A Spiritual Father Remembered: A Tribute to Bishop Ezekiel Njoka

Present at My Grandmother’s Funeral: Remembering a Spiritual Father
One of the special people who was silently and meaningfully present at my grandmother’s funeral was my long-time pastor, Bishop Ezekiel Njoka. That day, he did not speak, yet his presence meant so much not only to my family but also to the team from my hometown who came to mourn with us. In that silence, there was covering. Friends, I am trying my best to put words on paper to describe my loss. I have lost a spiritual father who rested unexpectedly with the Lord yesterday.

A Pillar of My Faith
Bishop Ezekiel Njoka was a pillar of my faith. He was present at every milestone of my life. He is known to all my relatives from Ukambani and Meru, because of his faithful presence at many family functions, not only at my parents’ home, where he lived 10 minutes by us. He would travel kilometres to visit both my maternal and paternal grandparents. For a long time, people even thought my young brother was his son, because bishop would sit with him in the pastors’ section at the front. That was the nature of his closeness. He was not simply our pastor; he was family.

Presence That Followed Life, Not Location
After I moved out of my hometown, he would visit me anytime he was in the town where I lived. When I got married, he visited me in my home. My children know him. No visit to my parents’ home would be complete without visiting him. Even during my last visit, which lasted only 24 hours, I still made sure to see him. He was also present during both my sister’s and my traditional wedding functions, walking closely with our family through the preparations, providing financial support, praying with us and honouring our culture.

Where Wonder Began
When my parents moved to our hometown over 30 years ago, they were Presbyterian and AIC. Through their relationship with Bishop Njoka, they later found their way to the Full Gospel Church. I trace my Pentecostal roots back to him. I remember visiting his home when I was maybe three years old,one of the most beautiful homes I had ever seen at that age. At his home, I encountered white people for the first time, missionaries from Finland. That was where I first learned about Europe. I remember the wonder and curiosity as he described the developed world. He was well-travelled, yet you would rarely know his humility was deep and genuine.

A Refuge in Difficulty
I remember a miraculous encounter one day when we were returning from visiting my maternal grandmother. We were stranded on the road for hours, waiting for public transport. There were no mobile phones then, then, suddenly, he appeared with his Suzuki car, one of the few people who had a car in my town in the early 90s. That ride felt divine. Any time I encountered difficulty, his home was a place to go or reach him via phone. Any time I wanted to praise God for His doing, his home was a place to go. He was refuge, a safety, he provided us with spiritual cover.

Presence in Pain and Calling
When I was admitted for my fistula surgery, he and mama were not able to visit me in the hospital. However, he prayed with me over the phone and sent their daughter-in-law, who was in the town where I was hospitalised, to visit me. Even in physical absence, he was present. When I served as a teacher, he came to my workstation because he wanted to pray with me. He met my principal and prayed over the school. He also prayed in my new office when I became HOD Guidance and Counselling, where I trace my passion for gender based violence.

Friends, I hope you hear me.
He was intentionally present in my life.

Formation Through Blessing
My mother would always send us to him for blessings and prayers at the beginning of every school term—primary school, secondary school, and university at his house or pray at our home. Any time I visited him, his wife would say, “Eva has come,” and she would give us time. I enjoyed spending hours at his feet, reflecting on various Biblical passages together. We never had a conversation without him referencing the Bible several times. He knew Scripture deeply inside out.

The Last Blessing and Holy Obedience
In my last blog, I shared that last year I desired to live a Spirit-led life. In November, during my prayers, his name came strongly into my heart. I felt I should do what African children do, send something, something I had not done at the time. Two days later, I realised he had just been discharged from the hospital where he had been admitted. It did not stop there. I felt strongly that I should send my mother to him since he had been discharged. I simply wanted blessings and thanked God for something remarkable that God had answered when we prayed together in May, and God answered in June, but I had not gone back for thanksgiving. I am so glad I obeyed. It is only 40 days later. Strangely, I even took a screenshot of our conversation as he was blessing me.

A Loss Beyond Me
Bishop Njoka was a man of rare character, a missionary in the town where I grew up. I have never encountered such a peaceful, humble man after God’s own heart. He took the gospel to that place and shared with me many stories of God’s call in a dry land, and how the good news spread. A few years ago, pastors from different church traditions in the town honoured him. The stadium was full. People came from everywhere, including Christians who had left the town many years earlier. This loss is not only mine. It is a loss to his family and to the body of Christ. It is sad, his absence in body, but God has called our beloved bishop home.

Honouring My Mother
Bishop became deeply influential in my life also because of my mother. I honour her for allowing him to hold such an important space in my faith. Through her discernment and trust, I received a spiritual father. His absence is felt, but his legacy outlives him.