The Night I Almost Lost My Calling Over One Small Lie

I was 32, still an assistant pastor, and I had just finished a counseling session with a young couple when my mentor called me into his office. He was the senior deacon, the man who paid my seminary fees, the one who taught me how to hold a Bible without trembling. He said, 'Emeka, we need to talk about the offering box.'

I had noticed the numbers did not add up for months. I did not want to see it. I told myself maybe I was bad at arithmetic, maybe the church had expenses I did not know about. But that day he looked at me and said, 'You know, don't you?' And I did. I had known for weeks. I just did not want to carry it.

What do you do when the person who gave you your wings is the same person clipping them? I did not sleep that night. I kept asking God to make it not true. But truth does not change because we are tired. The next morning I went to the elders. Not because I was brave. Because I was scared of becoming like him if I stayed quiet. The church split. Some people called me a Judas. Others said I saved them. I lost my mentor. I almost lost my faith. But I did not lose the young man who later told me, 'If you leave, I don't know who I will talk to.' That one sentence kept me in Enugu when everything in me wanted to run.