On a warm summer evening in Girne, Cyprus, the harbor buzzed with cheerful chatter under the fading evening light. Families, tourists, and locals—mostly non-English speakers—gathered near the water to escape the day’s scorching heat. The shouts of children playing tag and the faint melody of a distant guitarist surrounded the harbor. As I settled under the shade of a tree, my heart set on a mission: I had come to tell people about the gospel. I prayed silently, asking God for an English speaker to cross my path.
Just a few minutes after I arrived, a man approached me, holding a flyer. He introduced himself as Caleb, a Nigerian student who had recently moved to the city. “I will like to invite you to this livestream,” he said, handing me the flyer. “You don’t want to miss it.”
The flyer’s bold text promised healing, financial breakthrough, and divine favor. It was the classic prosperity gospel message: Come to Jesus and get all you want.
“My friend once told me that Nigerians travel the world with two things: our food and our church [religion],” I remarked.
“That’s true. God is important to us,” he replied with a smile. He explained that his faith had been shaped by various miracles. God had answered his numerous prayers at the regular livestream services. Now he was eager to share the livestream with others. All you need is a mobile device, an internet connection, and faith, he said.
Nigeria is Africa’s most populous country and also one of the most religious in the world. A 2018 Pew study revealed that 89 percent of Christian adults in Nigeria attend weekly worship services, the highest recorded global rate. However, the church in Nigeria is heavily influenced by the prosperity gospel.
Pentecostalism in Nigeria often emphasizes miracles, healing, and material prosperity. The movement draws thousands to megachurches and boasts of influential pastors—David Oyedepo of Living Faith Church (also known as Winners Chapel), Enoch Adeboye of the Redeemed Christian Church of God, and Chris Oyakhilome of Christ Embassy. Their sermons, streamed worldwide, resonate with those struggling economically in Nigeria. Fifty-six percent of the population lives below the poverty line, according to a 2024 World Bank report.
In 2011, a friend invited me to a three-day service hosted by our university’s Joint Christian Body. The event took a surprising turn when the guest preacher urged us to sow a substantial offering to secure God’s blessings. He claimed that donating 50,000 naira (equivalent to $320 USD at the time) would unlock abundant rewards. For students like me, this amount—thousands of naira above my monthly allowance—was nearly impossible to afford.
As the sermon continued, the pastor incrementally lowered his request, dropping from 50,000 naira to 30,000, then 10,000, then 5,000. Despite the reductions, I still couldn’t contribute. I felt excluded from these promised blessings. This was the closest I had come to the prosperity gospel. I loathed it.
That memory lingered as I conversed with Caleb. Curious about his perspective, I asked, “What if I don’t receive what I want from this service?” Without hesitation he replied, “That would be your fault.” I was stunned.
For him, faith was a force to attract material wealth, health, and happiness to the Christian. The stronger your faith, the more blessings you attract. The weaker your faith, the fewer blessings you attract. Each person has the power to make positive confessions and ward off suffering. It won’t happen unless you believe, he said.
Oyakhilome taught his members to make declarative statements such as “Debt has no hold over me! I operate in financial liberty, owing no man anything except love. I have more than enough to fund my dreams, support my family, and be a blessing to others.” Caleb argued that this strong belief leads to victory.
The prosperity gospel capitalizes on half-truths: Yes, we must believe in God to be blessed by him. But the Bible never tells us that the strength of our faith will magically procure all our needs.
Biblical faith is a deep trust in God. We trust him because of his character and promises, no matter what happens—good or bad, riches or poverty. We know that God is faithful and works all things for our good (Rom. 8:28). But the prosperity gospel creates a transactional relationship with God. As with a slot machine, you hope to get what you want. The prosperity gospel creates a God who serves our purposes rather than recognizing the true God, who created us for himself. True faith is focused on God, not on self.
Caleb further argued from Matthew 6:33 (“Seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well”) that Jesus promised to give us anything we ask. Because of this, he said, the gospel promises material riches. Yet the context doesn’t teach this. Yes, Jesus promises that God provides “all these things”—food, shelter, clothing (v. 25). He calls us to trust that God provides for us just as he provides for the birds and clothes the flowers (vv. 26–30). Struggling to meet these needs causes ungodly anxiety, as with the Gentiles who don’t know God (v. 32). Jesus seeks to shield us from the worries of the world. He encourages us to seek and trust our Father daily.
The Bible warns against various forms of idolatry, including the love of money (1 Tim. 6:10). It calls us to fix our eyes on eternal rewards, not on earthly possessions (Matt. 6:19–20), “for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (v. 21).
The battle is between trusting God and trusting in riches, between faith in Christ and faith in faith. The true gospel wars against a false gospel. Although Caleb had begun to understand, he still had another obstacle to overcome.
Nigeria has an honor culture. Congregants often revere pastors as “men of God,” and their words are rarely questioned. In early April, another influential pastor in Nigeria, David Ibiyeomie of Salvation Ministries, faced criticism for a sermon where he said Jesus “hates people who are poor.” He argued that Jesus only visited rich people like Zacchaeus and Lazarus. “That means he hates poverty,” he said.
Ibiyeomie doubled down after receiving intense criticism online for distorting the gospel. “For them to listen to me means I’m very important,” he said in another sermon at the end of April. The congregation greeted his remarks with applause.
Many avoid disagreeing with their pastors, even when confronted with their mistakes. Caleb faces a similar challenge: Will he disagree with his well-respected pastor?
That evening, our conversation began with Caleb inviting me to a livestream. It ended with me inviting Caleb to make Christ the object of his faith.
