Is God a Banker? Part 2: The Pulpit Pyramid  – Mapping The Merchants Of Miracles and Commodification Of Faith In Africa

 

By Emmanuel Mihiingo Kaija

 

Recap of Part One

 

In Part One: The Gospel of Gold, we traced the serpentine paths by which prosperity theology took root and blossomed in the African soil, reshaped by colonial wounds and modern capitalist seduction. What began as a gospel of hope and salvation now too often masquerades as a ledger of gains and losses, where faith is measured in banknotes rather than grace. The African church, once a sanctuary for the broken and a beacon for the oppressed, has become a marketplace for miracles, where blessings are auctioned to those with the deepest pockets and the loudest prayers. This transformation echoes the cautionary tale of Babel (Genesis 11:1-9), a tower built with ambition rather than humility, destined to fall. The Church risks becoming an echo chamber for financial aspiration, its pulpit a podium for wealth accumulation instead of servant leadership. As theologian Jesse Mugambi warned in Christianity and Social Change in Africa, the true gospel must re-root itself in justice and communal transformation, lest it become “a potted plant, beautiful but sterile.” This is the juncture where we find ourselves—between the gospel of gold and the gospel of grace.

 

 

A Humble Story to Begin

 

“Sow your seed, and God will multiply it like rabbits in rainy season!” She sold her only goat as a seed offering. No return came—except the pastor’s new motorbike. He claimed her goat seed had ascended to spiritual markets. The children now play a game called “Goat in Heaven.” This anecdote—tragic comedy or comedic tragedy—reveals how faith becomes transactional, not transformational. Faith is not magic—it is trust, endurance, and relationship

 

 

1.The Commodification of God: Worship as Business in African Faith Spaces

 

The tale of a widow in Kampala baking sweet banana cakes to feed her children, who gave her last 10,000 shillings during a “prophetic offering,” is tragically emblematic. She believed her faith investment would birth a breakthrough, but her oven grew cold and her spirit colder. In urban hubs like Nairobi and Johannesburg, churches function increasingly like commercial enterprises: LED-lit altars display mobile money numbers and PayPal QR codes, while worship playlists are interspersed with “seed-sowing” exhortations. The sacred becomes a commodity; divine blessing, a product with a price tag.

 

Anthropologist Ruth Marshall notes in Political Spiritualities how Pentecostalism in Africa often blurs lines between religion and capitalism, commodifying faith into transactional spirituality. The Yoruba proverb, “Oni le ti pa ile, ko pa erin” (“He who burns down his house to catch a rat will lose both house and rat”), warns of spiritual pyromania—the risk that such transactional worship may destroy the very foundation it purports to build.

 

This paradigm shift is especially visible in megachurches with branded merchandise, subscription giving plans, and “miracle product” marketing. Yet, Jesus’ cleansing of the temple (Matthew 21:12–13) was a direct rebuke of such commerce. Amos’s cry, “I hate, I despise your festivals… let justice roll on like a river” (Amos 5:21,24), reverberates across these modern worship centers. When spirituality becomes a brand, worship loses its soul.

 

2.Prophets or Performers? The Rise of Spiritual Celebrities

 

In many African contexts, prophets no longer just prophesy—they perform. One preacher famously landed in a helicopter in a drought-stricken village, livestreaming his arrival with the caption “Miracles incoming,” even as locals fetched water miles away from dirty wells. These “spiritual brands” market charisma as commodity, transforming the pulpit into a stage and the congregation into an audience. The spiritual leader dons Armani suits and sports designer watches, while Bible study is replaced by image management.

 

As Paul lamented about false apostles masquerading as servants of righteousness (2 Corinthians 11:13–15), this new breed risks eclipsing Christ with spectacle. The Akan proverb, “Obaa a onni dua no, ne kunu nte ase” (“A woman who lacks a tree, her husband will not understand her”), reminds us that spiritual leadership requires deep roots in humility and community, not just showmanship. The spectacle-driven gospel fuels a kingdom of ego rather than a kingdom of truth, leaving the Church vulnerable to superficiality and consumerist worship.

 

3.Tithes, Taxes, and the Tyranny of Spiritual Investment

 

In many congregations, an unspoken hierarchy emerges, where the largest givers sit closest to the altar and receive the most attention. What was once voluntary giving has morphed into spiritual taxation. “Sow a seed and see your miracle,” pastors proclaim, often applying Malachi’s rebuke of a faithless Israel (Malachi 3:10) as a weapon to enforce compliance. Yet the fuller biblical context demands justice, humility, and mercy—often ignored.

 

A World Bank report estimates that over 40% of sub-Saharan Africans live under the poverty line, making compulsory tithing a harsh burden. The Ugandan proverb “Enva y’enzira y’omubazi” (“The way of the hunter is the way of the warrior”) cautions against oppressive spiritual systems that hunt the vulnerable. Jesus celebrated the widow’s mite, not for its monetary value, but because it was given with a pure heart (Luke 21:3–4). Giving should flow from love, not coercion. When it becomes an instrument of fear or guilt, faith withers under pressure.

 

4.The Empire of Excess: Mega-Church Wealth vs Community Poverty

 

Drive through the skylines of Lagos, Kampala, and Nairobi, and marvel at glass towers crowned with neon crosses. Meanwhile, just streets away, children play in open sewers and families subsist on less than a dollar a day. This grotesque contrast between glittering mega-churches and crushing poverty is a spiritual scandal.

 

This “empire theology” echoes Babylonian decadence more than Bethlehem’s humble manger. Where once Jesus’ followers shared all things in common (Acts 2:44), today pastors own fleets of cars and luxury homes while their congregants struggle with rent and hunger. Kenyan elder John Mbiti warned that “the goat that farts among elders must have something to say,” a call for accountability and courage in confronting inequity.

 

Isaiah’s prophecy rings true: “Woe to those who add house to house and join field to field till no space is left” (Isaiah 5:8). True richness is measured not by marble floors or designer pulpits, but by how a church feeds, clothes, and lifts its flock. The empire of excess must crumble if the gospel is to regain its integrity.

 

5.Sacred Seeds or Spiritual Scams? Deconstructing the Theology of Giving

 

The seed-faith message, championed by some televangelists, has become a lottery ticket for divine favor. “Name your seed and watch it bloom,” they urge, reducing spiritual generosity to a mechanical transaction. Yet the Apostle Paul clarifies that giving is an act of grace, not a guarantee (2 Corinthians 9:7).

 

This distortion breeds spiritual scams, as some ministries promise weddings, jobs, or visas in exchange for “dangerous seeds.” It mirrors a transactional worldview more akin to witchcraft economics than gospel truth. The Shona proverb, “Anopa ndiye muranda” (“The giver is the master”), warns of the dangerous power dynamics such giving creates.

 

God cannot be bribed (Acts 8:20). The greatest gift—salvation—was freely given through Christ’s sacrifice. When giving becomes a hustle, when faith is sold as a service, heaven itself becomes suspect. True giving is liberation, not bondage.

 

6.The Resilient Remnant: Voices of Reform and Renewal

 

Yet, amid the cacophony of commerce and celebrity, a quiet but growing remnant arises across Africa. These are pastors and communities refusing to bow to Mammon, preaching holiness over hype and integrity over income. They weep between porch and altar, calling the Church back to its first love.

 

They embody the early Church’s unity: “All the believers were one in heart and mind… and shared everything” (Acts 4:32). They build schools, feed widows, and reject VIP sections. Their voices may be soft, but like leaven, their influence spreads.

 

In the words of Nigerian author Chinua Achebe, “The world is like a Mask dancing. If you want to see it well, you do not stand in one place.” This remnant invites us to see beyond the glitter and embrace a Church rooted in justice, love, and humility.

 

Conclusion: Rebuilding the Altar of Integrity

 

Africa’s Church stands at a crossroads. Shall we continue worshiping a banker god who trades in miracles like stocks? Or shall we follow the crucified Carpenter who built a kingdom of grace? Shall we build pyramids of gold or altars of justice?

 

Micah’s timeless call rings: “Act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8). James reminds us that God “has chosen the poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith” (James 2:5). Jesus overturned tables once and may do so again—not in temples made of stone, but in cathedrals built on consumerism.

 

Like Nehemiah rebuilding Jerusalem’s walls, the Church must rebuild its foundations—brick by brick, heart by heart. May our pulpits bleed Scripture, not slogans; may the Cross rise not as a logo but as life.

 

 

Emkaijawrites@gmail.com