One of the selfish perks that comes with "my job" is the exaggerated reverence from people.

One leg out of the car and there's a mother with her 4 children waiting for you to lay your hands on their heads.

You could be at a shopping mall, and a handful of youths are on your trail looking to have you pray with them or say a word of affirmation upon their heads.

They said it came with the office.

I only needed to raise a finger and my P.A would be in a squat beside me with her wide fascinator to attend to my whim.

I felt powerful here.

VERY powerful.

Not like I wasn't powerful in our 5 bedroom duplex.

On the contrary, I felt lonely there.

Lonely and bored.

But here...

Just as I saw Jude drop the mic and pick up his tablet to leave, mechanically, I stood up to go take offerings and tithes.

As I walked up to the altar, with my envelopes in my right hand and the microphone in my left, I felt like a fraud.

A fraud in very expensive silk and Louboutins.

"I will rebuke the devourer for your sake... ' I heard my sonorous voice bounce off the walls. My voice always took a different pitch when I stood there. Someone said it sounded like a stream flowing over rocks.' "Malachi 3 versus 11. Is anyone here ready to stop the devourer with their seeds? Shall we rise with our substance...lift it above your heads...and ask the Lord for 3 things in this last quarter of the year."

My eyes scanned the congregation for any judging eyes.

None.

80% had their eyes closed, their envelopes lifted and their lips moving.

15% were probably staring at my outfit.

4% were distracted with trying to put their stuff together.

1% were walking about both in the gallery and the auditorium.

I glanced at myself on one of the screens hanging from the gallery extension.

Fraud.

...

But why are people eager to see Pastors after almost 90 minutes of preaching?

What new thing will you be told that you didn't hear during the sermon?

In the cosy confines of my office, I held the soft palms of Sister Fadekemi. She seemed to be connected to something cause I could feel her whole body vibrate as I prayed with her.

It couldn't be my calm prayers causing her to shake this much.

Or was it?

It had to be the atmosphere.

Esther Jonathan's "Deeper Experience Chant" was seeping through the stereo system speakers at a reasonable volume in the air-conditioned and soundproofed office.

The mind knows one or two tricks.

Good music that arouses catharsis and a backlog of emotions - a combination so perfect.

It was the atmosphere.

At some point, I had to let go of Sister Fadekemi's hands and rose to my feet because she was now laid flat on the grey plush rug, blasting in tongues as she continued to ruin her perfect make-up with tears.

But whatever it was that had now filled the room and caused me to start to tear up too was not from me.

I had strayed too far to still be used.

Too far.