"JESU KRISTO!!" Mama Agatha screamed, slapping the priest as if he was a thief. "FATHER, CONTROL YOURSELF! YOU ARE A MAN OF GOD!"

THE DAY I TRIPPED ON MY GOWN AND ALMOST SET THE PRIEST ON FIRE

It was a bright Sunday morning, and I was ready to serve in Mass like a true champion. I had done this a thousand times before—carrying the censer, swinging it gently, walking like an angel. But little did I know, this would be the day I became the greatest entertainer in the history of our church.

The church was packed. My family was there, my crush was there, even the village gossip, Mama Atieno, was there—ready to witness my downfall and report it with full details.

I took my position near the altar, holding the censer like a holy warrior. The choir sang like angels. The priest was in deep prayer. The congregation was silent. Everything was perfect.

Then it happened.

As I stepped forward, my long gown decided it had had enough of my holiness. It grabbed my feet and held on tight like a stubborn goat. Before I knew it, my left foot betrayed me, my right foot joined in, and I went flying like a bird who had forgotten how to fly.

"Wuuuuuiiiiiii!!!"

Down I went, arms flailing, censer swinging like a wrecking ball. The censer hit the floor with a mighty clang and—BOOM!—a cloud of holy smoke exploded like a witchcraft battle. But that was not the worst part. No, my dear brothers and sisters in Christ, the worst part was where the censer landed.

Right on the priest’s gown.

The poor man screamed like someone had poured boiling tea on his lap. "FIRE! FIRE!" he shouted, hopping around like a grasshopper on a hot pan. Instead of calmly handling the situation like a man of God, the priest OVERREACTED.

He panicked.

He grabbed his gown, yanked it up, and tried to pull it off while running around blindly, screaming like a madman. His sandals flew in different directions. The congregation gasped, the choir stopped mid-song, and even the church cat that always sat near the altar ran for its life.

But it gets worse.

In his blind panic, the priest did not see where he was going. Still struggling with his half-removed gown, he tripped over his own feet and went flying—headfirst—right into the congregation. And where did he land?

Right onto the lap of Mama Agatha, the oldest and most respected woman in the church.

"JESU KRISTO!!" Mama Agatha screamed, slapping the priest as if he was a thief. "FATHER, CONTROL YOURSELF! YOU ARE A MAN OF GOD!"

The whole church erupted in laughter. Even my mother, who was already planning my punishment, had to cover her mouth to stop herself from giggling. My crush? Oh, she was finished. Tears of laughter streamed down her face as she held her stomach.

Meanwhile, Mama Atieno was shaking her head, already preparing her report for the entire village: "Did you hear? The priest jumped on Mama Agatha’s lap! The devil was in that church today!"

Finally, someone poured water on the priest’s gown, putting out the tiny ember that had started. The priest sat up, breathing heavily, still tangled in his own robe. He cleared his throat and said, "Well… that was unexpected."

I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. But no, the ground refused. Instead, I had to stand there, pretending to be holy while my legs still shook.

From that day on, I earned a new name in the village: "The Altar Burner." Even my grandmother, who never joked, told me, "Maybe church work is not for you, my son."

And my crush? She still smiles at me in church, but I know—deep down—she will never forget the day I almost turned the priest into a burnt offering and sent him flying onto Mama Agatha’s lap.