“THE LOAD UPON MY HEAD”

It was on a Sunday morning, at this large convention in a large cathedral like church where there were about 6 to 8 thousand people in attendance, including those outside, listening on the loud-speakers.  There was the center section, the two side sections, the balcony on both sides and in the rear, the large open space in the front, the steps, the pulpit that looked like a crow’s nest, the choirs, elders and musicians on both sides in front, and in the center front, was a large open space for people to bring their offerings, etc.  At the forward of all of this was a fence, with a gate, and behind the gate, and on a higher  level, was where the ministers sat.  The more "important" you were, the farther back you sat behind the pulpit, and the closer to the middle, and the larger the chair in which the “important” ministers sat.  I was invited to sit next to the center, in back.  I am making a joke of this word "important' , as we are all important to God, and, as we just quoted, we are to consider all others as more important than we ourselves.

The chiefs, the kings, their wives, and the government officials sat in the audience, on the left, in the front.  The rest of the congregation segregated the men, women and children separately.  In most churches, if a woman approached the church without a head covering, she was not allowed to enter.  The atmosphere was very formal.  Order was kept by ushers who roamed the isles with long sticks that they used to poke adults or children if they became sleepy, or to hit children with, if they became disorderly.  When the leader wanted to get the people’s attention, he would ring a large bronze school bell with a wooden handle.  If the noise was too great, as with corporate prayer, he would ring the bell into the microphone.  People were dressed in their finest regalia, robes and finery, with the ladies wearing lovely head wraps.  There were several choirs, a band, many offerings, and much pomp and splendor.  The ministers were wearing backwards clerical collars and dark suits.

Suddenly, right in the middle of the service, through the side door, came 6 to 8 elder types, like funeral casket escorts, with a young man, about  20-25 years old, perhaps older, between them, who was carrying a heavy stone upon his head, something like a grave-stone, weighing perhaps 40 pounds or more.  The man was weeping, and the people were laughing, jeering, taunting.  I did not know it at the time, but they had just beaten the man severely, before bringing him in.  I did not know what was going on.  I could not figure it out, so I asked, and the moderator of the meeting explained to me that the man had stolen a great deal of money from the purse of a woman while she was sleeping, at this international conference.  Some of the money had been recovered, but the young man had spent a percentage of the rest of it, and was now being ridiculed and shamed, as punishment, before being turned over to the police, who would have imprisoned and beaten the boy, if not tortured or even killed him. 

Immediately, it seemed that the Holy Spirit was leading me.  I went to my host, Dr. Obidare, the leader of the conference, and asked him if he would allow me to go to the boy, and to take his load upon my own head.  He said yes.  So, though I was probably the only white person in the entire 6 to 8 thousand people, I came from behind the gate where the ministers were seated, crossed the open space to where the boy was standing, surrounded by the men.  I took the heavy stone upon my head, and stood with my other arm around the boy, with the tears running down my cheeks.  Needless to say, time seemed to stand still, and many people outside crowded to the windows and doors to see what was happening.

Can you imagine the reaction on the part of the audience?  While this is a culture that carries heavy loads upon the head, even refrigerators and logs, these loads are carried by the poor, the lowly, the uneducated, the young, the subordinate.   In this culture where the load is carried upon the head, one almost never sees the load carried by anyone who is educated, wealthy, fat, older or white or a minister or a visitor.  Now, most of the time, when one carries the load upon his or her head, there is placed on the head, a soft doughnut of cloth to act as a sort of pillow to make the carrying more comfortable.  But here, there was no cloth doughnut cushion between my bald head and the stone, and I was experiencing pain where the stone met my head, because the load was heavy, and I was not accustomed to this.

Some of the people began laughing at me, because I was carrying the stone upon my head.  They all knew that I should not be carrying that boy’s burden.  It was not proper, for me, to be carrying a heavy stone on my head.  I looked ridiculous, and they were laughing in ridicule, even though I was weeping and in pain.

On the other hand, there were many that were angry with me for interfering in matters that did not concern me or my culture.  Who was I to interfere?  The boy needed to be punished, and I was getting in the way. 

Yet, there were those in the cathedral who began to weep, in a culture where men do not easily weep, men were weeping.  14 years later, this pastor was telling me, along with a number of people over the years, who have told me later, “I was there, on that day, and I will never forget!”  In fact, I just found out that a Nigerian pastor friend of mine was there and knew the inside story, and clearly remembered the incitent.  He told me that the police would most probably beaten the young man to death!  I knew none of this at the time.

Presently, the elders gently removed the stone from my head, and did not again put it upon the head of the boy.  I took my handkerchief, and dried the boy's tears and wiped his nose, then I embraced him, and they led the boy away.  I went directly to the leader, Prophet Obadari, and asked him if he would allow me to pay the balance of what the boy had stolen.  He said “yes”.  I later paid the debt that the boy owed, but it took every last dollar, every penny, kobo, every niara, every pound sterling, that I had with me in Africa.  Samuel Babalola, my host, an accountant assigned to collect the amount owed, told me that it was exactly the right sufficient amount. I had no money left. I had paid it all.  Christ paid it all for me!

Later, I believe that Dr. Obadari reported that the young man had become born-again.  I do not take credit for what I did.  I believe that the Holy Spirit impelled  me to do what I did, in taking the boy’s load upon my head.  But some people, fourteen years later, were still somewhat annoyed with me, because they are convinced that I interfered.  Perhaps I did.  Who is Jesus Christ to have died in our place, to take our load, our punishment, wipe our tears, encourage us, while we were yet sinners, to pay our debt?  Amen.

1 Pet 2:24  “He Himself bore our sins in His body on the Cross, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness; for by His wounds you were healed.”  (NAS)

A pastor came to me.  He wanted to tell me a story.  He said that he was present, in 1988 when I took a load upon my head.  In the years following this incident, the pastor himself had preached about this.  This had changed his life and ministry.