The silence is loud. In churches that thunder weekly about repentance, salvation and redemption, many Christian sons and daughters live double lives, carrying unconfessed sins like concealed fractures. They sing loudly, serve diligently, quote scripture fluently, yet avoid the one act that exposes the soul: honest confession to spiritual parents. This is not merely a personal failure; it is a spiritual governance crisis, where the altar has slowly begun to resemble a tribunal, and grace has been replaced with surveillance.
In recent times, a disturbing realization has taken root: many spiritual parents are no longer keepers of human secrets, talk less of custodians of divine mysteries. Confession, once meant to be poured like oil on wounded consciences, is now treated as combustible material. Instead of interceding, some leaders archive sins as weapons. The confessional has become a courtroom exhibit, and the shepherd’s staff has morphed into a gavel. Those who come bleeding are not bandaged; they are branded.
Fear, therefore, becomes rational. When vulnerability is punished, silence is survival. The story of the late gospel singer Sammie Okposo stands as a cautionary monument. In early 2022, he publicly confessed to moral failure, apologized to his wife, and suspended himself from ministry. He chose truth over disguise. Yet the response was merciless. The stones kept coming long after repentance had spoken. Ten months later, he was gone at 51. Officially hypertension; unofficially, many believe the weight of public shame crushed the breath out of his spirit. He came seeking restoration but found a furnace without refuge.
This reality explains why denial is often rewarded while confession is crucified. In today’s church economy, if you deny everything, your clique will call it spiritual warfare. If you confess, they call it disgrace. Money, influence, and noise can insulate a leader from consequence, but truth has no such armor. The irony is brutal: hypocrisy is shielded, while repentance is exposed to the elements. As Scripture warns, “The name of God is in blasphemed among the nations because of you,” not because of sinners, but because of unrepentant pretense.
History, however, still offers counterweights. In 1988, Jimmy Swaggart stood before the world, broken and unarmed, declaring, “I have sinned against you, my Lord.” He lost his license, accepted discipline, and bore the shame. Yet his ministry survived the storm, and he preached for decades afterward. In Nigeria, a revered bishop once faced allegations that nearly buried his calling. He admitted wrongdoing and submitted himself to the authority of church elders. Years later, he did not just recover; he rose. Confession without submission is incomplete, but submission unlocks restoration.
At the heart of this crisis is a failure of spiritual fatherhood. A true spiritual parent is meant to be a vault, not a loudspeaker; a watchman, not an auctioneer of broken confessions. When fathers trade intercession for intimidation, sons and daughters will bury their wounds in silence. Oil cannot flow in an atmosphere where every crack is used as evidence. Secrets entrusted for healing should rise to God as incense, not circulate among men as gossip.
Jesus remains the sharpest contrast. He does not abandon those who fall at His feet; He abandons only those who pretend they never fell. He stands with sinners who repent, but confronts leaders who weaponize righteousness. Restoration of the soul is not found in cliques, money, or blind followership, but in brokenness before God and accountability among the faithful. Until the church rebuilds altars of mercy instead of stages of condemnation, many confessions will remain unspoken, and many souls will continue bleeding quietly beneath loud hallelujahs.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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