One million voices, all male, singing in perfect tune. Innumerable harps, lyres, trumpets and cymbals providing fitting accompaniment. Altogether, the different parts weave a fabric of sweet soulful music, stretched to expansively enrobe the Almighty’s throne of Grace and resonate round the majestic elegance of His celestial chambers.

The numbers are not that accurate but you get the idea, right? Truth be told, nobody knows exactly how many we are. Well, nobody except for the top guys, Michael, Uriel, Raphael, Gabriel and the Master Himself (obviously). The rest of us are pretty much in the same boat of cluelessness on the issue of numbers. Call us rank and file and you won’t be far from the truth, form and function unified us. We all sang, loudly, all day, every day. All of us except for the few on sentry, escort or combat duty.

The sentries are very cool, welcoming all and sundry with dazzling smiles that shine brighter than some suns. The escorts are pretty laid back too and will only raise their hackles if and when you approach their wards (usually human) in a manner they don’t approve of. The combat guys however, trust me; you don’t want to test those guys. Ferocious looking and armed with outlandish blazing swords of the Master’s flame, it is only in your best interest to never go head to head with them. One slash of that super sharp scimitar and you’re toast. Many a vaporized demon will testify to their no nonsense nature from the murky depths of ‘the place of which none must speak’.

Did I say the rest of us are pretty much the same? Pardon me, that part of the narrative may not be totally correct. I am slightly different from all of them. Yes, I have the same skin color and wings. Yes, I sing just as sonorously as everybody else. Yes, I totally revere the Master in all His Majestic Glory and find totally repugnant ‘the vile one’ and his minions. However, my love for long jaunts amongst the mortals was a unique trait yet to be found in any other of my kind. Under the right conditions, you could confuse me for one of those earthlings; such was my love for and knowledge of their ways. The things I’ve seen and learned on my expeditions in the land of Adam’s descendants will fill countless volumes of that big fat roster Saint Peter is always scribbling in. That however is another story for another time.

And yes, when praise and worship gets to a level, I fall into a particularly euphoric state and lose control of some of my minor powers. At those times, I inadvertently project the thoughts of every other being around me as pictures on the walls of our domain. Now where we live, everybody thinks only in beams of colored light and the walls are always whiter than snow. The most you get is the appearance of a beautiful kaleidoscope of color. However, I try very hard to limit those slips in concentration. Gabriel is of the opinion that we all should be beings of iron will, totally in control of our actions at all times. Michael on his part doesn’t like the distractions brought about by the sudden appearance of dancing colors on the walls. He thinks it demeans the sanctity of the abode and our purpose. He takes everything too seriously, does Michael. Tell him that at your own risk. Everyone else doesn’t seem to mind though nobody else suffers from this anomaly.

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It was offering time at Christ Peoples’ Cathedral. The sanctuary choir dished out tune after tune; mostly infused with the latest highlife and hip hop beats. Come and see holy grooving at its very best. Everybody especially the ladies were seriously digging it for Jesus. Shoki, Azonto, Swo, Alanta, all join. They say you can do it anyhow as long as you do it for the Lord. Spurred on by the music, the whole congregation danced out their hearts as they trooped to drop their bulky offering envelopes. Giant baskets strategically placed in front of the pulpit, under the eagle eyes of the elegantly attired Bishop filled up in quick succession.

I sat unobtrusively in a corner pew, quietly observing the frenzy around me. As is usual when I walk amongst men, I’m dressed to blend in with the crowd. Sporting a sky blue ankara buba and sokoto, my feet are encased in flat black flat soled sandals and I have a silver watch on my wrist. Not what I would normally wear in my natural surroundings but I carried myself well in it. Nobody wears official garb during vacation time anyways.

After almost thirty minutes of dancing, the music switched from frenetic to more solemn. Choristers became Angels, hands were raised and eyes (most of them) were closed. Worship was in session.

Still I sat unobtrusively in my corner, observing, until the music got so melodic and worship so spiritual, I unconsciously stood up and joined in.

Ethereal music, a spiritually charged atmosphere and white, freshly painted walls. The recipe was complete.

I forgot where I was and lost control.

And then there were images.

Let’s just say that service that day ended very abruptly and the congregation of Christ Peoples’ Cathedral never looked at the each other in quite the same way again.

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Me, I got recalled by Michael, my vacation summarily ended. I also got a partial travel ban, forbidden to enter human houses of worship until such a time when I could prove my visit wouldn’t upset their fragile balance. They are frail beings, with much to hide and limited powers of discernment. There is a limit to truths they can be expected to deal with. Order must be preserved even if it means keeping their real intentions and thoughts hidden. Anything else would lead to chaos.

I’ve also been assigned an Elder to keep me in check and help me work on my control. Lessons are usually boring, I’d rather be free but I dare not disobey.

Whenever I think of the scenes that followed my faux pas that lovely Sunday at Christ Peoples’ Cathedral, the laughter is endless.

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