And as the rains finally came, washing the dust from the hills, Pastor John Muyizzi stood at the pulpit and declared to the congregation:
Pastor John smiled and placed a hand on Waswa’s shoulder. "That is the good news, my brother. Tewali mbeera nene. There is no big price—because the price has already been paid. Not by you. Not by your cows. Not by your land. By the blood of the Lamb."
For the first time, Waswa’s hardened heart cracked. He fell to his knees not to bargain, but to weep. He realized that the big price he feared losing—his pride, his control, his riches—was never the price of salvation. It was only the weight he had been carrying in vain.
"Listen, children of God. You worry that following Christ will cost you too much. But I tell you today: Tewali Mbeera Nene. There is no price too big to pay for a love that already gave you everything. Give your heart. The rest is just gratitude." Following God is not about affording a high cost—it is about accepting a free gift. And when you truly understand that, no sacrifice you make for love will ever feel too great. Tewali Mbeera Nene by Pr John Muyizzi
In the rolling green hills of Mpigi, where the morning mist clung to the banana plantations like a blessing, lived a wealthy landowner named Waswa. He was known for two things: his vast herd of Ankole cattle and his stubborn heart. Waswa believed in transactions. To him, God was a distant King who demanded a high price for entry into Heaven—a price Waswa thought he could afford.
Every Sunday, he walked past the small iron-roofed church where Pastor John Muyizzi preached. He heard the singing. He saw the joy. But he would sneer and say to his son, "These poor people have nothing. They sing because they have nothing to lose. But for a man like me? To follow God? Ekyo kya Mbeera Nene. That is a big price."
Waswa decided to visit Pastor John Muyizzi. He found the pastor in a small wooden chapel, praying on his knees. And as the rains finally came, washing the
"Waswa," the pastor said softly, "you have been asking the wrong question. You keep asking, 'Mbeera ya ki?' — 'What is the price?' But God is not a market stall. You cannot bargain with the Creator."
One harvest season, a terrible drought came. The sun scorched the grass brown. Waswa’s prized cattle began to fall, one by one. His gold lost its shine when there was no water to buy. His barns grew empty. In his despair, he remembered the words of a traveling preacher years ago: "When the wealth is gone, the heart is tested."
He meant the loss of his pride, the time he could spend counting his cows, and the wealth he might have to give away. There is no big price—because the price has
"Pastor," Waswa said, his voice dry as the soil. "I want to buy my way into God's favor. I have a few cows left. I have land. Tell me the price. Ndiwa oluwa. I will pay."
Waswa clenched his fists. "Then what must I give? Tewali mbeera nene? Is there no big price I can pay?"
Pastor John stood up, his face calm but his eyes sharp as a prophet’s. He looked at Waswa’s trembling hands, then at the empty sky outside.
That night, Waswa gave away his last three cows to the widows of the village. He didn't do it to buy Heaven. He did it because, for the first time, he understood that love had no price tag.
And as the rains finally came, washing the dust from the hills, Pastor John Muyizzi stood at the pulpit and declared to the congregation:
Pastor John smiled and placed a hand on Waswa’s shoulder. "That is the good news, my brother. Tewali mbeera nene. There is no big price—because the price has already been paid. Not by you. Not by your cows. Not by your land. By the blood of the Lamb."
For the first time, Waswa’s hardened heart cracked. He fell to his knees not to bargain, but to weep. He realized that the big price he feared losing—his pride, his control, his riches—was never the price of salvation. It was only the weight he had been carrying in vain.
"Listen, children of God. You worry that following Christ will cost you too much. But I tell you today: Tewali Mbeera Nene. There is no price too big to pay for a love that already gave you everything. Give your heart. The rest is just gratitude." Following God is not about affording a high cost—it is about accepting a free gift. And when you truly understand that, no sacrifice you make for love will ever feel too great.
In the rolling green hills of Mpigi, where the morning mist clung to the banana plantations like a blessing, lived a wealthy landowner named Waswa. He was known for two things: his vast herd of Ankole cattle and his stubborn heart. Waswa believed in transactions. To him, God was a distant King who demanded a high price for entry into Heaven—a price Waswa thought he could afford.
Every Sunday, he walked past the small iron-roofed church where Pastor John Muyizzi preached. He heard the singing. He saw the joy. But he would sneer and say to his son, "These poor people have nothing. They sing because they have nothing to lose. But for a man like me? To follow God? Ekyo kya Mbeera Nene. That is a big price."
Waswa decided to visit Pastor John Muyizzi. He found the pastor in a small wooden chapel, praying on his knees.
"Waswa," the pastor said softly, "you have been asking the wrong question. You keep asking, 'Mbeera ya ki?' — 'What is the price?' But God is not a market stall. You cannot bargain with the Creator."
One harvest season, a terrible drought came. The sun scorched the grass brown. Waswa’s prized cattle began to fall, one by one. His gold lost its shine when there was no water to buy. His barns grew empty. In his despair, he remembered the words of a traveling preacher years ago: "When the wealth is gone, the heart is tested."
He meant the loss of his pride, the time he could spend counting his cows, and the wealth he might have to give away.
"Pastor," Waswa said, his voice dry as the soil. "I want to buy my way into God's favor. I have a few cows left. I have land. Tell me the price. Ndiwa oluwa. I will pay."
Waswa clenched his fists. "Then what must I give? Tewali mbeera nene? Is there no big price I can pay?"
Pastor John stood up, his face calm but his eyes sharp as a prophet’s. He looked at Waswa’s trembling hands, then at the empty sky outside.
That night, Waswa gave away his last three cows to the widows of the village. He didn't do it to buy Heaven. He did it because, for the first time, he understood that love had no price tag.