Back in the old days, offerings brought to the
temple of a deity automatically became the property of the deity’s priest. This
is so because by their very nature, deities do not have bodies requiring
sustenance. They do not eat, drink, or sleep. They do not require houses or
clothes, or money.
Therefore, when you brought a goat to the shrine,
the priest automatically knew that there would be no shortage of goat meat
around the house for a while. And, seeing as it was such a sweet deal, no
priest was actually going to tell you that his god didn’t need your goats or
yams or cowries. Or that his god really didn’t exist and couldn’t make it rain
no matter how many cows and chickens were slaughtered in his name. Or that
placing food in a calabash by a junction was a waste of your time and your
food, and that you were a fucking moron for going hungry while providing flies
with a rich environment for breeding.
The invasion and conquest of Africa by the white
man dealt the old gods a blow from which they would never fully recover. The
sheer technological superiority of the invading forces turned all “cursed”
forests into shortcuts, and the idols of our forefathers were brutally swept
aside by those newfangled repeating rifles and cannons. Afterward, the white man
introduced his god, and told our forefathers that his was the true faith. This
god didn’t reside in carvings of wood and stone, promised you eternal life if
you served well, and didn’t believe in human sacrifice. Naturally, they glossed
over the fact that their god didn’t mind the odd human sacrifice himself as long as it was tastefully done, of course.
No, their god was so benevolent, he sent his only
son to die for the entire world, believers and infidels alike, to save them
all. And oh, the son would be back one day, so best behavior was required. It
also turned out that this god didn’t mind sacrifices of money, yams, goats,
cows, etc. In fact, from the spread of his reach, it should have been apparent
rather quickly that this god had one voracious appetite.
Men flocked to be priests of the new god, and found
that much like the old gods, the sharing formula was the same. Anything brought
to the church and handed over to God, was now yours to do with as you saw fit.
Some branches of the new faith believed that a man should hand himself over to
the religion and forsake such earthly whims as family. Others believed that
serving God didn’t require that step. Whichever branch you joined, you had your
sheep to tend to, and your sheep supported “the ministry” through their
contributions in cash or kind.
Churches soon began to accumulate the kind of
wealth that would make Midas salivate with raging envy. And it was only natural
that men would begin to question the wisdom of gathering all this cash only to
send it off to some headquarters and receiving a pat on the head and a “good
boy” for all your trouble. As history is littered with men who saw visions and
were hailed as prophets, it was only natural that one would see a vision,
receive a personal command from God, and start one’s own church with all the
attendant benefits of “headquarters” being the room behind the church.
Before you could say “ka-ching!” men of God began
to accumulate the kind of wealth that would make Midas rend his robes and weep
at his poverty. Mansions and flashy cars became the order of the day, for these
men do not serve a poor God, and all they’re doing is display the benefits of
working in the Lord’s vineyard.
The focus of these one-man churches is simple:
spread the word, and that word is “cash”. Their followers are admonished to “tithe”,
“sow seeds”, “give generously” and so on and so forth. The pastors are no
longer mere men of God, they become “Daddy” to their followers. You hardly hear
their flock talk about the Bible or Jesus, but all they’re concerned with is
what Daddy said about whatever subject.
People then begin to see themselves as vicarious
property owners through their pastors, much the same way your father’s house
was “your” house when you were a child. The suits, the houses, the cars, the
private jets, are all theirs because they belong to Daddy. And they’re all
signs of the blessings Daddy could send their way if they made that seed just a
wee bit bigger.
In a nation of soul-crushing poverty, men of God
are the wealthiest citizens. Their displays of wealth would make your average
hedge fund manager look like he hasn’t got two nickels to rub together, and
there is no sign of things slowing down, not with the gauntlet Bishop Oyedepo
(Daddy to his followers) threw down last week. You see, the man already owns
four private jets, but apparently private jets are for the poor, so he started
his own airline. And, in case you were wondering, the four private jets aren’t
going commercial.
Starting a new airline is a massively
capital-intensive business, and may require you to pull off stunt after stunt
to build up some brand recognition (just ask Richard Branson what he had to go
through with Virgin). It would take years of operating at full capacity just to
break even, and your more established competitors aren’t going to mothball
their operations so you can catch up. So, in order to shorten the period you’re
going to be making a loss, you’ll have to be hyper-aggressive in terms of
opening up new routes (like Arik Air is doing) or offering competitive fares to
passengers (like Aero Contractors did until the gimmick threatened to bankrupt
them). In other words, the airline business is not for the shallow of pocket.
Oyedepo, however, is reputedly Africa’s richest
pastor, and the money is still rolling in from his books, CDs, DVDs,
conventions, tithes, seeds, etc. With rampant poverty pushing more and more
desperate people into churches in order to secure themselves mansions in
heaven, the situation is unlikely to change. And just like the priests of the
old gods, it’s not in his interest to tell you that a god who created the world
in 7 days using nothing other than the sound of his voice couldn’t possibly buy
anything with your money. Or that this god who is everywhere has no need of a
car or private jet. Or that he has no body and so doesn’t eat yams. Or goats.
Or cows.
The gods don’t need your sacrifices and offerings
because they can’t bloody use them. Men, however, are a different story. We
have bodies, so we need food. We can’t be everywhere at once, so we need
transportation. And we love the finer things in life, so we acquire them by any
means necessary. And what better way to do that than as the servants of a
“powerful” deity? And, the more powerful your deity, the wealthier you become.
It’s so brilliantly simple, anyone can get in on
the action, and anyone does. Today, we have churches on every street, sometimes
two or three per street. Each one with a name chosen to imply that God himself
wrote the signboard, and each with a Daddy within, waiting for his children to
come obey his commands.
