Okey Ndibe
It takes a lot to get Nigerians really, really excited these days.
Yet, last week, Tunde Bakare managed to get many Nigerians’ full
attention. He did so with an astonishing suggestion: that many of
Nigeria’s prominent church men – himself included – should be herded
into jail. It was a startling prescription. And it came as Mr. Bakare’s
unusual response to the festering scandal of money in the Nigerian
church. Nothing illustrates that scandal quite so powerfully as Nigerian
pastors’ appetite for private jets.
Had the prescription for imprisonment come from a secular source, it
would likely have stirred reactions of self-righteous, sanctimonious
outrage. Many Nigerians are intolerant of any form of criticism of
so-called men/women of God. In the eyes of some faithful, anybody who
dares question the choices of a “televangelist” must be a heretic. And
any such critic must be hell-bent, and deserving of eternal damnation.
Mr. Bakare is a now well-known pastor-politician. In the reigning
language of Nigerian Pentecostalism, he is the general overseer of the
Latter Rain Assembly. Once, he was known for the fiery political
denunciations that rained down from his altar. Unafraid to put his
pulpit to political uses, he rained scorn on Nigeria’s power abusers and
embezzlers. His admirers called him a prophet, a title he seemed to
love.
Despite the political nature of his pronouncements, many of us were
rather surprised when Mr. Bakare consented to become the underling on
Muhammadu Buhari’s presidential ticket in Nigeria’s 2011 elections. The
role of full-time politician did not suit him. On the campaign trail,
his statements lacked the sharpness and indignation of his pulpit
language. And when he tried to speak with his accustomed forcefulness,
the fact that he was a partisan robbed his statement of much power.
That brief foray into politics has continued to color public
reaction to Mr. Bakare’s political statements. Week after week, he
delivers devastating body blows to the Goodluck Jonathan administration.
However, some critics often dismiss his mostly on-target criticisms of
Mr. Jonathan as signs of a man licking his wounds following a crushing
defeat.
Mr. Bakare doesn’t come across as one to bother about how his
critics characterize him. He thrives in the art of rhetorical drama. And
he’s certainly no believer in polite expression, as if he had decided
that Nigerian politics was too septic to warrant temperate language.
Before and after dabbling in politics, he has continued to speak in the
same brash, take-no-prisoners’ style. A whole gallery could be built
around his many unconventional, provocative and even jarring utterances.
On occasion, he turns his blistering eye and cutting tongue inward,
focusing on those Nigerians call men/women of God.
Often, he appears determined to unmask his fellows, to expose their
moral flabbiness to public ridicule. His call for big-time pastors to
spend a spell in jail is not the first time he has turned the
searchlight on those who trade with the Word. But not even his
antecedents prepared me for his latest intervention. It’s no wonder that
his statement struck a chord with many Nigerians.
Let’s be clear: faith is not to be belittled. For many people –
Christians, Muslims, Buddhists and all – faith matters (a lot). In
calling people to set their sights and hearts on noble and ennobling
values, faith can serve to lift individuals and cultures. We all have
basic needs for food, shelter, healthcare and security. But we also
strive for something less tangible but no less indispensable: human
dignity. At its best, sound religious faith can both fertilize and serve
that demand that humans be treated with dignity.
The most admirable religions and religious officials are those that
insist on the inherent dignity of the human person, regardless of his or
her social stature. There are many religious figures in Nigeria who
speak with moral clarity and stand for exemplary values. Unfortunately,
their voices are sometimes drowned out by the fifth columnists whose
passion is money, money and more money.
Most religious personalities have the benefit of a pulpit. The best
of them try to put those pulpits to the service of the noblest causes.
They remind us of the ephemeral nature of material possessions. They
urge us to rein in our acquisitive tendencies and to respect the rights
of others to decent lives. They remind us that the end hardly ever
justifies the means. They teach us that those with more than enough owe
an obligation to help the less fortunate. They exhort the strong to
assist the weak to rise to their feet, the rich to ensure that the
hungry are fed, the powerful to realize that they must act with
restraint and give account.
Sadly, too many of Nigeria’s religious leaders (and many adherents
of different religions) seem to sorely miss the most important point.
That, or they have discovered how easy and enticing it is to turn huge
personal profits by playing traitor to what ought to be their (sacred)
mission. And so there’s a crisis of faith in Nigeria (and elsewhere in
the world). It’s not farfetched to state that too many money-minded
charlatans have invaded churches. Too many pastors, priests and imams
have remade God in their own frail images. For them, God is another
business, another heartless means to hustle cash from people.
And what a mess these traffickers in God have left. They excuse
rigging by lying to their congregants that all power comes from God.
They harangue their wretched followers to tithe themselves onto death.
Many of them have taken to preaching the gospel of prosperity devoid of
moral anchor. They quote passages from the Bible, but it’s clear that
their faith and deepest loyalties lie elsewhere: in cold cash. They have
become apostles of various brands of corruption.
Some people blame the mushrooming religious sects for the derailment
of impressive faith. Yes, in a culture where any rogue can concoct an
absurd-sounding name for a church and, pronto, become a “general
overseer,” standards are apt to go south. Years ago, as a young
journalist in Lagos, I received a surprise visit from a man I knew
during my years in Enugu. This man, named Lloyd, was notorious for
smoking pot, drinking to excess, and consorting with prostitutes. When
he came to visit me in Lagos, his eyes were blood-shot and his breath
reeked of beer. Yet, he cheekily unfurled a poster of his forthcoming
crusade in parts of Lagos. The poster claimed that “Pastor Lloyd” had
done many miracles, including raising two women from the dead! And then
he disclosed his mission: he wanted me to help him by writing a feature
that declared his great powers as a miracle doer.
I don’t recall how I managed to restrain myself from laughing, but I
told the guy to try impressing somebody who didn’t know him. I have
since forgotten his last name, but I won’t be surprised at all if Pastor
(perhaps Bishop?) Lloyd later struck it big trading in God’s name and
preying on the desperation, superstition and gullibility of Nigerians.
For all we know, he may well be the proud owner of several expensive
cars (even if he has not made the ranks of private jet owners).
In some sense, the Lloyds of Nigeria are minor players in the
scandal of religion. Many of the older, traditional churches have become
money-grubbing machines. Reluctant to ask hard questions about their
benefactors’ sources of wealth, these churches are content to rake in as
much filthy cash as possible. They’ve become willing enablers and tools
of those who wreck Nigeria by stealing it blind.
A few years ago, a former chairman of the Independent National
Electoral Commission singlehandedly built a huge Catholic church in his
community. You’d think that morally alert bishops would sit him down and
ask where he got all the money from. Instead, several bishops attended
the church’s dedication. From the pulpit, they took turns to extol the
donor. For good measure, they also scolded those who had raised
legitimate questions about the man’s fraud-ridden stewardship at INEC.
The craze for money within the church is driving up corruption in
every sector of the country. When bishops, pastors and imams abandon
their task to ask tough questions and to uphold sound moral principles,
they embed themselves with the elements whose mindless looting has left
Nigeria an empty shell. By all means, let’s build more jails and let’s
throw in these jet-loving, wealth-flaunting preachers who are veritable
fertilizers of graft and greed.
Saharareporters
