By Apostle Raphael Adebayo
It’s often in our greatest moments of pain that God reveals our deepest purpose. For me, it all began on July 7, 1998, in a small apartment in Arlington, Texas, when I received the heartbreaking news of the death of Chief Moshood Kashimawo Olawale (M.K.O.) Abiola—a man I admired and desired to be like.
That moment shook my faith to its foundation and set me on a spiritual journey I never expected.
From Devotion to Disillusionment
Before that day, I was a committed Muslim. I had grown up in Yoruba traditional and Islamic practices and was active in the Muslim Students Society at Obafemi Awolowo University, serving on its Jihad Committee from 1983 to 1988.
M.K.O. Abiola was a beacon of hope to many Nigerians. His death in detention felt like the death of a dream.
“I was devastated and lost hope in the power of love and solidarity in Islam. I said to myself, ‘I will never pray as a Muslim again unless I can receive clarity on this tragic end of a man I desired to be like.’”
I couldn’t understand how fellow Muslims—friends and allies of M.K.O.—could allow him to die alone. That disillusionment opened my heart to seek a deeper, truer encounter with God.
A Radical Encounter with Christ
On December 2, 1998, while en route to Lagos after three years in America, I surrendered my life to Jesus.
“I gave myself only six months to try Jesus—just six months to see if He really had the power and love attributed to Him. Now, 27 years later, I am still walking in that power and love.”
Encouraged by my then-fiancée (now wife), I joined The Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG) in February 1999. I immersed myself in the Word, served passionately, and was appointed head of the Men’s Fellowship and later the Prayer Department.
I took inspiration from 1 John 3:8, which says:
“For this purpose, the Son of God was manifested, that He might destroy the works of the devil.”
I knew in my spirit—I was called to do the same.
A Burden for the Homeless in America
Back in America, I was shocked by what I saw: extreme poverty and homelessness in one of the world’s richest nations.
“I saw people living in America as poor as those living on the train lines of Agege and Oshodi in Lagos. It was beyond what my mind could handle.”
This spiritual burden drove me to act.
Ministry Begins on the Streets
On December 25, 2003—my 41st birthday—my family and a few friends gathered on a street corner in Dallas, Texas to hold a service for the homeless. That day, 18 people gave their lives to Jesus.
“That moment confirmed it: this wasn’t just an outreach—it was a calling.”
We began weekly Tuesday outreach at the Martin Luther King Jr. Recreation Center. Four weeks later, a Nigerian chicken franchise owner offered to supply fried chicken for free. He has done so faithfully for over 21 years.
A Funeral Home Becomes a Church
As our ministry grew, we felt led to start a Sunday service. But where could we meet?
One Tuesday, a visiting minister, Mrs. Cynthia Chase, made a suggestion:
“Why not try a funeral home? They’re usually available on Sundays.”
That divine idea led us to Eternal Rest Funeral Home, where we held our first Sunday service on May 30, 2004.
By August 1, 2004, we moved into a rented space at 1705 Martin Luther King Jr Blvd, which became our permanent church building in 2014.
“We have watched God transform what was once labeled a ghetto into an extension of Downtown Dallas.”
From Exodus to Empowerment
This journey has been more than just a ministry. It’s a calling to serve the poor, homeless, and rejected—those society has forgotten.
My story, and the lessons God has taught me through this mission, are captured in my new book:
Moses, David, Jesus: Pastors to the Poor, Homeless, and the Needy
> “Just as God sent Moses to deliver Israel, and David to lead the distressed, and Jesus to set captives free—He sent me to serve the homeless and needy in America.”
It is my hope that this story inspires people in positions of privilege to start asking:
> "What can I do to make a difference in my community?"
Because true ministry begins not on the platform—but in the streets.
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