GODFATHERS IN THE TEMPLE: WHEN POLITICS TOOK THE PULPIT
Let’s not even pretend.
This Sunday, we are not here to sugarcoat or sanctify silence. We are here to talk. Because the walls of our churches and mosques have become too comfortable for corruption. And we, the people—yes, you and I—have become accomplices in robes and turbans.
Tell me: when did the altar become the annex of the governor’s lodge? When did the holy ground become a ground for political anointing?
Let’s start with the obvious. Nigerian politics is dirty. That’s not news. But what is deeply disturbing is how our pastors, prophets, imams, and general overseers are now the unofficial campaign managers of the corrupt elite.
Churches are no longer just places of worship. They are now investment houses with political shares. Mosques have become power-broking centers.
Let’s call names—not individuals, but roles.
The Daddy G.O. who invites a presidential aspirant to the altar—not to interrogate him, not to speak truth to power—but to “bless his ambition” with a 15-minute prophecy.
The Imam who turns the Friday khutbah into a political rally, reminding his followers that “our brother” must remain in power—for “the sake of our religion.” And we clap. And we say, “Ameen.” And the rot deepens.
The corruption of the state is now lubricated by the silence—or support—of the pulpit.
In the past, prophets walked into palaces to confront kings. Today’s prophets kneel in palaces for photo ops and donations. The biblical Nathan told King David the bitter truth. Today’s Nathan says, “Your Excellency, we are solidly behind you!” And for what? A plot of land in the capital? A donation of 500 million naira for “the church building project”? A trip to Jerusalem?
We now trade prayers for positions, anoint oil for envelopes, and declare fasting for political favors.
Let’s be real: how many “end of year” or “watch night” prophecies are really spiritual? They’re not divine; they’re strategic. They’re designed to keep the flock docile and the money flowing. “God told me this year, your candidate will win!” But somehow, God never tells you to demand free education, fix the roads, or condemn the killings.
Why? Because it’s bad for “ministry.” Because Daddy G.O. is waiting for an oil bloc license.
You think it’s harsh? Good. It should be.
The mosques are not exempt. In many northern states, you’ll find imams on the payroll of state governors—paid to issue Friday sermons that praise corrupt administrations and demonize critics. Instead of calling for accountability, they call for loyalty. Loyalty not to God, but to the highest bidder.
This is how religion becomes a tool of oppression. This is how families suffer while their spiritual leaders wine and dine with thieves.
While pastors drive bulletproof SUVs, members trek through insecurity-ridden highways. While imams get flown abroad for surgery, their followers are dying in underfunded clinics. But don’t worry—there’s always a prayer for healing to keep hope alive.
And let’s talk about these spiritual bazaars called “prayer breakfasts” and “intercessory crusades.” Do you know what many of them really are? Stakeholder meetings in disguise. Politicians line the front row. Men of God offer coded messages. Deals are made backstage. And the people? They go home with a sticker and a bottle of “blessed water.”
Is it any surprise that morality is on the decline? That our children can’t tell the difference between holiness and hustle?
We are raising a generation that believes that political endorsement is a spiritual gift. That believes prophecy is a career path, not a calling. That believes God is a contractor.
In our homes, we preach righteousness. But in our churches and mosques, we practice politics.
This is the heart of the tragedy. Our families are suffering while our faith is compromised.
Father, what example are you setting when you praise a governor who hasn’t paid salaries just because he donated bags of rice to your church? Mother, what do you teach your children when you celebrate a senator who gave your fellowship money, even though he has 15 corruption cases?
We are sending our children the wrong message: That character doesn’t matter. That truth is negotiable. That God can be bought.
Let’s make it personal.
The next time your Papa in the Lord tells you who to vote for, ask him: “Did God really say that? Or did the governor just visit last night?” The next time your Imam says a candidate is “God’s chosen,” ask him: “Is that from the Qur’an or from the new Prado parked outside?”
It is time for a new reformation.
The Church must return to its prophetic role—not just predicting elections, but confronting injustice. The Mosque must go back to being a moral compass—not just a place for ablution, but for accountability. Families must rise—not as fans of spiritual celebrities, but as defenders of truth.
This is not a call for religious war. It is a call for spiritual honesty. If Jesus walked into some of our churches today, He wouldn’t sit in the front row. He’d flip some offering baskets. If Prophet Muhammad entered some mosques, he’d weep—not for the ummah, but for the leaders who sold the soul of Islam for political peanuts.
Nigeria will not change until our altars change. Our politics will remain toxic until our pulpits are detoxed.
So as you sit in church today… as you kneel in the mosque this Friday… ask yourself: Am I hearing from God? Or am I being fed a politically branded, prophetically packaged lie?
We may not have the power to change the system overnight. But we have the power to change ourselves. To speak up. To question. To resist manipulation.
The Bible says: “Woe to those who call evil good, and good evil.” And I say: Woe to the pulpit that becomes a campaign office. Woe to the mosque that mortgages its voice for political survival. And woe to the people who cheer them on, Sunday after Sunday, Friday after Friday.
Enough is enough.
Nigeria doesn’t just need revival. It needs revolt—of the spirit, of the conscience, and of our religious institutions.
Until then, may your vote be yours. May your faith be real. And may your God not be for sale.
The is my Sunday Sermon from my holy pulpit!
Happy Easter!
Selah