FA Cup Final Or Giving Your Life To Christ?

“So, brother,” he cut in, “you see the world is coming to an end and the signs are everywhere. The bombings, the kidnap of the chibok girls, the wars, these things have already been predicted by our Saviour. It is one thing to give your life to Christ and it is another thing to live a Christ-like life. It is not going to be easy with all the distractions around, girls going about almost naked…”

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Twenty minutes into the first half of the premier league FA cup finals, I heard a knock on the door. The guys and I were too engrossed in rooting for Arsenal’s victory. I heard the knock again and this time i decided to stand up, not because i was interested on finding out who was at the door, but because I actually needed the distraction.

“Good evening,” I greeted on opening the door. A soft “good evening” greeted me back. I looked up into the pretty face of a tall, beautiful lady and felt my throat go dry. I saw the tall fair dude at her side and straightened up. The dude continued.

“We are from the Jesus’ Sanctuary Cathedral Fellowship, and we are here to share the word with you, but first, are you born again?”

Okay, at this point I was quite confused because I wasn’t expecting this at all.

“Goal!” my friends screamed from behind. I quickly turned to glance at the TV, only to find out it was an offside goal and was disallowed against the North London side. Wiping my forehead with the back of my hand, I let out a huge sigh of relief. That was close, I thought. And here I was, at the door, being caught offside as well.

“Sorry, I’m a bit busy at the moment. Could you guys come back later… maybe tomorow evening?”

“Ahhh brother no one should keep the lord waiting”, the fair dude chastised, like I’d done the unthinkable.

“We won’t take much of your time”, the pretty sister chirped in with her singsong voice.

Why me? I’m not the only person in this room now. Why now? I grumbled inaudibly as I stepped out of the room into the corridor to grant my sister and brother in the Lord audience.

“So, brother,” he began, “are you a born again christian?”

Absent-mindedly, I answered that I was.

“Do you speak in tongues?”

“Yes, I try sometimes.”

“When was the last time you came out for an altar call?”

“I can’t remember…”

“So, brother,” he cut in, “you see the world is coming to an end and the signs are everywhere. The bombings, the kidnap of the chibok girls, the wars, these things have already been predicted by our Saviour. It is one thing to give your life to Christ and it is another thing to live a Christ-like life. It is not going to be easy with all the distractions around, girls going about almost naked…”

At this point I stole a quick glance at the sister that accompanied Brother Tom (yes that was his name). She looked familiar. I remembered her face and had heard some funny gist about her. I could see the little fox in her eyes. Her gown was moderately long, but her assets were not helping issues. Added to what I had heard about her…. Brother Tom’s feigned cough broke my thoughts.

“Brother, please do I have your attention?” he asked.

Yes you do! I screamed. You knocked on my door today of all days knowing full well that the world cup final was on, because you knew I wouldn’t want to say no to you, because you knew I was a church person. I was patient enough to answer all your questions, questions that I was already tired of being asked. I waited while you told me I could die tomorrow and loose everything, a reality we all know. Your comments were valid, but there’s only one thing I beg of you.

Don’t threaten me about my Lord. Let me fall in love with Him, not out of fear but out of compassion and gratitude for laying down His life for me. Don’t expect me to just give my life to Him there and then. Give me time to process all you have said. Finally, please don’t blackmail me into a union with someone I would be spending the rest of my life with. Or isn’t that what you meant when you said we are His bride.

These things take time. Don’t be aggressive. It’s my decision to make, not yours. All I need you to do is guide me in making that decision. That being said, don’t put a rope round my neck and drag me to your Saviour. Guide me like the shepherd does his flock. Stop with all the, “you might die tomorrow” blackmails. Even if it’s true, it won’t work on me. Now can I get back to my match?

I pictured myself saying these things, but didn’t. I was already a saved soul, a believer, so I just leaned back on the railing as I listened to Brother Tom, while watching the FA cup finals through a hole on the window netting—rats’ handiwork no doubt. It wasn’t easy, given the divided attention, but it was the best I could do. But the question on my mind that still begged to be answered was this. Why choose the FA cup finals’ day to go about knocking on doors to spread the word?

Brave, but not wise.

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