which I will destroy today, right before your eyes,” he said, as my son, Peter, stood miserably beside me.

The pastor then ordered us out of the church and told us never ever to come anywhere near it. We walked home to our four cold walls, which seemed an eternity away. With that, I vowed it was over between God and me, and between the church and me.

That cruel public rejection reminded me how terrible it was to be infected with this virus, which made even the church, usually a place of solace, reject me.

“I’ll also reject the church, the hypocritical churchgoers and anything to do with God,” I swore.

And that’s how, for more than eight years, I sought solace in the only friend who couldn’t reject me – liquor.

It was only later that I felt that what I needed to do was get a “quiet” church. I would attend quietly and say nothing about my HIV status. I didn’t want any drama.

I felt I couldn’t continue going down the liquor road. At least I needed God, if not the churchgoers. I needed to restore my relationship with God.

I found a church, but I made sure I sat at the back. But it wasn’t long before the church recognised me and wanted to involve me in more than just coming and listening. But the prosperity gospel was too much for me.

The pastor here kept reminding us how we would be punished if we didn’t give generously. His emphasis was on “paying premiums” for the afterlife, not how to tackle my daily challenges. And that’s why I quit going to church again.

I took quite some time and “tried” a few churches before settling for the one I currently attend. I think my church-hopping days are over.

My pastor talks about how one can live here, how to cope with stress and face today’s challenges. He gives me life skills, which I call weekly refuelling.

It’s not really a church since we don’t even have a building, but I feel very much at home here. People accept me the way I am, not because of who I am.

It’s amazing that I look forward to Sundays. Previously, I would drag myself to church. It was religiosity, not a relationship.

The other Sunday I was thinking that if the pastor started charging an entry fee, I’d book my ticket in advance. I’ve found the crucial missing chunk, something that fulfils my life immeasurably.

And, while I’m waiting for the “Big One”, my pastor teaches how I should relate with God, and have His kingdom right here right now because, virus or no virus, the heavenly bliss must start here with the girl in the mirror.

asuntawagura@hotmail.com

Published in the Daily Nation