The Preachers

To everything there’s a season 
Or so it is written in the Book 
But now that is untenable 
In fact, we reject it! 
We do everything in the same season. 
A time to sleep and time to wake? 
No, it is all preaching time 
If they sleep or we rest, 

We lose collection! 
A time to work and time to church? 
No, it is all preaching time 
There is no time for anything else!

Streetside, market square

T-junction, roundabout

School block, canopy hut

Lorry park, taxi rank

Chop bar, fitting shop
home or workplace

everywhere, every time

As the good Book itself says.

Give them no rest or peace

Until they bring their collection

And pay their tithes and dues.

Don’t forget those traveling

Long or short, far or near

Executive buses or trotro prisons,

Let them hear your voice

Tell them Jesus loves them

And will give them money

If only they bring their collections

And dues and tithes to you

Money will fall from the skies

One day, one day!

But who’s that Jesus guy anyway?

Never mind that at all, my son

You don’t need to know him yourself

Just tell others he loves them

That’s how to get your daily bread

Remember the word is daily bread!

Get a megaphone or better still,

One of those wooden boxes

Those things are good

When you shout, it goes boom!

They will remember to drop

Their collection as they pass by

But what shall I shout and say?

Don’t worry about that my son

Just croak, other idiots are doing it

Even infants at the breast!

This is about daily bread

Times are hard, man must eat!

People are consoled if you tell them

That God will bless them

And make them rich one day

They’ll make you rich today

And hope for their own riches

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

That shouldn’t be your problem.

Tell them God loves them

That’s why they are alive

They will feel special and give the money

That’s all that matters

They don’t know that God loves

Those who have died too

Even Jesus, God's own son, 

Died aged only 33!

These are hard times;

These are opportune times;

And only the preacher can prosper

So you must preach anything, my son

Just keep your eye on that collection box!

Tell people that all others hate them

Their family and friends are not correct

Their neighbours and work colleagues

Are witches and wizards,

Their parents and grandparents

Have ‘tied up’ their progress in life

In fact, anything at all

They’ll believe you and shout hallelujah!

And weep and cry and beg you.

Then tell them you’ll pray for them

That next year will be their time

Their breakthrough year, standout year,

whatever year!

You have them in your pocket now

And they’ll give the last drop

Of their blood and sweat.

You can tell them the same thing

Every day, every week, every month

Every year, they’ll still believe you

They have short memories

I am not the one saying it

Collect all their monies

Build a mansion and buy a V8

Tell them to see how

God has blessed you

And that he will bless them too

They’ll be happy and shout Amen!

Now you can sell to them any rubbish

Water, oil, pens, pencils, paper,

Photo, calendar, handkerchief

Apron, chalk, toys, anything

Call them holy and you have

Your market and customers.

They say there’s no money,

The lazy lying fools!

Don’t listen to them.

They will buy it all up.

They always have money for such things.

What about the real pastors?

Don’t listen to those people my son

It is their business to make saints

Our business is to make money

We are all the same anyway;

We all talk about Jesus

People can’t see the difference

God bless their ignorance and fanaticism

And make their frustration great and strong

So they can come to us again and again.

Happy are those who’re smart enough

to join the preaching party

They will prosper as ignorance reigns!


30/12/16

For another poem about Ghanaian society, click here