we have pastors whose Bible is like a big calculator.
Every verse is about money.
Their church is no longer a place for prayer.
It is a holy marketplace for miracles.
Faith is the basket.
Tithe is the price tag.
Every Sunday morning,
men and women rush to church before the sun rises,
like traders hurrying to Lagos market.
Some eat nothing,
but hold tight their tithe envelopes
like tickets to heaven.
Pastor warns them:
“If you do not pay tithe,
you will not prosper.
Your blessings will expire.”
And who wants an expired blessing?
The church building shines with gold
like the palace of a rich chief in a Nollywood film.
Pastor’s Italian suit is so bright
it blinds the eyes like Harmattan sun on new zinc.
He catwalks to the pulpit with pride,
Bible in one hand,
spiritual ATM card in the other.
Then the show begins.
He shouts into the microphone:
“My people! Sow your seed now!
One tithe today brings seven blessings tomorrow!”
Members say “Amen!” loudly,
but their pockets are crying quietly.
Even the poor must give.
Pastor tells them
“When you are poor, that is the time to give more.
That is advanced faith.”
Some sell their last chair to sow seed.
Others drop their husband’s car keys on the altar
for ‘kingdom investment’.
Months later,
Pastor drives a new luxury jeep
with air colder than winter in London or Toronto,
while his members trek home under a sun
hotter than pepper soup fire.
Pastor flies private jets,
saying it is “mission work”,
but mission work often ends in Dubai, London or Bahamas.
He posts pictures beside the sea,
wearing sunglasses and drinking coconut water:
“Doing the Lord’s work.”
Once, in the deep forest,
there lived a hyena who called himself
"Messenger of the Sky"
He told the other animals:
“If you do not bring me meat every week,
the sky god will stop the rain.
Your rivers will dry,
your children will starve,
and your homes will fall.”
The animals believed him.
Each week,
the goats brought grass,
the antelopes brought fresh leaves,
the hares brought sweet berries,
and the monkeys brought ripe bananas.
The hyena ate all of them.
Soon his stomach grew round like a big drum,
while the other animals became thin like dry sticks.
One young antelope asked:
"Messenger Hyena,
to whom do YOU give meat,
before the sky god blesses you?”
The hyena became angry.
He roared and shouted:
“Look at my fat belly!
That is the proof of blessing!
Do not ask foolish questions!”
But the animals kept thinking.
One by one, they understood
that the hyena’s blessing
was only their hard work in his stomach.
So they stopped bringing him food,
and walked away to another part of the forest.
In Today's Nigeria,
our pastors are the hyenas.
They build mansions in Banana Island,
buy Rolls Royce cars and armoured vehicles,
and fly private jets.
And I still ask:
Who do these pastors pay tithe to
before their own prosperity began?
From which altar did they sow for their first private jet?
Yet the followers believe poverty is proof
that God is testing them.
They believe pastor’s riches are proof
that God has favoured him.
But the truth is plain:
The only account being credited is pastor’s bank account
If all the tithe money was used for the people,
we would have free schools, good hospitals,
and jobs for the youth.
But no --
it buys pastor fine suits,
big houses, shiny cars,
and fattens his accounts like a Christmas goat.
One day, the people’s eyes will open.
They will see that “Yahoo” is not only boys with laptops –
some it is men with pulpits.
And when that day comes,
the church seats will be empty,
the “holy bank” will be closed,
and silence will fill pastor’s mansion.
He will stand beside his dusty private jet and armoured car, asking:
“Where have my people gone?”
And from far away,
a strong voice will answer:
“We have gone to work.
We have gone to save.
Heaven is not for sale.”
EBIKABOWEI KEDIKUMO - writes from Ayakoromo Town, Delta State
