Yesterday, I was summoned to the multi-billion Naira construction site of the Ekiti State Internal Revenue House by the contractor, who breathlessly informed me that VIPs were en route to inspect the project. After reviewing the progress, we stood like sentinels at Jesus' tomb, waiting for the VIPs. Time ticked on, and as our legs grew weary, the site supervisor — a man pushing 70 — politely asked a young artisan, likely in his late twenties, to fetch three chairs for us to rest.
What followed left us stunned like an immaculately dressed party who had just been baptised with sprinkles of red oil.
“I am busy,” came the curt reply. The words hung in the air like a dirty slap. We all turned like a swivel chair in the hand of a hairdresser, wide-eyed, in disbelief. We were well dressed and didn’t expect to be so addressed. Anyone with eyes could tell we were not people of mean means. More than that, each of us standing could have easily been this young man’s father.
I asked him, “Do you know who is asking you to bring the chairs?” He replied again, even more defiantly, “But I told you I’m busy! Can’t you see I’m working?”
Sincerely, if my police escorts had not been a bit far from the scene, they would have needed some caution to resist the temptation to lay hands on him — not for prayer but to teach him the lessons Rehoboam missed in 1 Kings 12:13-14. But the elderly man, who engaged the mason the young man was working for, simply called a senior artisan. That one bolted downstairs and returned in less than three minutes with the chairs.
Like a fully loaded and working washing machine, I kept turning the scene over in my mind. What could breed such insolence in someone so young? Even if he didn’t know who we were, why could he not take cognizance of the fact that the site engineers paid obeisance duly on our arrival? Must respect be earned only by familiarity, not reverence for age? This was a case of the piper insisting on the tune he’d dictated to the employer.
Later, when my junior colleagues arrived and I recounted the tale, the ladies sank to their knees, and the young man among them prostrated, pleading mercy for the boy, who stood unmoved—a statue of apathy. I blinked, half-expecting the scene to dissolve like a mirage. I had to blink to be sure I wasn’t in a Nollywood production.
The contractor simply sighed and advised, “Leave him. He probably took something... some substance.” When a man feels a dozen feet tall, everyone else becomes a dwarf. Effects of the mockers called substance (be it alcohol or drugs) in our days are confirmations of Proverbs 20:1.
This morning, as I rose, the thought still clung to me like a stubborn Arabic perfume on cloth. And then came a divine whisper that shook me to my bones:
“When I, the Almighty, make a request — how many of you who call yourselves My people respond? Must you see Me physically before you honour Me as your Creator?”
“You ask for platforms, for promotions, for power. And when I give them, you become intoxicated with the blessings — so much so that I, the Giver, fade into insignificance. Don’t you swell like Jeshurun, forgetting your source (Deut 32:15) boasting, ‘I am self-made,’ forgetting that without me, you’re not better than a worm?
“When I anoint young men and women with evangelistic fire, they often settle for comfort. They trade the call for a career and pretend deaf to the dying crying for help. Instead of reaching the perishing world by obeying Jer 6:16, they build empires and congregations — content to fish in aquariums while the ocean teems with souls. When they neglect the call, I send my ageing, faithful labourers again — the ones who still know My voice. Ironically, these elders are often criticised for not 'handing over.’”
“The ones who truly know Me don’t chase after what I hold in my hands but seek My face (Psalm 27:8). They can read my expressions and obey my instructions without argument even when they don’t fully understand what the outcome would be. They walk the narrow path of holiness and faith, even when it hurts. They understand My ways, not just My acts (Psalm 103:7). Therefore, I anoint the aged sage for greater exploits while the virile younger folks gerrymander for functions without unction!
The tech age is very transactional. If I delay in answering them — that they might learn patience — they grumble. If I answer too quickly, they squander the capital of grace and run bankrupt before remembering their Source. They trade My presence for pennies, feasting on blessings until their souls starve (Malachi 3:14).”
“Olaniran, I allowed you to witness that moment — not just for indignation, but for introspection. The scene was your mirror. Look closely at your own life. Are there no areas of delayed obedience? What of disobedience masked as ‘busyness’? Do you realise it is the intercession of Jesus and a few faithful saints that have stayed My judgement over you? If people like you have done enough evangelism and outreach towards many of these young folks and influenced them positively, would they still be wearing diapers as adults?”
“I need you to sound the alarm. Warn the young not to be carried away by appearance, ambition, or applause. Let them hunger for depth — not just display. And while you’re at it, intercede for them. They need it.”
And so, here I am — in His presence still. Before I can remove the specks in others’ eyes, I must first deal with the logs in mine (Matthew 7:5). I have been sober since, reflecting on how to be a better example. Even if your log is smaller than mine, you still need to pluck it out to see better. I pray you allow this testimony to be a refiner fire and draw you back to your first love. If you’re fired by this, can you let the fire ignite others to respect and obey the Creator before they conclude that Gen Z is rude and crude?
Let others hear. Let others see.
