Peter Zomba cringed before the next blow. The heavy mahogany stave swung down toward his back and inflicted yet another blast of searing agony. Peter tried to stand up, but the old man above him was an insurmountable barricade. Another thunderous blow completed the cross weave of wounds on his bleeding back. The tyrant booted him into the corner, and Peter was too wounded to resist. He staggered backward and smashed his bloodied back into the hut wall. He had returned with his Bible-bashing band and tried to evangelise the village, but the madman crashed in and seized the first person he could find. As soon as his enraged tormentor left, Peter staggered to his feet and back toward the mission, where he wanted to bathe the lattice of bruises and welts on his back.
No sooner had Peter exited the hut than he crashed into his returning old man. There was much more love and pity in his father’s eyes than Peter had seen for ages. He instantly knew that he would forgive this man, no matter what wrong was done to him. Suddenly the shining bronze eyes blacked out. A pair of charred grey ones replaced them. Peter was struck by a vision of a wretched fiend sitting somewhere within the head, tabbing various buttons deep within the brain and scorching away the love and mercy with an evil invocation. The demon was back.
Using his father’s vocal chords—the same voice that had shouted praises when Peter had brought down that deer on a hunt and given loving counsel when Peter was emotionally wounded—using that voice the demon began to yell. It hurled obscenities at Peter. It began to mutter the most dreaded curse on the planet against the follower of the one man who would never bow. But Peter had built a strong life upon the rock of ages, and the torrent merely turned aside, however viciously it seethed.
“You are mine. Your father sold you at birth.” screamed the shaman who was his father.
“For we know that our old self was crucified with him…that we should no longer be slaves to sin (1). Lord Jesus, help me,” Peter implored.
“What of your father? What will happen to him if you introduce Jesus here?” asked the demon.
“And everyone who has left houses or brothers…or father or mother… or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life. (2)”
“These people will not be happy if you remove me,” pointed out the demon. “Their every custom revolves around my adoration.”
“And why do you break the command of God for the sake of your tradition? (3)”
The demon was at a loss for words. He had launched all three of his planned flaming arrows, and each had been calmly knocked into oblivion. Peter could imagine him desperately searching for one last button on the brain control box, and being unable to find it. “Jesus gave me authority to drive out demons,” Peter shouted. “So, in his mighty name, get out of my father!” The demon screamed in agony, and soared away. The old witchdoctor collapsed to the ground in exhaustion, and Peter bent down to help him up.
Two hours later, Dinyanga Zomba was seated next to his son. He had chopped off the half-metre braids and switched from the zebra-skin toga to a pair of T-shirts and shorts borrowed from Peter. He was apologising for his countless sins, when suddenly he said “What you did today, it happened twice before. I felt free, and then I was bound again. Only it felt much worse each time.”
Peter looked wide-eyed. “Uh oh—1; 7; 49; next is 343 demons—I think you need to meet Jesus, Dad.”
“You mean the friendly, fat, white man who gives us rough green toilet paper with faces and patterns on?”
“No, that is Dave. Jesus is—well I guess Jesus is my saviour, boss and friend. But you can talk to Dave. He’ll explain it all.”
The duo walked on, chatting about their memories of before Legion took over. They reached the mission station and another of the African assistants hailed Peter. The whole group gathered round to hear his adventure. “Everyone, I would like you to meet my abductor, convert, and ex-witchdoctor. He also happens to be my father.”
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
If you died today, are you absolutely certain that you would go to heaven? You can be right now. CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.