The smoke that once rose from our altars has vanished, and in its place is the choking perfume of vanity and vice. Churches that once thundered with truth now echo with trivia. Homes that once echoed with prayer are now filled with pleasure and profit. At the center of this moral decay is a truth too bitter to ignore—when fellowships are reduced to fashion shows and mothers become the teachers of waywardness, a generation is damned not by devils, but by the very ones who once held them to their chests.
We are witnessing a silent destruction, not from bombs or bullets, but from broken fellowships and misguided motherhood. Sacred grounds have been transformed into festive centers. In what was once a holy sanctuary, you now find party lights, beauty pageants, and gossip corners. These days, students do not gather to seek God but to sharpen their social game. Altars have collapsed—and with them, the destinies of many youths.
It is no longer news that many mothers, especially those privileged to lead schools, ministries, or social initiatives, have become channels of corruption. Take, for instance, the woman who built a reputable school in town. Behind her public image of excellence were layers of buried charms—fetish objects concealed beneath the field, classrooms, and even under the students’ fellowship stage. She transformed the school fellowship into a social club, not for Christ, but for carnal grooming. Students were trained in the art of flirtation rather than the fear of God. Her son, hailed in public as a “holy boy,” was secretly puffing weeds in the shadows. She herself, behind the veil of mentorship, was drowning in multiple immoral affairs.
What then do we say about the restaurant owner—a mother known not for her cooking, but for her perversion? Behind her smile, she traded her daughter for money, collecting fees from men who took the poor girl “short-time” either home or to the toilet behind the kitchen. Her sin didn’t wear horns—it wore earrings, aprons, and shameful silence. This is no motherhood—it is a marketplace of destruction masked with makeup and meals.
Another mother brags to her daughters: “Don’t bring any man home as a husband. Enjoy him, eat his money, and disappear.” These are not jokes. These are demonic blueprints passed from kitchen tables to the minds of vulnerable girls. The daughters begin to believe that self-worth lies not in purpose, but in purse. And when they bring in brand-new phones, clothes, or food, the mothers never ask questions. But a girl who brings home constant goodies with no job and no questions? She’s not a daughter anymore—she’s a sponsored project in the school of perdition.
Proverbs 14:1 declares, “A wise woman builds her house, but the foolish pulls it down with her hands.” But today’s foolishness is not loud—it is stylish. It wears lace and high heels. It sponsors scholarships and still buries destinies. A Nigerian proverb says, “When the mother goat eats the farmer’s yam, what will the baby goat not do?” Another adds, “A stream that forgets its source will dry up even under a shade.” We are drying up—not from heat, but from the hands that forgot how to hold us in holiness.
The Bible warns us in Isaiah 3:12: “As for my people, children are their oppressors, and women rule over them. O my people, they which lead thee cause thee to err, and destroy the way of thy paths.” These words are not ancient—they are current. Many mothers, instead of raising daughters in purity, are preparing them for profits through promiscuity. They have become field marshals in the army of immorality, pushing boundaries and destroying altars. And fellowships, instead of correcting, have conformed.
Jeremiah 6:16 cries out: “Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it.” But many mothers today no longer point to the old path. They point to Instagram, to hookups, to sugar daddies, and quick cash. The old path is too slow for their taste. They forget that quick paths lead to quick graves.
Let us not be deceived. Youths don’t just become lost—they are led astray. Fellowship is no longer fellowship when Christ is absent. Motherhood is no longer motherhood when morality is gone. These daughters dancing in clubs today once wore Sunday dresses. These sons in drugs today once memorized Bible verses in children’s classes. What changed? The altar collapsed. The mother conformed.
But it is not too late. The same fire that fell for Elijah when he rebuilt the altar can fall again. The same God who heard Hannah’s cry can answer again. The same Spirit that transformed Mary can fill our mothers again. If Nehemiah rebuilt broken walls, then we can rebuild broken homes. But it must start with repentance.
The fellowship must be purified. The mothers must be sanctified. And the children must be redirected. The Bible says in Proverbs 22:6, “Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” But when the training is twisted, the future is fogged. When mentorship becomes manipulation, we don’t raise ministers—we raise monsters.
Until our fellowships become altars again, our gatherings will remain hollow. Until our mothers become intercessors again, our daughters will keep dancing toward destruction. Until we ask hard questions in our homes, we will keep hearing tragic news from the streets. Until mothers return to their knees, the next generation will keep collapsing into confusion.
So let the cry rise again—not from a stage, but from a sincere soul. Let the fire fall again—not on buildings, but on hearts. Let mothers birth prophets again—not prostitutes. Let fellowships raise martyrs again—not influencers. Let the altar be rebuilt. Let the womb of motherhood be purified. Let the Holy Spirit take back His place—in our churches, in our schools, and in our homes.
Because if we fail to return now, we may soon have churches full of laughter, but streets full of tears. Mothers full of fashion, but homes full of rot. Daughters full of gadgets, but empty of God.
Let the fellowship be restored. Let motherhood be redeemed. And let the altar burn again.
Selah.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
08152094428 (SMS Only)
