Once upon a sacred Sabbath, Pastor Ezekiel O Righteous, elder of the flock, preacher of the truth, and champion of potluck prayers, stood before his congregation with solemn eyes and a heavy heart.

“Beloved saints,” he began, “I have been divinely summoned to preach at our sister branch in Mpopoma next week. Pray for me as I go forth… to labour for souls.”

The church wept holy tears. Even Sister Mavis clutched her prayer shawl dramatically. Phela Mavis only prayed for the people when duly instructed by heaven, very skeptical of the flesh eating part of the flock.

So, the next Sabbath, Pastor Righteous dressed up as per usual pulpit day. But he also, discreetly, loaded his waders bought from Fazak in March. He also stashed his fishing rod in the secret compartment of the boot, just next to the spare wheel like a secret weapon. I think it’s the one he received one leap-year February some years back. And off he went, whistling all the way to Hillside Dams.

His angel, let’s call him Ngilosi, looked on in horror.

“Fishing? On the Sabbath? And lying? On a double portion day?” 😳

Ngilosi zoomed straight to Heaven, feathers flapping. I know some of you prefer Microsoft Teams, but I can’t say he teamed off to heaven, can I?.🤣🤣🤣

“LORD! Your servant has gone rogue! He swapped the pulpit for a pontoon!”

The Lord, reclining on His glory cloud, sipped celestial tea.

“Leave him to me,” He said calmly.
“Watch.”

So Ngilosi dashed back down and sat under a tree like Jonah waiting for his Nineveh steak.

Pastor Righteous cast his line with the glee of a backslidden teenager at their first house party. Then PULL(not pulpit) —the biggest fish this side of the Jordan took the bait. A monstrous, majestic, thick necked beast of a fish. The kind that could feed five thousand and have leftovers for the next AY camporee.

“Praise be!” the Pastor gasped.
“This is divine favour!”
“A Sabbath miracle!”

He took selfies with the fish. Posed like a fisherman prophet. Almost started composing a testimony for Sabbath Highlights.

Meanwhile, Ngilosi flew back to heaven in righteous rage.
“LORD, he caught the biggest fish of his life! How is this justice?”
The Lord told him to take his hasty rage back to earth where it belongs and wait on the Lord. “Wait for it, watch til the end”, he said.

So, as the sun began to set, joy turned to dread for the pastor.

“Wait… I told Martha I was preaching in Mpopoma…”
“How do I bring home a 22 kg bass without a testimony to match?”

He tried to throw it back… but the fish would not sink. It just floated there, staring at him, judging.

That night, Pastor Righteous returned home late, covered in fish scales, with the smell of lies and dam water trailing behind him. Martha met him at the door.

“How was the sermon?”
“Powerful!” he lied. “Spoke on Jonah. The people were moved. There was… weeping.”
“Wow. And the fish?”
“Oh! A gift! From the Mpopoma elders! A thank you offering for my soul stirring message.”

He presented the catch like it was frankincense. But Martha frowned.

“Strange. Sister Grace just called. Said Mpopoma had no preacher today. Water cut. Cancelled the service.”

The silence that followed could part seas drier than Moses did.

That Sabbath, the fish fed the family. But Pastor Righteous could not chew. Each bite tasted like judgment and regret, seasoned with a hint of tilapia shame.

And from that day on, whenever anyone said,

“Pastor, remember when you preached in Mpopoma?”
He would just nod slowly, eyes twitching.

Moral of the Story:

You can fish for fun, lie and hide, but your 🐟 will come home one day.

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