State of the Nation Address and the preacher who successfully preached nothing

COMMENT | Olivia Nalubwama | Years ago, probably after the sun-kissed year of 1986, I heard a story that tickled me. Dear reader, I present to you an embellished version of the story.

One Sunday, a preacher stood at the church pulpit, looking back at the expectant congregation. Unbeknownst to the congregation, the preacher was unprepared that Sunday. The preacher was determined to mask that he was quite clueless that Sunday.

He surveyed the congregation; all eyes were on him, ready to hear something inspiring to spur them through the week. The preacher, perhaps in the manner of many preachers, took to theatrics. Harnessing his booming voice, the preacher opened his non-existent sermon with: “Do you know why you are here today on this beautiful Sunday when you could be marinating on your sunken sofa, mindlessly watching television?”

The congregation matched his energy and shouted resoundingly, “Yes!” They were ready for that word – how desperately they needed it. Perchance, outside the sanctity of the Sunday service, battered by the vagaries of the week, the congregation was hustling to stay alive – who knows? All we know, it was not 1986.

The preacher continued, “Today, I will be brief.” A few folks nodded approvingly. Imaginably they were the sort of people who appreciated meticulous brevity, unencumbered by long winding history lectures. The preacher slurped some water and cleared his throat audibly into the microphone. He paused for dramatic effect because he could, and asked, “Do you know what I need to talk about?”

The congregation probably polite, unwilling to look like unrepentant heathens in the throes of Nyege Nyege responded resoundingly,

“Yes, preach preacher!”

Fattening the congregation for the kill, the preacher asked his final question, “Do you have your Bibles?”
Some congregants bristled at that question. Of course, they had their bibles. The wily preacher, like a smooth operator, concluded, “Then you know what to do. I need not say anything more today.”

With that, the preacher slumped his shoulders in fake humility and comfortably marched away from the pulpit. This congregation would later recount that no sooner had the sermon started than it ended.

The congregation sat entranced. Then, slowly, people started to look at each other, look around – perhaps for the preacher. A few people got up to check outside, hoping to see the preacher outside. Seeing his jalopy missing from the parking lot, the congregation awoke from their trance. They were on their own.  That Sunday, instead of a two-hour-long rousing sermon, the congregation received five minutes of “What just happened?”

Indeed, after that Sunday, the congregation would wonder if the preacher had ever been prepared for the delicate work of preaching. The story ends just like that. Unceremoniously. I have always wondered about the congregation – what did they make of themselves after that Sunday?

In my childhood primary school, Nakasero Primary School, a kind rotund woman was our English comprehension teacher in Primary Four. I can still hear her high-pitched voice talk about similes. She would be pleased to learn that her students have not stopped learning.

A new simile is born. One might say the congregation in our story was as disappointed as a Ugandan who faithfully sat through the June 6 State of the Nation Address (SONA). Of that Sunday sermon, another might remark that the sermon was as flat as the paper on which the SONA was printed. Even better, today’s column is as anticlimactic as the SONA.

*******

Olivia Nalubwama is a “tayaad Muzukulu, tired of mediocrity and impunity” smugmountain@gmail.com

THIS ARTICLE WAS FIRST PUBLISHED IN THE OBSERVER