For those whom extortionist pastors and imams have fed truckloads of lies about God and heaven, here is an authentic personal experience
Tunde Odesola
O ye faithless pastors and imams proclaiming phoney prophecies and powers, hear the word of God Almighty. I, Prophet Isaac Babatunde Odesola, bring good tidings from the Throne of Grace. Hearken, ye agents of darkness, who proclaim that they go to heaven to give God a haircut; the Kingdom of God is at hand. Repent, or ye shall be condemned!
For those whom extorting pastors and imams have fed truckloads of lies about God and heaven, here is an authentic personal experience I had with God.
I go to heaven regularly. By regularly, I mean many times a day. Truth is, I live more in heaven than on earth, but nobody knows. I am a spiritual lion, but I do not boast. Thus, I will only disclose a few tips from my recent heavenly sojourn; I must not divulge heaven’s secrets. Èwọ̀!
I go to heaven with the regularity of the pendulum of a church bell and the five daily calls to prayer from the central mosque. Quietly, I weave in and out of heaven without a visa, because I am a citizen. I go anytime I want and return home with the ease of the prayer bead running through the fingers of a heavily turbaned imam, cross-legged on a mat, facing the Kaaba.
For me, going to heaven is like going to Ariaria market in Aba or Oshodi market in Lagos or Utako motor park in Abuja. Heaven na water. Every day, I sing the song of Jim Reeves, “This world is not my home; I’m just a-passing through; My treasures are laid up; Somewhere beyond the blue; The angels beckon me; From heaven’s open door; And I can’t feel at home; In this world anymore.”
But there was a day I annoyed God; I overslept and didn’t remember to honour a dinner visit to heaven. That was after hours of delay to board a flight from Abuja to Lagos, and another seven hours in Lagos-Ibadan Expressway gridlock. I got home tired and decided to relax my nerves with some wine, as recommended by Apostle Paul in 1 Timothy 5:23. After drinking a bellyful of wine, I slipped into my heavenly cassock, but slept off on the sofa while trying to put on my iron shoes. Do you know what God did? Baba God sent Angels Michael, Gabriel and Uriel to fetch me.
I was snoring like a toad when I heard a gentle knock on the door, fleeting. I roused myself from slumber, yawned a cat yawn, and rubbed sleep from my eyes. Then the knock came on the door again; gentle, inaudible to the naked ear. But I heard it clearly because I possess invisible ears. Groggily, I stood up and went to the door.
There they stood, all three angels, in blinding light. Because I am the next in hierarchy to Jesus, the three angels first bowed to me before pouncing on me – as commanded by God. Angel Michael dey beat wetin no good. Chai, Angel Uriel sabi use koboko. Na only kick Angel Gabriel dey kick me like Gabriel, that no-nonsense Arsenal defender.
Angel Michael was livid. And he speaks perfect pidgin. “Wetin make you no come to heaven for dinner?” Before I could explain, left-handed Angel Uriel whipped me with his koboko, saying, “God has been waiting for you since. Na you dey delay Baba God from eating his dinner and going to bed!” Twai-twai! The koboko whistled. Angel Gabriel does not speak pidgin, but he understands it. It was he who asked me why I was holding God up. After my explanation, the three hoisted me onto their heads, and off they carried me to heaven; my legs flailing, my sash trailing, and my iron shoes nearly falling off.
Before we reached heaven, I had wiped the tears of the flogging from my eyes. They threw me down in a heap at the Beautiful Gate, and Angel Michael gave me a hard knock on the forehead, ‘kuum’, snapped his fingers at me and said, “Make you come late again tomorrow, you hear?”
I know my way in heaven. Yes, I do, even more than some angels. I straightened up, patted my cassock, placed my crown firmly on my head, and walked to the Great Door. I spoke in tongues, and as the door was swinging open, I quickly put on my heavenly goggles; otherwise, I would have been blinded by the sight of God. After my eyes got accustomed to the powerful light emanating from God, I raised my head and beheld Baba. It was like the sun beaming all its rays upon me.
I bowed. God smiled and waved me to my seat to his immediate left. Jesus sits to His right. I asked about His Son, Jesus, and God said Jesus had gone to Nigeria for the seventh time in the day. “Ha, Nigeria!” I exclaimed.
God frowned when I mentioned Nigeria. But I did not press the issue because I was still hurting from the knock Angel Michael gave me on the forehead. The beating made me very hungry; I could devour an elephant.
Do you know how heaven food tastes? Heaven has an all-female team of heavenly chefs. There was no way a mortal could resist those beauties. But as a spiritually powerful entity, I was perfectly able to curb my carnal mind in the presence of the bevy of ravishing angels, their curves notwithstanding.
So, 12 female angels, each representing a tribe in Israel, laid a table before God and me. Uhnm! Their skin was glowing like a full moon.
Brethren, there were all kinds of food. I saw ewédú and gbẹ̀gìrì. I don’t eat gbẹ̀gìrì on earth, but I cannot resist heavenly gbẹ̀gìrì. The amala was indescribable. It was spongy, fluffy and creamy like a chocolate cake. Because I was watching my weight, I only got myself some stockfish, pọ̀nmọ́, periwinkles, snails, crabs, prawns, fish, shàkì, abọ́di and five wraps of amala. I took God’s special plate and served Him His regular – àbùlà, with plenty of ewédú, fish, snails and pọ̀nmọ́. God does not like too much salt or oil.
After we ate and were picking our teeth, I explained to God that I was late because of the delay at the airport, the Lagos-Ibadan Expressway traffic snarl and the wine I drank. God listened and said, “It is not what goes into the mouth that defies a man, but what comes out of the mouth,” adding that He would tell Bola to do normal for Nigerians or face voter revolt in 2027.
Oh, you don’t know God speaks slang? Yes, God does. He even dances, too. We danced Skelewu and Galala together in his sitting room.
After dancing and drinking, we went into God’s gallery. I will not reveal how it looks, lest Nigerian politicians begin to sew their agbada pockets bigger than that of former Governor Gandollar, to pack dollars in order to build bigger galleries than God’s.
But I will disclose the pictures of the pastors and imams in the gallery. There was a row of pictures hanging on the right and left sides of the gallery. On the right side were the pictures of true Christian and Muslim clerics. Many were long dead; a few were still alive. I recognised the picture of the late Apostle Timothy Oluwole Obadare of the Christ Apostolic Church fame and the late Pastor John O. Adisa, former head of Araromi Baptist Church, Mushin, Lagos.
However, the pictures of the clerics on the left side of the gallery had their faces turned to the wall, as if they were unfit, unjust and iniquitous to behold. I became curious; why shut out some clerics in God’s abode? Why cross out their portraits with red ink? Who are they? What have they done?
So, one after the other, I turned over the pictures and got the shock of my life. I know most of the faces. Many of them were Nigerians. They own big churches across Nigeria. Some of them were big imams, with turbans bigger than satellite dishes.
I saw the picture of the cleric who tore Job apart because of tithe. I saw the picture of Apostle Sulezoo, whose account of someone teleporting abroad through the toilet without a visa still ranks among the world’s greatest lies. I saw Liquid Metal himself, who, upon publicly receiving several slaps from state task force agents, threatened brimstone and fire, but slithered home quietly to treat torn eardrums. Since those sandpaper slaps from the task force agents, Liquid Metal has struggled to hear even the simplest statements from his church members. That is why he has been saying “ehn, ehn” whenever members talk to him.
I saw the picture of the Yahoo pastor whose crazy God bursts vehicle tyres to extort tithe. I also saw the broken portrait of the mercantile pastor, Fufu, who hawks holey commodities such as rings, chains, vests, and oil, like a hungry ritualist. Fufu made a deep-fake video in the den of lions, and some gullible followers believed him. I also saw the picture of the bearded one who calls himself Guguru, but lives like a hermit along the Ibadan expressway.
Because God is the God of all peoples and nations, I saw the pictures of clerics from other religions, too. On the left side of the gallery, I saw the pictures of Islamic clerics, who preach anti-Islamic teachings just to extort, create fear and drive content on social media. Many of them wore disgusting beards. I also saw pictures of many fake babalawos, who deceived criminal-minded fellows into believing that rituals that involve the use of human heads, eyes, tongues, privates, hearts, fingers, etc., were capable of giving instant wealth.
Then, I heard my name, “Babatunde”. I turned; it was God. “I can see you’re worried to see those self-righteous wolves in sheep’s clothing, hanging on the left side of the gallery.” I bowed; worship is the language of heaven. God continued, “Of course, you know those on the left side are hell-bound.” Shivering, I said, “Yes, I know,” and asked, “Why”? And God said, “Not all who call me God will enter the kingdom.”
Unconsciously, my mouth flipped open. Consciously, I shut it. God continued, “From Lagos to Abuja, Effurun, Port Harcourt, Auchi, Ota, Makurdi, Onitsha, Ibadan, Akure, Osogbo, Kano, Jos, etc., merchants have turned altars into cash points where gullible worshippers are stripped of their senses, money and dignity.
“Some imams rack phlegm from their throats and spit it into worshippers’ mouths. Some pastors sit on worshippers’ heads, some slap, punch and flog worshippers. Where are these in the Bible? They have turned my house into a warehouse where killers, bandits and robbers launder their loot.”
My mouth flipped open again. God did not mind. He continued. “It is true I created heaven and earth. But after creation, I left man to explore the earth and deal with all the challenges thereof. I endowed humanity with intelligence and reason to confront flooding, earthquakes, pandemics, plane crashes, etc. Because I want man to truly tame and possess the earth, which I have freely given. No cleric possesses a private monopoly on divine intervention. So, when some clerics claim they can stop the rain from falling, or cause it to fall, I laugh at those who believe them. It is a lie.
“I am God to every mortal; I do not discriminate. I listen to everyone; you don’t need to go and kneel before any pastor or imam or babalawo before I answer your prayer. Everyone is equal before me. Just love your neighbour as yourself and love me your God”
Then I heard oncoming footfalls. The door swung open; it was the three angels. Initially, I panicked, but I heaved a sigh of relief when I beheld Jesus behind them, bearing a large trumpet. “Thank God, you’re here, Tunde,” he put the trumpet away and asked, “How have you been coping in Nigeria? Jesus asked, sounding fed up. I stood up, bowed and smiled, “I’m coping by Your Grace, Son of God.”
Jesus continued, “It was God who called me back. I wanted to sound the trumpet today.” “Why?” I asked, surprised because Jesus didn’t discuss this with me. He said, “Despite my Father making man in His own image and giving him the free will to discern good from evil, man has refused to use his conscience. The actions of fake clerics have been turning people away from the path of God.
“I was meditating on the mountain today when I looked down to earth and saw a pastor from Makurdi, Nigeria, claiming I was complaining to him about my investment in Nigerian churches. Can you believe that, Tunde? I was so annoyed that I had to go and confront him.”
“What did he say when he saw you?” I asked. “Even right before me, he was still maintaining his lie because he does not know me. I was so enraged I had to hit him in the mouth, forever twisting his mouth out of shape. That should teach him a lesson.” Immediately, I knew whom Jesus was talking about. That was the new kid on the lying block. He is the Aroma of Satan. Aroma has displaced Sulezoo and big clerics in the lying game.
The alarm on my phone beeped. Oh, it is Thursday! I need to go back to Earth and write my article. I rose.
Immediately, Jesus knew what I was thinking. He said, “You want to go and write your article.” I answered in the affirmative. He rose and came to my side, resting his hand on my shoulders.
Jesus: “Can you do something for me?”
Tunde: “Anything, my Lord.”
Jesus: “Can you write in your column about the way religion is being exploited in Nigeria, please?”
Tunde: “Your wish is my command, my Lord.”
Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com
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