Welcome to the official first season! Jay decided to give us a backstory season as a starter, which will certainly give a lot of context to what we’re about to dive into. And if that was anything to go by, then this first season should have a lot for us!

So, without wasting any more time, let’s get into it!

It was ten minutes to the start of service, and Stella Kinzani was frantic. Being the head of media for Honest City Church was no small task, even if the church itself had only about a hundred members. Bishop Wilson McQueen had high standards and a willingness to be fiery about enforcing them.

Stella’s current problem had to do with a graphic that needed to be completed urgently, but she was the only member of the media currently present in church. Needless to say, she was highly stressed.

And then out of nowhere, “Stella, what are you doing? You know Bishop doesn’t like this kind of background.”

That made Stella jump, and she almost knocked over the cup of coffee next to her computer. Josh Quayson wasn’t usually this shocking, but his face had a look of total despair.

Stella quickly recovered from the shock and turned back to her work. “What’s wrong with it?”

Josh moved over to the church computer and began scrolling through the background graphics. “The color. Why are you choosing purple background?”

Stella continued her designing, which she had almost completed.

“Won’t you stop and change it? I don’t need an earful from Bishop today.”

Finally done and satisfied with the graphic, Stella turned her attention to him. “Josh, when has bishop ever cared about colors? He just wants the background to be plain, it could be blue black for all he cares.”

Josh was still scrolling. “Bishop won’t like this. You have to change it.”

Stella moved to the church computer, which made Josh let go for her. And then she opened up another application. Josh looked set to pitch a fit, but Stella looked him dead in the eyes. “Josh, you’re doing too much right now. Let me do my job.”

Frustrated, he accepted his fate and right before he left, he warned, “Look, if bishop says one word about background, you will hear my mouth extra loud.”

Stella waited until he’d left to mutter under her breath, “Lord, please let this man be wrong. I really don’t want to hear it today.”

***

Statistics class was not for the weak, but open-book statistics exams were guaranteed to make one weak. The exam hall may have been silent, but the tension was all too palpable. It didn’t help that the professor for the class was Joseph Choi, a man who was viewed worldwide as an authority on the subject.

This particular exam was the last of the semester for some, and for others like Erasmus Kojo-Quaye, it was the last hurdle between them and graduation. Professor Choi was notorious for nitpicking at everything, but he was also less punitive in his marking if he felt that effort had been invested. That still somehow did not always translate into great grades, but passing grades were at least attainable.

Erasmus was deep in thought, staring at a standard deviation question when he got hit with the thought again. He’d managed to parry it all semester long, but it still found the crevices in his defenses and sprung up through them at inopportune times. Of course, the thought of life after graduation would creep up in the middle of a t-value question. It was true that he was running out of time, but this was not the moment for those thoughts.

“You are at the halfway mark now. If you haven’t already done at least three questions by now, I suggest you pick up the pace immediately.”

That warning from Professor Choi was enough to snap Erasmus back to the present. He checked his paper to be sure, and found relief in knowing that he’d done four out of the five exam questions. At the very least, he would get a B minus for his efforts if this question didn’t go well. He went back to the t-value table in the textbook, made his choice, and prayed for the best as he continued with the exam.

***

Friday night services at Honest City Church were absolute flames. The atmospheres that were created each time were completely different, but no less potent than the ones before. Friday night services were also a full production, especially when an all-night was declared.

The band had to be nothing but perfection, the choir could not dare to dream of missing a note, and the media had better not breathe wrong. Any delay in the projection of scriptures, any erroneous choice of background graphics, and there would be a full meeting with the sole purpose of dressing the culprits down to the skin.

Bishop McQueen’s rigid regimen of dry-fasting for three days before an all-night while praying around the clock, which was done with the prayer warriors, meant that they were always going to be on point. The service usually needed an overflow room, but even they felt the full force of the power of God in the room.

Ellen McQueen watched as her husband ministered as she sang in the background for him. He was deep into delivering a woman from a spirit husband, and he had the whole church praying as he and his boys did the deliverance.

She’d watched him since the moment he mounted the stage to preach three hours ago. To everyone else, this was vintage Bishop McQueen, firebrand pastor who evidently had the full backing of heaven. However, she knew better.

He had been resigned to his unspoken fate since that service, and had been quite broken up about how to prepare for the inevitable, imminent summons from Bishop Rhamses King. Low key, she would not mind going back home at all. It was hard enough leading a church whose volunteers seemed ready to quarrel over just about anything; some time away from it all would do them good. She didn’t dare speak this to him though; their marriage was already quite strained from all the politics they’d had to face over the last few weeks.

“Loose your hold! Loose your hold! I command you to come out! Come out! Out! Out! Out! Out! Out! Church, begin to pray for her!”

Ellen sang Break Every Chain to go along with the deliverance, which seemed to heighten the atmosphere all the more. She watched as the woman begun to manifest and silently cried inside of her.

She knew that Wilson thought it would either be Reverend Sampson or Reverend Carlson, but she’d heard a rumor at dinner with her family which had informed her of what was to come. She may have clashed with every single volunteer in this church, but these were her people. She’d quietly okayed a new assignment, but not this choice of replacement.

She had seen the ministry of Reverend Mason, and he was a fine man of God. But he couldn’t do this. He was an excellent prayer leader and warrior, but he did not have this level of power or authority. Why on earth would her father agree to this madness?

She continued to sing out of her sadness, and the atmosphere reached a fever pitch. Everyone in the room fell onto their knees in intense prayer, and the deliverance was completed.

***

5 a.m.

Service was over about three hours ago. It was originally meant to end an hour before that, but this was an Honest City Friday night service; time never mattered once Bishop got on stage. He’d usually still be as hyped as he was in the service, but he was in a more sombre mood as he lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling as he held his phone. Ellen lay peacefully asleep beside him, free from the knowledge he’d gained during the service, which had been confirmed as soon as he got back to his office after service was long over.

Leave it to the heads of this church to create suspense out of what should really be a straightforward issue. They never came directly to you at the start, no way. They’d let the rumors fester, let the sharks circle, drop ominous hints here and there. Only at the moment they were certain that one was fully at their mercy would they swiftly end the suffering. Even then, they’d mock you for months after your fate had been sealed until the next target was found.

He put the phone on his nightstand and got up to go downstairs. Once he was out of earshot, Ellen immediately rolled over and picked up his phone. She’d heard his musings and lamentations, but she wanted to confirm what she’d long since known.

She opened the phone, checked his messages and immediately sighed in defeat. Part of her was glad this was happening, but the other part knew that trouble lay ahead.

She looked again at the message, which had come from Archbishop King’s personal secretary earlier:

“Papa is visiting your church this Sunday. He wants to see you immediately after the service.”

Well, that axe is still hanging over Bishop Wilson’s head. Looks like it’ll be dropping pretty soon. And I wonder who the Erasmus guy is…