preacher who was evangelizing passers-by in front of the Stadium of 26th March.
Having started listening, he felt the address was directed to him. Touched by the preaching of the evangelist, he sat on a bench, lowered his head and began considering his life. Tears flowed abundantly and he could not contain himself.
After the pastor had stop preaching and had finished praying for the sick, he approached Georges with great interest; he sat on the same bench and opened a conversation:
“You are crying sir!” the pastor observed.
“Excuse me pastor,” Georges answered, “I can’t believe that the Lord is willing to forgive the troubles I've caused to people. I have done so much harm and I do not even know if these girls will forgive me. I do not deserve forgiveness.”
“Do you think your tears solve the case?” the pastor asked.
“I have done too much harm to people in the name of Christ and I can’t pick up the pieces. My sins are many. I am the embodiment of evil and your sermon has opened my eyes. I'm afraid they deny forgiving me,” Georges said.
“What do you do to be so frightened? What have you done to girls; what have you done to the name of Christ?” the pastor asked.
“Too much wickedness sir,” Georges answered. “If only I could go back and do the cleaning!”
“So what is your problem? You are in the sex business?” the pastor asked.
“Yes pastor, but if it was that commerce only, I wouldn’t be so disturbed. I'm afraid to die because I have desecrated the name of Christ,” Georges said, inconsolable.
“Jesus died in the place of Barabbas, the villain. Remember that a robber was crucified beside Him; to whom Jesus promised paradise, just because he begged Him for mercy. Repent of anything you have done wrong and Jesus will forgive you,” the pastor exhorted.
“Sorry pastor, I don’t deserve the forgiveness of Christ and I have to go,” Georges replied.
After uttering these words, he went away.
Georges knocked on my door on Sunday evening. He was concerned. I turned off the TV, which was passing the 8.00 P.M. News. His disgruntled mood imposed questioning and silence.
“Since Yesterday, I have not seen you and I asked Aisha who had no news of you either,” I said after greetings.
“My brother, pray for me,” Georges said. “I know that God listens to you and will give you all that you ask. I am ashamed of what I am and that's why I was discomforted in returning back yesterday,” he said.
“What happened? Your language is different.”
“Mmm...!” Georges sighed. “Only now can I understand the meaning of your warnings. You are the only one who had been warning me about the falseness of my visions; and you are right. Aisha also knows this secret, but my fake pastor is more concerned about the numeral increase of the church and also about money. He has always reassured me that my visions were from God even though I knew they weren’t. Pray for me please.
“Yesterday afternoon, I met with a pastor preaching in the street and his message touched me, even though I couldn’t confess my dirtiness. For now, I have no courage to see Aisha. My heart is rotten and smells bad. If God does nothing for me, I know that I am going to die,” he said.
Georges made his request of prayer with great emotion. His voice had troubles keeping its firmness and it trembled around periods and commas. However, he was remorseful, although unbelieving as for God’s forgiveness.
“The Lord forgives all sins,” I said. “All He asks is that you confess them. No sin is greater than another.”
“In Fact, you don’t know me. I'm a real junk and I don’t feel worthy of the forgiveness of Christ,” Georges replied.
“Why prevaricate? Jesus Christ came because of outcasts. He was nailed on the cross because of your sins. You can’t impress God with your own atonement approach,” I insisted. “According to your say and because of your junky state, you merit hell; but Jesus has already died for your sins. All you need is to sincerely ask His forgiveness.”
“I know I must confess,” he replied. “Yesterday, I lacked courage in the presence of the evangelist; but I’m certain that confession is the way.”
“If you are frightful because of your night visions, your false healings and your fake miracles, I do not see the need for another confession since you have come to recognize them as false. But if you are scared because of your disagreements with Aisha, you have no escape; you must take courage and submit your apology to her. God will give you the right words.”
“Do you know how I maintain my lifestyle?” Georges asked.
“I suppose the recipients of your miracles offer you substantial gifts. It goes without saying!” I replied.
Silence forced its positioning in our conversation. Was Georges disregarding my remark? Thoughtful and pensive, he stared at the screen, and then gazed at the ceiling. In fact, he eye-scanned whatever could hold his attention.
After about one or two minutes, Georges asked:
“If I give up what I do to have money, will God provide for my needs?”
“It depends! You can’t produce fake miracles and accept donations,” I warned. “Those who make donations to you make them for Christ sake. And since you know your healings and miracles as false, you must stop impressing people and must seek for a commendable business.”
“That is not my concern,” Georges answered. “I ... Well ... Hmm!”
“So… what? What is the problem of the man of God?”
“I beg; stop calling me ‘man of God.’ I rather prefer Georges as usual with you,” he said.
“Okay Georges! So what’s the matter?” I asked.
“The miracles I perform don’t give me money directly; but ...”
“But what?”
“You are a very good Christian and I know that your faith is pure. Your life is fine and the Lord will surely bless you,” Georges exhorted.
“We are talking of you man! Tell me, if your being a demons’ slave couldn’t afford for your living, what’s the purpose of such constraint? Why did you subject yourself to the devil if you had nothing to reap out of your common pact?”
“The truth is that I'm married to an American young lady; and she is the one who finances my ministry and my stay in Mali. Other entries, I mean money from business and donations, is not enough,” Georges said.
“Wait! Wait a minute please. Are you saying… another woman finances your sin with Aisha?” I asked.
“See that I don’t deserve God mercy!” he replied.
“God mercy is always available; up to you to decide!” I observed. “As I see, you actually know the truth about salvation in Jesus Christ; but you resent poverty. Tell me who will save you then!” I asked.
As our conversation proceeded, I started perceiving Georges with a different regard. Convicted of sin, he was reluctant to repent and was looking for guarantees.
“Don’t you know how hard it is for the rich to enter the Kingdom of God? Don’t you know that the fate of the false prophet is terrible? Be careful neighbor!” I warned.
“Why the use of ‘terrible’? Can’t you see that I’m drenched with fears? Kill me then with your big vocabulary. ‘Terrible’! Do you know what terrible means?” Georges asked. “Terrible, terrific, terror; go on! Don’t restraint on words! Leave me alone please.”
“The end of the false prophet is the lake of fire in Hell with the Devil. It's written black and white in the Revelation of John,” I explained.
“Yes, but you did not need to add ‘terrible’!” Georges reproached, utterly dismayed.
“It sounds your reasoning is telling you that eternity in hellfire is sweet. Let us use the exact words to designate the corresponding facts, the fate of false prophets is terrible. Okay? Let us put it this way: the future of the false prophet is in the Hell of fire. Are you happy with the syntax?”
“I never knew you crude and brutal before. Your speech sounds violent. A good Christian should always be meek as the Bible says,” Georges replied.
“I am sorry for you, rebellious brethren! So you know the Scriptures and you are wasting my time. To follow Christ, you must free yourself from any material and social ambition. You must give up all your concerns and make the Lord your Master. What is luxury worth without peace about your Eternity? Abandon lies and adultery and become a reliable Christian.”
“These are the words of the preacher I’ve told you about. Without knowing me, he said that God wants to save me from debauchery. He precisely said that God knows the number of households I have troubled to this day.”
“The number of households?”
Georges, surprised for having said too much, tried to retrieve some words; he couldn’t.
“Uh! Actually… my ministry consists of taking girls out from prostitution and help them walk according to the Word of God,” Georges said.
“Really! And how many have you saved by now?”
“More than six and I’m struggling for their supports,” Georges answered.
“Do you mean your American wife provides for them or what?”
“I’m sorry brother. I can’t convert to the True Gospel. I have neither the strength nor the courage,” Georges said, openly defeated.
“Have the six got repented yet? Have they joined a living church?”
“No. But they have promised to go to church, and have stopped selling their bodies,” he answered.
“I can’t just hold it,” I said. “You are a strange character. You welcome dark spirits every night; you fabricate miracles; now you deliver prostitutes and you use them to dupe your wife.