As his fame waxed across Jerusalem and Judea, Jesus Christ hardly missed his priceless, long, isolated moments of prayer. Why would he? It was in such moments that he bore his heart out to the Father and regained strength to meet the massive healing needs of the weak, many of whom traveled miles from even Lebanon to see, touch, and hear him speak of the salient things that made their hearts sore.
One early morning, a growing crowd searched Capernaum for him and tried to block him, begging (quotation mine), “Please don’t leave us." But he saw in their faces the same as he sees now in the hearts of millions who encounter his Gospel every day globally, so he preached an unforgettable sermon, healed them, and continued traveling, doing the same in other towns.
The Gospels show that Jesus Christ’s singular mission was proclaiming his arrival as a prophetic fulfillment to redeem us. Yet, two millennia after the establishment of his earthly ministry, a type of shepherding would ride on the manifestations of his apostle’s preaching on the Day of Pentecost and the fear of occultic destruction to start mega-churches and movies, among other ventures.
Pastors Mean Business
“Are you spiritual?”
What’s your evidence?
It’s hard to trace exactly how the prosperity gospel (PG) took off in Nigeria. Still, some suggest that it’s a corollary to Pentecostalism, which rose to replace the genteel outlook of the orthodox or austerity demands of the Aladura (a Yoruba word for one who is fervent in prayers) traditions. PG preachers may be found everywhere in major Nigerian cities and appeal to the rich as to the poor, from brazen pulpits and expensive satellite coverage/video productions to busy foot-trodden paths and market junctions where a vibrant one instructs traders to hold up “pure water” (water packaged and sold cheaply in small polythene bags of 35-50cl) to brim sales.
PG preaching is dynamic, and just about any portion of scripture may be quoted to establish the message of the day, week, month, year, or any duration the male or female “mouthpiece of God” scopes for. It’s rare to hear a proclaimer of this Gospel exegete a verse in its original context, for so often, a text is construed to fit their aim. Little wonder that despite several appeals to revise his punch line, Jerry Eze, the richest pastor in Nigeria per YouTube, refuses to concede that there exist some things that God cannot do.
Chris Okotie, who alongside a handful of PG preachers entered a Forbes rich list, frames the thesis of PG this way: "It is written about Jesus, specifically, that he became poor so that the believer might become rich, because he recognised that poverty is not part of God's plan for man." By the way, the text Okotie refers to is 2 Corinthians 8:9, which speaks to the humility of Jesus Christ, who suffered to secure spiritual (not material) blessings for believers, highlighted in Ephesians 1:3. The point of that verse is HUMILITY, not WEALTH.
Nevertheless, beyond their obvious misinterpretations and misapplication of Scripture, PG pastors are often accused of selling the gospel message, which they freely received and ought to give freely. But is this true?
Do prosperity gospel preachers receive their message free of cost?
Or do they pay their masters for tutelage, experience, and powerful connections?
Are Nigerian banks milking the religious when they offer loans (some over billions of Naira or millions of dollars) to these pastors and expect timely repayments with interest rates that make even viable commercial businesses think twice?
A PG pastor recently confessed to being poached by banks to take loans to expand his church, saying, “And they mentioned some churches who got loans from them ranging from ₦3 billion to ₦4 billion. And I asked them how they expected me to pay back such an amount and they said those that collect such loans … would never stop doing conferences, crusades, and revivals, and from there, they would get money to pay back.” In simpler terms, they would sell the gospel to recover their investments.
Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who birthed Christianity, warned against this form of salvation when he said, “Watch out for false prophets. They come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly, they are ferocious wolves," and again, “For false messiahs and false prophets will appear and perform great signs and wonders to deceive, if possible, even the elect."
Nevertheless, prosperity gospel has much to offer and keeps giving. It is not simply that it negates the redemptive message of Jesus Christ and that its preachers are making huge financial fortunes out of it, even in impoverished countries like Nigeria. It is that the people who should be alert, as Jesus Christ taught, have portions to gain.
As one report puts it, the government wins with PG because it “evade[s] accountability.” Its adherents find hope in its emphasis on prosperity and “hopefulness in difficult situations,” as “the less privileged [watch] the wealthier believers testify and attribute their successes to [it]. And for those employed by megachurches—pastors, drivers, teachers, technicians, musicians, etc., this institution has become an important source of livelihood.”
And there’s another stakeholder, Nollywood.
How Pentecostal Preachers and Satanic Panic Launched Nollywood
Brilliant Nigerian Journalist Kinksgely Charles has made interesting observations about the pioneering contributions of Pentecostalism to Nigeria’s movie industry, Nollywood.
Once I took 15 minutes off to read Kingsley’s piece, I knew I had to speak with him. So I reached out, and he obliged me to the short interview I recorded for this episode of the podcast. But here’s a quick summary of the salient points he makes about the romance of prosperity gospel preachers with Nigerian movies.
Hardship and rising Pentecostalism
Like other industries in Nigeria, the film industry needed saving following raggedy political decisions from the 1970s, which devalued the Naira.
“For these indigenous filmmakers, the cost of importing film stock spiraled, as did the costs of managing post-production and editing abroad. Attendance at most cinemas dwindled rapidly. As the crises compounded, film production became a grossly unprofitable enterprise, and by the 1980s, celluloid film production in Nigeria reluctantly ground to a halt.”
While the filmmakers of that era counted their losses, educated Nigerian pastors, promoted the consumption of video technology, urging their adherents and trainees “to watch videotapes [some pirated] of [US] televangelists… to boost their faith in God’s word.” Apparently, “All it took was an inexpensive, handheld video camera to produce videos and a VCR to copy them for distribution,” which they sold.
This seemingly evangelist effort proved commercially effective and unwittingly laid the foundation for local movie productions. If there was any research needed to test the assumption that movies would sell in Nigeria at the time, the fact that many Nigerians counted their “first experience of VHS and television from these evangelical cassettes” and loved it was certainly convincing.
So, the hardship in the country before 2000 was no match for the determined production capacity of prosperity and deliverance preachers.
The Influence of Satanic Panic
It was Sun Tzu who said,
"If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle."
It may well be the case that the leading figures in Nigeria’s prosperity gospel movement at the time knew their enemies and themselves, so they sold many tapes.
Perhaps it wasn’t the ingenuity of prosperity gospel preachers but simply a case of history favoring the bold. Kingsley draws attention to a dark occurrence in this period;
“In 1996, riots broke out in the city of Owerri, in southeastern Nigeria, over the murder of 11-year-old Anthony Okoronkwo by members of a cult known as Black Scorpion. The Otokoto Riots — named after the hotel in which Okoronkwo had been decapitated, his penis severed and his liver extracted — ignited widespread outrage, as several more mutilated corpses were discovered, murdered in the same savage fashion and buried by cult members. The story made national news and left an indelible mark on the country. Following the protests, families admonished their children not to spend time with strangers. To deter them, mothers told stories of children who transformed into yams after picking up unclaimed money on the sidewalk.”
Following the riots, PG preachers saw an opportunity. Thus, the movies produced during this period reflected some of their didactic teachings and the fear in the public, which had become accustomed to news of sudden organ disappearance after strange encounters. This explains why the premier Nollywood movies of that period were of a certain genre: horror.
The first Nollywood movie (1992), “Living in Bondage,” according to Kingsley met with so much success that it necessitated a sequel and similar successful productions such as “Nneka: The Pretty Serpent” (1994), in which a femme fatale holds sway over the souls of wealthy married men; and “Narrow Escape” (1999), involving a titanic struggle between an embattled Catholic priest and his father’s cult.” They “explored the tensions between Christianity and traditional African religions, and between materialism and faith.” Barely a decade after Living in Bondage, “at least 3,723 home videos were approved and released.”
Fearing they were losing out on the film successes their preaching inspired, Pentecostal pastors joined the cast and crew of local movies from the 2000s, some of which they financed and produced. Kingsley recalls one notable name here: Helen Ukpabio of Liberty Foundation Gospel Ministries, whose “witch-hunting campaigns” irked the British Government so much that they banned her in 2014.
Ukpabio's films pitted biblical verses against demonic influence, as in "Highway to the Grave" (2000). This “cult classic” featured tempered erotic scenes with Sonia Cacchus (Regina Askia) luring needy men to their deaths. The story revolves around Sonia fishing for a wealthy chief amidst fiery resistance from his loving yet fervent wife (Helen Ukpabio). Eventually, Sonia is “banished to the underworld after fervent prayers, and the film closes with a verse from Proverbs.”
As may be observed in the 2019 sequel to Living in Bondage, titled “Living in Bondage: Breaking Free,” Nollywood has toned down its Christian-influenced depictions of the occult. However, the thematic issues that speak to the message of Pentecostal preachers remain.
“Tales of blood sacrifices continue to spread like wildfire. Pictures of young Nigerian women butchered by their boyfriends, with their vital organs traded for fast money, are broadcast on WhatsApp and Facebook almost every week. Children are still victims of witch-hunting campaigns.”
It may also be the case that prosperity preachers' new focus on the self marks a shift in Nigerian Pentecostalism from spiritual exuberance to personal responsibility. Contemporary movie producers know they don’t need prosperity preachers for that. Little wonder the Living in Bondage sequel depicts Andy not prioritizing prayer and fasting but "join[ing] forces with an independent investigative journalist to rescue his son and bring down his former satanic cult, now called the Brotherhood of the Six.” Worthy of note is that this sequel is “one of Nigeria’s highest-grossing movies of all time.”
However, while personal responsibility is addressed across both biblical testaments, it isn’t the core of the Gospel of Christ, as salvation is by grace through Christ alone so that no one would boast. Salvation speaks to our spiritual rather than material needs. Still, the goal of PG preachers rests on the construction that God cares enough to let His only begotten Son die so we can own expensive property and never be thought poor. In so doing, the message of the prosperity gospel continues to miss the point of the true Gospel of Christ.
So, what does Nollywood have to do with the church?
When hardship struck the land, people looked to the church. Pentecostal leaders rose to the occasion with a message of hope and trained their adherents with video productions, which fortunately revived Nigeria’s ailing film industry.
But what will Nollywood do with that heritage?
Or better, what will churches do with the evangelistic opportunity afforded by their historic parlay with the world’s third-best movie industry and most populous African country?
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