It was RHEMA FEAST season,
and thousands came hungry,
Bibles tucked beneath their arms,
hearts stretched toward the pulpit,
mouths ready for another portion of the Word that changes lives.
Someone looked at the multitude and smiled:
“Word-hungry Kenyans, feasting heavily!”
And perhaps it was true.
They came hungry.
They listened.
They shouted.
They clapped.
They lifted their hands.
They said, “Amen!”
They said, “Powerful!”
They said, “That Word was for me!”
Yet those who knew him would say,
“That one eats, but the food does not help him.”
He eats, and runs to the washroom.
From the washroom, back to the table.
From the table, back to the washroom.
Eating.
Releasing.
Eating.
Releasing.
Again.
Again.
Again.
A terrible cycle of consumption without nourishment.
The food enters,
And perhaps this is where the uncomfortable question begins:
Are we hungry for the Word,
or merely hungry for the feeling that comes from hearing the Word?
There is a difference.
One person hears the Word and says,
“That was powerful!”
Another hears the same Word and says,
“That must change me.”
One records the sermon.
The other records it on the heart.
One shares the quotation.
The other shares the fruit.
One returns for another feast.
The other goes home and begins to live what was served.
Perhaps the real measure of RHEMA FEAST will not be the size of the crowd.
Not the volume of the worship.
Not the number of sermons preached.
Not the number of hands raised.
Not the number of people who shouted themselves hoarse.
The real question will be:
What will remain when the tents come down?
What will remain when the microphones are switched off?
What will remain when the worship team goes home?
What will remain when the preacher is no longer standing before us?
What will remain on Monday morning?
Will there be more patience in the home?
More honesty in business?
More purity in private?
More compassion toward the vulnerable?
More courage to say no to corruption?
More forgiveness toward those who hurt us?
More humility when we are corrected?
More integrity when nobody is watching?
More love when love becomes inconvenient?
More obedience when obedience becomes costly?
and thousands came hungry,
Bibles tucked beneath their arms,
hearts stretched toward the pulpit,
mouths ready for another portion of the Word that changes lives.
Someone looked at the multitude and smiled:
“Word-hungry Kenyans, feasting heavily!”
And perhaps it was true.
They came hungry.
They listened.
They shouted.
They clapped.
They lifted their hands.
They said, “Amen!”
They said, “Powerful!”
They said, “That Word was for me!”
But my mind wandered.
Not away from the Word,
but deeper into the meaning of eating.
I remembered a man who was always eating.
Eating in the morning.
Eating at noon.
Eating in the evening.
Eating again before the food had even settled.
Like a goat chewing cud,
he was forever moving his mouth.
Not away from the Word,
but deeper into the meaning of eating.
I remembered a man who was always eating.
Eating in the morning.
Eating at noon.
Eating in the evening.
Eating again before the food had even settled.
Like a goat chewing cud,
he was forever moving his mouth.
Yet those who knew him would say,
“That one eats, but the food does not help him.”
He eats, and runs to the washroom.
From the washroom, back to the table.
From the table, back to the washroom.
Eating.
Releasing.
Eating.
Releasing.
Again.
Again.
Again.
A terrible cycle of consumption without nourishment.
The food enters,
passes through,
and leaves him almost as quickly as it came.
His body became a pipe,
not a garden.
Food travels through him,
but does not transform him.
And suddenly I wondered:
Could a Christian do the same thing with the Word?
Could we attend RHEMA FEAST,
and leaves him almost as quickly as it came.
His body became a pipe,
not a garden.
Food travels through him,
but does not transform him.
And suddenly I wondered:
Could a Christian do the same thing with the Word?
Could we attend RHEMA FEAST,
conference after conference,
service after service,
sermon after sermon,
prophecy after prophecy,
Bible study after Bible study,
and still remain spiritually malnourished?
Could we be Word consumers without becoming Word practitioners?
Could we feast heavily and yet grow nothing?
We have notes everywhere;
in notebooks,
phones,
Facebook posts,
WhatsApp statuses,
highlighted Bibles,
and saved videos.
We can tell you what the preacher said.
We can quote the verse.
We can explain the revelation.
We can identify the Hebrew word.
We can shout the loudest when the preacher says,
“Somebody say AMEN!”
But when anger comes,
where is the Word?
When temptation comes,
where is the Word?
When money becomes tight,
where is the Word?
When someone betrays us,
where is the Word?
When nobody is watching,
where is the Word?
When we are given power,
where is the Word?
When we have the opportunity to cheat and nobody will know,
where is the Word?
When forgiveness becomes expensive,
where is the Word?
When telling the truth costs us something,
where is the Word?
Perhaps the question is not:
“How much Word have you heard?”
Perhaps the more dangerous question is:
“How much of what you have heard has become you?”
Because Jesus never praised the person who merely heard.
He spoke about soil.
He spoke about seed.
He spoke about roots.
He spoke about fruit.
And that should frighten the professional sermon collector.
Because a seed can enter the ground without becoming a harvest.
A message can enter your ears without entering your character.
A sermon can excite your emotions without changing your habits.
A conference can make you cry without making you repent.
A prophecy can make you dance without making you obey.
A powerful altar call can produce lifted hands without producing changed hands.
You can leave RHEMA FEAST with ten new revelations and return home with the same old character.
You can shout “Amen!”
and continue abusing your spouse.
You can sing “I surrender all”
and refuse to surrender your pride.
You can quote “love your enemies”
and spend the entire week destroying someone's name.
You can preach holiness and negotiate with sin when nobody is looking.
You can be full of sermons and empty of transformation.
That is the frightening possibility.
Not that the Word is powerless.
But that we may be consuming it without digesting it.
Jesus spoke of seed that fell on rocky ground.
The person hears.
Immediately, there is excitement.
There are tears.
There is enthusiasm.
There is movement.
There is perhaps even a public declaration:
“From today, my life will never be the same!”
But then difficulty arrives.
Pressure arrives.
Persecution arrives.
Temptation arrives.
The emotions disappear.
And suddenly there is nothing.
No root.
No endurance.
No character.
No fruit.
Just yesterday's excitement and today's temptation.
The seed was good.
The preacher was good.
The message was good.
The atmosphere was good.
The worship was good.
But the soil was shallow.
service after service,
sermon after sermon,
prophecy after prophecy,
Bible study after Bible study,
and still remain spiritually malnourished?
Could we be Word consumers without becoming Word practitioners?
Could we feast heavily and yet grow nothing?
We have notes everywhere;
in notebooks,
phones,
Facebook posts,
WhatsApp statuses,
highlighted Bibles,
and saved videos.
We can tell you what the preacher said.
We can quote the verse.
We can explain the revelation.
We can identify the Hebrew word.
We can shout the loudest when the preacher says,
“Somebody say AMEN!”
But when anger comes,
where is the Word?
When temptation comes,
where is the Word?
When money becomes tight,
where is the Word?
When someone betrays us,
where is the Word?
When nobody is watching,
where is the Word?
When we are given power,
where is the Word?
When we have the opportunity to cheat and nobody will know,
where is the Word?
When forgiveness becomes expensive,
where is the Word?
When telling the truth costs us something,
where is the Word?
Perhaps the question is not:
“How much Word have you heard?”
Perhaps the more dangerous question is:
“How much of what you have heard has become you?”
Because Jesus never praised the person who merely heard.
He spoke about soil.
He spoke about seed.
He spoke about roots.
He spoke about fruit.
And that should frighten the professional sermon collector.
Because a seed can enter the ground without becoming a harvest.
A message can enter your ears without entering your character.
A sermon can excite your emotions without changing your habits.
A conference can make you cry without making you repent.
A prophecy can make you dance without making you obey.
A powerful altar call can produce lifted hands without producing changed hands.
You can leave RHEMA FEAST with ten new revelations and return home with the same old character.
You can shout “Amen!”
and continue abusing your spouse.
You can sing “I surrender all”
and refuse to surrender your pride.
You can quote “love your enemies”
and spend the entire week destroying someone's name.
You can preach holiness and negotiate with sin when nobody is looking.
You can be full of sermons and empty of transformation.
That is the frightening possibility.
Not that the Word is powerless.
But that we may be consuming it without digesting it.
Jesus spoke of seed that fell on rocky ground.
The person hears.
Immediately, there is excitement.
There are tears.
There is enthusiasm.
There is movement.
There is perhaps even a public declaration:
“From today, my life will never be the same!”
But then difficulty arrives.
Pressure arrives.
Persecution arrives.
Temptation arrives.
The emotions disappear.
And suddenly there is nothing.
No root.
No endurance.
No character.
No fruit.
Just yesterday's excitement and today's temptation.
The seed was good.
The preacher was good.
The message was good.
The atmosphere was good.
The worship was good.
But the soil was shallow.
And perhaps this is where the uncomfortable question begins:
Are we hungry for the Word,
or merely hungry for the feeling that comes from hearing the Word?
There is a difference.
One person hears the Word and says,
“That was powerful!”
Another hears the same Word and says,
“That must change me.”
One records the sermon.
The other records it on the heart.
One shares the quotation.
The other shares the fruit.
One returns for another feast.
The other goes home and begins to live what was served.
Perhaps the real measure of RHEMA FEAST will not be the size of the crowd.
Not the volume of the worship.
Not the number of sermons preached.
Not the number of hands raised.
Not the number of people who shouted themselves hoarse.
The real question will be:
What will remain when the tents come down?
What will remain when the microphones are switched off?
What will remain when the worship team goes home?
What will remain when the preacher is no longer standing before us?
What will remain on Monday morning?
Will there be more patience in the home?
More honesty in business?
More purity in private?
More compassion toward the vulnerable?
More courage to say no to corruption?
More forgiveness toward those who hurt us?
More humility when we are corrected?
More integrity when nobody is watching?
More love when love becomes inconvenient?
More obedience when obedience becomes costly?
Because the Word was never meant to pass through us like water through a pipe.
It was meant to enter us,
settle in us,
break us,
reshape us,
correct us,
confront us,
and eventually produce something in us.
The Word is not merely food for the ears.
It is seed for the soil.
And seed must be buried before it becomes fruit.
Perhaps we have become a generation that loves eating but hates digestion.
We want revelation without transformation.
We want promises without obedience.
We want anointing without character.
We want miracles without maturity.
We want the crown without the cross.
We want the harvest without the dying of the seed.
So yes:
Word-hungry Kenyans,
feast heavily.
But please,
digest.
Let the Word stay long enough to confront your pride.
Let it disturb your comfort.
Let it challenge your greed.
Let it expose your hypocrisy.
Let it interrupt your plans.
Let it change the way you speak to your children.
Let it change the way you treat your employees.
Let it change the way you treat the poor.
Let it change the way you conduct business.
Let it change the way you respond when offended.
Let it change the person you become when nobody is watching.
Because there is something worse than being hungry for the Word.
It was meant to enter us,
settle in us,
break us,
reshape us,
correct us,
confront us,
and eventually produce something in us.
The Word is not merely food for the ears.
It is seed for the soil.
And seed must be buried before it becomes fruit.
Perhaps we have become a generation that loves eating but hates digestion.
We want revelation without transformation.
We want promises without obedience.
We want anointing without character.
We want miracles without maturity.
We want the crown without the cross.
We want the harvest without the dying of the seed.
So yes:
Word-hungry Kenyans,
feast heavily.
But please,
digest.
Let the Word stay long enough to confront your pride.
Let it disturb your comfort.
Let it challenge your greed.
Let it expose your hypocrisy.
Let it interrupt your plans.
Let it change the way you speak to your children.
Let it change the way you treat your employees.
Let it change the way you treat the poor.
Let it change the way you conduct business.
Let it change the way you respond when offended.
Let it change the person you become when nobody is watching.
Because there is something worse than being hungry for the Word.
It is being full of the Word and empty of its fruit.
And there is something worse than missing the feast.
It is attending the feast,
eating everything served,
shouting throughout the meal,
and leaving exactly the same person who arrived.
So before we celebrate how much Word we have consumed,
perhaps we should ask:
Has the Word consumed us?
Has it eaten our pride?
Has it swallowed our hatred?
Has it broken our stubbornness?
Has it killed our hypocrisy?
Has it softened our hearts?
Has it changed our character?
Has it produced fruit?
Because one day, the question may not be:
“How many sermons did you hear?”
But:
“What did the sermons do to you?”
And perhaps then we will finally understand;
The greatest evidence that we have eaten the Word is not that we can quote it.
It is that we have become the kind of people who live it.
And there is something worse than missing the feast.
It is attending the feast,
eating everything served,
shouting throughout the meal,
and leaving exactly the same person who arrived.
So before we celebrate how much Word we have consumed,
perhaps we should ask:
Has the Word consumed us?
Has it eaten our pride?
Has it swallowed our hatred?
Has it broken our stubbornness?
Has it killed our hypocrisy?
Has it softened our hearts?
Has it changed our character?
Has it produced fruit?
Because one day, the question may not be:
“How many sermons did you hear?”
But:
“What did the sermons do to you?”
And perhaps then we will finally understand;
The greatest evidence that we have eaten the Word is not that we can quote it.
It is that we have become the kind of people who live it.