Another Nigerian Pastor EXPOSED (And The Story You Didn't Hear)
I was sitting with a group of young adults at a Christian event, one of those well-meaning gatherings where strangers are encouraged to talk about deep things after barely knowing each other’s names. What started as casual chatter quickly turned when someone, the self-appointed facilitator, posed a question that flung the door wide open for misunderstandings, frustrations, and bottled-up angst to come marching in.
I don’t remember exactly what sparked the controversy, but what I do remember is how the conversation shifted, raw and unfiltered, to frustrations with pastors. Some of it, quite honestly, was justified.
A young woman, who was passionate and clearly wounded, began speaking about a pastor she knew, or rather, a pastor her friend had encountered. He had told her friend, under the guise of spiritual mentoring, that he could lead her into a “deeper realm of grace.” In reality, he was trying to manipulate her into a sexual relationship, which he succeeded in. It wasn't clear whether he was married, but frankly, it didn’t matter. Heresy plus predatory behavior equals disaster every time.
The story ignited something in the group. One by one, others chimed in with their own accounts, some personal, many secondhand, of pastors who had failed, pastors who had lied, pastors who had preyed upon the very people they were meant to protect. Their anger was palpable, and it was not wrong. If I’m honest, I was right there in my feelings with them. I found myself muttering curses under my breath, praying for God to rain down thunder fire on these wolves in shepherds’ clothing, men smearing the very calling I’d given my life to.
Yet, as I listened, another sadness grew in me. It was the sadness of watching a familiar and dangerous thing happen, the slow, steady formation of a single story.
The Danger of a Single Story.
Nigerian writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie has spoken powerfully about what she calls “The Danger of a Single Story.” In her now-famous 2009 TED Talk, she explains that the real danger of a single story is not that it is untrue, but that it is incomplete. She describes how westerners often flatten Africa into a single image. If you’ve ever lived overseas, you know this experience. You get that well-meaning smile, and someone (often a white person) asks how "the suffering children in Africa" are doing, as if Africa is one big village where everyone knows your name. Or you get congratulated for speaking good English, because clearly, in Africa, we just click our tongues and chase goats for fun. Or the classic: “Did you see lions and zebras on your way to school?”
As ridiculous and upsetting as those moments are, Chimamanda reminds us: even we Nigerians do it to ourselves when we flatten each other into lazy stereotypes. In the south, we think of Fulanis as violent, always riding into town with a cutlass and a scowl. In the east, we think of Yorubas as cunning, always ready to sell you fake land three times before breakfast. And pretty much everywhere else, we think of Igbos as greedy, always calculating the profit margin even at a funeral. We laugh at these jokes at parties. We slip them into side conversations. We use them as explanations for why someone cut us off in traffic or charged us too much for pepper. But here’s the uncomfortable truth:
These single stories, like all single stories, might carry a shard of truth here and there... but they are ludicrously INCOMPLETE.
This same danger of a single story also stalks the church. It stalks the name, “pastor.”
Yes, let’s be frank, some pastors have failed spectacularly. Some have betrayed their calling. Some have twisted Scripture for their own gain, spoken heresies from their pulpits, and used their influence to satisfy personal appetites rather than to feed the sheep entrusted to them. We have seen them, we have heard them, and some of you have been wounded by them.
But that is not the whole story, because for every pastor who betrays the Gospel, there are hundreds, hundreds, who faithfully love Jesus, love the Church, and serve without applause, scandal, or headlines. And yet... we never seem to hear their stories.
As someone who has given his life to caring for pastors and their families, I can tell you: these faithful pastors are countless. Their lives are sermons in themselves. And their stories deserve to be told too. Allow me to introduce you to four of them:
There’s Pastor Mislum in Jos South, Plateau State. He pastors a growing church in a modest building in a modest part of town. Every Sunday morning, while the city is still heavy with sleep, he arrives at church. He walks slowly through the aisles, touching each pew, whispering prayers for the people who will soon sit there. After service, while others hurry to Sunday lunch, he stays behind, listening, praying, comforting, sometimes until the sun begins to sink. He has no public scandal, no secret accounts, no flashy billboard. Only a simple, stubborn faithfulness.
Or Pastor Jide in Ikeja, Lagos. He is not rich, though he lives in a city where wealth speaks loudly and often. He has no media ministry, no title grander than “Pastor.” But if you ask the teenagers who find in him a father figure they never had, or the widows who receive food items at their doors, or the young leaders he trains with nothing asked in return, you will hear his true credentials.
Or Pastor Akim in Bokkos, Plateau who preaches the Gospel each week knowing that persecution is not a rumor but a reality. Twice attacked by extremists, he still gathers his congregation in whispered services with no electricity. His sermons are not polished; his suit is often worn. But his heart is fearless, and his hands are steady.
Or Pastor Esther, yes, a woman, and a fiery, faithful one at that, whose story deserves to be shouted from rooftops. She left a thriving banking career to lead a church when few women dared to, and later, when violence tore through city, she did something few had the courage for: she gathered Christian and Muslim women alike to march for peace. She has faced threats, lost friends, and stood tall in the face of those who said it couldn't be done. No scandals. No headlines. Only a stubborn faith that keeps building what hatred tried to destroy.
These pastors, and thousands more like them, labor in fields the world never sees. They make no headlines. Their scandals, if they have any, are small things like forgetting a church anniversary or not buying a big enough Christmas goat.
Their stories matter, but they rarely make the news. Why? Because as one wise pastor, Josh Howerton of Lakepointe Church once said: “Planes that land safely don’t make the headlines.”
Nobody ever posts online: “Today, a Lufthansa flight landed safely in Lagos. All passengers disembarked peacefully.”
Why? Because safe landings don’t go viral. It’s the crashes, the scandals, the wreckage that capture our clicks, our outrage, our endless comment threads. Heck, you probably clicked on this link because the title, "Another Nigerian Pastor Exposed," tickled something in you, that little voyeuristic hunger for chaos dressed up as righteous indignation.
Alright, maybe that was a little harsh. Sorry.
Truth is though, if we aren’t careful, we become part of the problem and end up turning what is meant to be a rich and beautiful calling into a shallow, unfair picture, all because of the terrible mistakes of a few reckless men.
So, let me speak carefully to a few audiences I think may be reading this blog post:
To those who have been hurt by abusive pastors:
I am so truly deeply sorry. You did not deserve what you went through. You were not weak for trusting. Your pain is real, and your wounds are valid. I sincerely pray that the Great Shepherd Himself, Jesus Christ, heals those deep emotional and spiritual scars. I pray that those who used God’s name to hurt you face His justice soon. And I pray you know this: that the failures of a few do not erase the goodness of the One who calls Himself your Shepherd.To the quiet pastors faithfully shepherding the church:
Don’t lose heart and don’t grow weary, brothers. Remember the words of 1 Peter 5:2–4: “Be shepherds of God’s flock that is under your care, watching over them, not because you must, but because you are willing... not pursuing dishonest gain, but eager to serve... And when the Chief Shepherd appears, you will receive the crown of glory that will never fade away.”
Please know this, pastor: your labor is not invisible to Heaven. ALL of it is being accounted for.
To the impostors wearing the name ‘pastor’ like a costume:
Beware. The Church you're toying with, whether for sex, money, or fame, is not yours, it belongs to Jesus Christ. She is His Bride, not your personal side hustle or side chick. And when He returns, He will not come gently for those who have molested His Bride. He will come with a sword, and trust me, you will wish you had feared Him while you still had breath to repent. So, stop what you are doing and repent now, while there is yet time.
Lastly, to those of you standing on the sidelines, laughing and scoffing, assuming all pastors are frauds:
Take a deep breath and remember the danger of the single story.
Yes, there are men in the pulpit who have done and said things so shameful that even pagans shake their heads in disgust. Men whose judgment we pray to see swiftly and surely. But that is not the whole story. Not every pastor is a predator. Not every shepherd is a wolf. For every scandal you hear, there are countless stories of quiet, uncelebrated faithfulness you will never hear.
So, in the off chance that you’ve read everything I just wrote and you’re still smirking and asking, “Okay, where are they, then? How come we don't hear about them?”
Remember:
Planes that land safely never make the news.
