Welcome, dear reader!

Let’s step into the world of this short but deeply memorable tale surrounding a church and a special little situation. Definitely worth the read…

The Lord of hosts

The King of glory

Yahweh Sabaoth, Yahweh Sabaoth…

The day and time: Sunday morning.

The venue: the Tesano branch of Greener Pastures Church.

The atmosphere in the sanctuary: thick.

Not with the usual unforgiving heat of the Accra sun seeping through the windows, but with something much weightier.

Something divine.

The Shekinah glory.

Worship had erupted, unplanned yet deeply expected, as it often did when Pastor Maame Ama Kwafo lifted her voice. Standing at the pulpit, she sang, her rich voice carrying the words of ‘Yahweh Sabaoth’ like incense rising before the throne of God. Her hands stretched outward, her eyes shut in reverence, and her face bearing the serenity of a woman completely lost in communion with the Almighty.

One by one, people who had been sitting, waiting for the sermon, found themselves on their knees. Some lifted trembling hands; others rocked back and forth, their lips moving in silent prayers. The instrumentalists were no longer leading—only following, swept into the tide of worship.

“Yahweh Sabaoth… Yahweh Sabaoth…” she continued, her voice trembling with awe. Then, a sudden surge of power shot through her, and she burst into tongues.

“Heyyyyy, eka baradosh! Yele mantokoraba! Yahweh Sabaoth! Yahweh Sabaoth!”

This was not an unfamiliar sight at Greener Pastures Church. This was what happened whenever Maame Ama sang. She was not just your regular preacher; she was a woman who dwelled in the presence of God, who lived on the mountaintop and carried the fragrance of heaven into every service.

As the head pastor for this branch, she was known and loved by all for her loving demeanour and all-round sweetness. She had this warm, infectious smile—the kind that could light up a room. On any given Sunday, she could be found laughing with other church members, embracing the children, and chatting so animatedly that even newcomers felt like they had known her for years. She was the kind of person you could run to for a long, warm embrace.

And she certainly gave a lot of those.

But when she stood at the pulpit to preach or sing as she was, a transformation took place. That bubbly, beautiful aura gave way to a piercing aura.

One fuelled by the Holy Spirit.

And what a blessing it was to the people of God.

***

The atmosphere had settled now, the congregation seated, Bibles open, as Maame Ama Kwafo stood at the pulpit. The fire from the earlier worship had not died down—it had simply taken a different form, burning now in her words as she preached for the morning.

“Aha, and speaking of which, dear church, we need to briefly talk about something. And I know it might make some of us uncomfortable, but let’s go there.”

A murmur of anticipation rippled through the room.

“You see, there’s a very fine line between honouring great men of God, and deifying them. And unfortunately, many of us have crossed that line without even realizing it.”

She took a few steps across the stage, her voice steady but laced with conviction. “Just this past week, I saw an argument on Twitter—”

A few chuckles from the congregation. They knew she liked to keep up with online conversations.

“—where some Christians were calling others lukewarm just because they didn’t know men of God like Apostle Joshua Selman and Pastor Nathaniel Bassey.” She paused, shaking her head. “Ah! Lukewarm? Because they don’t know a particular pastor? Ei, my people!”

Laughter rippled through the room, but Maame Ama’s expression remained firm.

“Now please, listen to me carefully. Apostle Joshua Selman is a powerful teacher of the Word, no doubt about that. I love listening to that man so much. As for Pastor Nathaniel Bassey, we all know what an anointed minister of worship he is. Look at how his songs usher us into the throne room time and time again. God is using them mightily in our generation, nobody can ever deny that! But let me tell you something—” she leaned in again, voice lowering just a little, “—as anointed as they are, they are as human as you and me.”

A few hmm’s echoed back at her.

“They have weaknesses of their own. They have flaws. They are on a journey of faith, just like us. They themselves will tell you they’ve not reached; they are still learning. The only one who deserves to be placed on a pedestal is Jesus!”

A roar of Amen! swept through the church.

She smiled, but her eyes were still sharp with passion. “Dear church, this is a very serious matter. We have to take caution when dealing with these things. Because, if we are not careful, we will start making our relationship with God about a man instead of about Christ. And when that man falls—because guess what, human beings fall—your faith will shake. Because your foundation wasn’t Jesus, it was a personality.”

Heads nodded. Some people shifted in their seats.

“Now let me ask you: Who died for your sins?”

“Jesus,” the congregation answered in unison.

“Who sits at the right hand of the Father, making intercession for us?”

“Jesus.”

“So tell me, my dear people, why should we place men on pedestals meant for Jesus alone?”

A deep hush settled over the room. Somewhere in the back, an older woman whispered a reflective, “Hmm.”

“So, yes, honour your pastors, honour the men and women of God that bless you. It’s definitely a necessity. But worship? Please, don’t go there. Don’t go there at all. Worship belongs to God and God alone.”

Her voice softened now, carrying the warmth of a mother correcting her children. “Because at the end of the day, it is not Apostle Selman, it is not Pastor Nathaniel Bassey, it is not even me, Maame Ama Kwafo, who saved you.”

She lifted her Bible and pointed to it.

“It is Jesus. Always and only Jesus.”

A number of hallelujahs rang out, while others clapped.

The sermon went on, flowing effortlessly as she delved into the Word. The congregation hung onto her every word, nodding, murmuring their amens and hallelujahs as she emphasized, point after point, on how Jesus is the same yesterday, today and forever.

“The Jesus of the past—the One who walked the earth, healed the sick, fed the hungry, and gave His life on the cross, is the same Jesus we know and serve today. His love remains relentless, His compassion boundless, and His power divine. That same Jesus, who conquered death and rose again, is not confined to just history. He is not a distant figure of the past but a living Saviour who continues to intercede for us…”

Suddenly, the double doors at the back of the church opened quietly…

… and a young woman stepped in.

She moved hesitantly, her eyes scanning the room as if she was second-guessing her decision to be there.

Heads turned. Whispers rose like rustling leaves in the wind. Some people elbowed their neighbors, others simply stared. Even the ushers, well-trained as they were, exchanged quick glances before guiding her to a seat at the very back.

Her figure was familiar to many, and to say people were stunned would be an understatement.

Maame Ama, busy in mid-sentence, noticed the sudden shift in the atmosphere. She didn’t understand what was going on… until her eyes landed on the newcomer.

Is that… is that Nana Akua? Nana Akua Quarcoopome?

A few seconds of focus, and she got her answer.

Yes, it was Nana Akua Quarcoompome.

For the briefest moment, her words faltered. It was barely noticeable to the congregation; just a flicker of surprise in her expression. She recovered quickly, however, keeping her focus on the sermon.

As she continued to expound on the Word, however, she could not deny the unpleasant change in the air. The sweet glory had been shifted, and in its place…

An aura of displeasure and anger.

She could feel it—the weight of judgment in the room, the curiosity, the silent assumptions. And they were all because of Nana Akua’s sudden entry.

Nonetheless, Maame Ama forged ahead, determined to prevent anything from breaking the flow of the Word in her spirit.

A few minutes on, and as the sermon drew to a close, she scanned the room once more. Her eyes landed on Nana Akua just in time to see her shift uncomfortably in her seat.

She did not look comfortable at all, and with good reason. She could easily sense the hostility her presence had ushered in, and was already looking like she was regretting the decision to come in the first place.

She cast a quick glance around, as if gauging how many people were still watching her. Then, with a deep breath, she rose to her feet.

She was leaving.

Slipping out as quietly as she had entered, she kept her gaze low, avoiding the lingering stares of those who had noticed her.

Maame Ama’s heart sank.

No, no, no, no…

She wanted to stop her. Wanted to call her back.

But just as quickly, she realized—if she did, it might only embarrass her more. The auditorium was already starting to buzz with whispers and murmurs as people noticed her exit; calling her would probably subject her to more humiliation.

Instead, as the doors closed behind the young woman, Maame Ama’s voice rang out over the mic.

“Church, church. Please, let’s bring our attention here.”

The murmuring quieted. All eyes turned back to her.

She inhaled, then exhaled slowly before closing her Bible. “Let’s rise as we bring the sermon to a close.”

But even as they stood, Maame Ama’s mind was already racing.

She could not leave this situation as it was. This young lady had disappeared for years, swearing she would never return.

So this was an unlikely return, with an obvious reason behind it. And she needed to know what it was.

I have to find her.

Hmm, who is this Nana Akua girl, and what’s her history with this church?