I love Pastor Jerry Eze. I honour the Grace of God upon him and the anointing of God, too. He is my daily tonic. A prayer warrior who has captured my heart, whom I wish I could be a full member of his church. But before the heavens sanction that move, I can boldly declare that I am an ardent follower, and I love him from the depths of my heart.
So, you are free to call me one of his followers whose prayers, some say, are all noise, and I will proudly tell you that we are proud of the altar we belong to. But while you are busy calling us noise makers, do you know El-ROI? Do you know the God who sees me? Do you know the God who knows my name? The God of my journey. The God who knows our name and knows where we are coming from. Do you know the God of the altar of fire? The God who does strange miracles?
Before you put me under your blade, please know that this piece is not about my darling Pastor Eze. It is not about the Grace and anointing of God he carries or the great miracles of God through him as a vessel that have brought smiles to families and delivered many from the clutches of the pit of hell. A man whose Ministry has touched my life and that of my family.
This piece is prompted by what I witnessed on Saturday morning at the Life Camp junction when an SUV with a bold sticker of El-ROI, displayed one of those crazy, irresponsible and suicidal driving mannerisms at a traffic light that is common among a handful of drivers in Abuja, the Federal Capital Territory and other parts of the country.
The truth is that our highways have become strange places of worship. Before the engine starts, there is a prayer. Before the horn blares, there is an ââAmenââ. Before the overloaded bus sways onto the expressway, there is an ââInsha Allahâ âYet minutes later, the same driver overtakes on a blind bend, ignores traffic signs, and turns the road into a battlefield.
What an interesting contradiction. The Christian driver, like the one I saw on Saturday or those we see most Sunday mornings on their way to Church, boldly pastesâ God Is Ableâ, âCovered by the Bloodââ or âNo Weapon Fashioned Against Meâ across the windscreen, then drives as though he is determined to test every promise of divine protection.
The Muslim driver recites Bismillah, hangs a prayer bead from the mirror, and confidently declares that only Allah decides the hour of death, while speeding through crowded streets with reckless abandon. Both invoke the Almighty, yet both sometimes behave as though human responsibility has been cancelled by divine mercy.
This is where the name El-ROI becomes unsettling and necessary. El-ROI means ââthe God who seesââ. He is not deceived by stickers, religious slogans or loud professions of faith. He sees beyond the polished language of devotion and into the hidden habits of the heart.
He sees the worn-out tyres, the defective brakes, the excessive speed, the dangerous overtaking, the phone held to the ear, the ignored seatbelt, the broken headlight, the overloaded vehicle and the innocent family praying that they will arrive home safely. He sees the driver who says, âGod will protect usââ while refusing to check the oil, service the engine or simply obey traffic rules and regulations.
Religion cannot become a driverâs license for recklessness. It is painful how often we separate faith from responsibility. Many people who would never dream of stealing, lying or cheating in a place of worship became impatient, abusive and reckless behind the wheel.
The same person who speaks gently in church or mosques may shout at pedestrians, curse other drivers and force his way through traffic as if the road belongs to him alone. He may quote scripture or the Koran with ease, but disregard the simple command to preserve life. Every unnecessary risk taken on the road is not merely a traffic offence; it is a disregard for the sacredness of human life.
We must say this plainly. Prayer is not a substitute for prudence. Faith is not a replacement for maintenance. Trust in God is not an excuse for negligence. If a tyre is substandard, it is substandard. If the brakes are failing, they are failing. If the driver is exhausted, distracted, intoxicated or angry, then no amount of religious language can transform danger into safety. Truth is that God is not mocked by our contradictions. He is not impressed by our pious decorations when our conduct endangers others.
The road does not ask whether the victim is Christian, Muslim, or a traditional religion worshipper. A collision does not recognise denominations or sects. Blood has no religion. Tears have no creed. Grief does not discriminate. When a bus overturns, when a motorcycle is crushed, when a child is thrown from a seat because an adult refused to buckle up, the pain is shared by believers and unbelievers alike.
The mother who loses a son does not ask whether the truck that hit him carried a cross or a prayer mat. The widow who receives a death notification does not care whether the driver shouted ââJesusââ or ââAllahu Akbarââ before the crash. What matters is that a life has been lost, and a family has been broken.
