FEAR OF THE LORD In the heart of the bustling Ogbete market in Enugu, Mazi Okechukwu was a man of paradox. While other traders inflated prices during scarcity or used "calibrated" scales to cheat the unsuspecting, Mazi’s shop, The Pillar of Truth, remained a sanctuary of integrity. Mazi was not a man of loud prayers or performative piety. Instead, he carried a quiet, trembling reverence for the Divine that the locals called Egwu Chukwu —the Fear of God. To him, the fear of the Lord was not the terror of a slave before a tyrant, but the deep, aching respect of a son who feared to break the heart of a loving Father. One harmattan evening, a wealthy politician named Chief Obata arrived at Mazi’s shop. Chief Obata was a man whose shadow loomed larger than his character. He wanted to purchase a massive consignment of building materials for a government project. "Mazi," the Chief whispered, leaning over the counter, "I will pay you double the market rate. But on the receipt, you must triple the amount. We must both eat from the national cake." The shop went silent. Mazi’s young apprentice, Chidi, held his breath. This single deal could relocate them from their cramped shop to a mega-plaza. Mazi looked at the thick stacks of naira notes, then up at a small wooden plaque on his wall that read: The eyes of the Lord are in every place. "Chief," Mazi said softly, his voice devoid of judgment but heavy with conviction. "I cannot do this. I live my life before an Audience of One. If I take this money, I may fill my belly, but I will starve my soul. I fear the One who gave me the breath to negotiate with you more than I fear poverty." Chief Obata laughed scornfully. "You are a fool, Okechukwu. In this Nigeria, it is the 'smart' who survive, not the 'holy'." He stormed out. Weeks passed. A heavy rainy season arrived, and tragedy struck. A newly constructed government clinic in a nearby village collapsed, killing three people. It was discovered that the contractor had used substandard materials purchased with embezzled funds. The vendor who had accepted Chief Obata’s deal was arrested, his shop sealed, and his reputation charred. Chief Obata, fleeing legal heat and haunted by the deaths, returned to Mazi’s shop one rainy afternoon. He looked broken. "Why didn't you take the money?" the Chief asked, sitting on a wooden stool. "Everyone else did." Mazi looked at him with eyes full of compassion. "Chief, the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. It is the compass that keeps a man from drifting into the abyss. I do not stay honest because I am better than you; I stay honest because I know that one day, I will stand before the King of Kings to account for every kobo and every word." The Chief wept. That day, the transformation began. He didn't just seek legal restitution; he sought the peace Mazi possessed. Mazi’s life was a testament that the fear of God is not a burden of rules, but a garment of light. It is the humility to realize that we are small, and God is great; the reverence to know that every secret act is seen; and the wisdom to know that walking with God in poverty is better than sitting with the devil in a palace. Through his quiet piety, a whole market learned that while men fear the law, the wise man fears the Lawgiver.
