The cross, once the highest altar of sacrifice, now stands as a marketplace of contradictions. It was meant to symbolize redemption, yet today, it is entangled in human ambitions, theological disputes, and the disillusionment of the faithful. The shame of the cross is no longer just the agony Christ bore but the spectacle unfolding in its name—a troubling paradox where sacred pulpits have become platforms for confusion rather than clarity.
It was supposed to be simple: a message of love, sacrifice, and redemption. But in these perilous times, the simplicity of the gospel struggles against the weight of human interpretation. When the preacher speaks, his words no longer descend like the morning dew upon the soul. Instead, they scatter like the harmattan wind, dry and unsettling, leaving behind a people gasping for truth. If the altar is a place of revelation, why does it now echo with so many contradictions? If the cross bore Christ’s shame, why does the Church now bear its own?
Dr. Abel Damina, a voice among many, has become a metaphor for this theological crisis. To some, he is a reformer, peeling away layers of religious tradition to reveal the raw essence of the gospel. To others, he is an iconoclast, unsettling sacred foundations that should remain unshaken. And he is not alone. Across denominations, pulpits overflow with voices—each claiming divine insight, each insisting on the purity of their revelation, yet leaving the congregation with more questions than answers.
It is, indeed, a perilous time. Paul’s warning to Timothy rings louder than ever: “For the time will come when people will not endure sound doctrine, but having itching ears, they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own passions” (2 Timothy 4:3). The akara seller at the roadside listens to a sermon on the social media and wonders why one preacher insists that tithing is a divine obligation while another dismisses it as an outdated Jewish practice. The commercial motorcyclist, weary of endless theological disputes, asks in frustration: “Will God accept me as I am, or must I fit into a pastor’s definition of righteousness?” While one elderly man says, “i stopped going to church because this one says this, and another one says that. Moreover, i dont need to disturb God for anything. If i wake up in the morning i will say thank you Jesus”
The shame of the cross was that the sinless One hung between thieves, abandoned by those He came to save. The shame of today’s cross is that it hangs between arguments—dissected by scholars, weaponized by preachers, and burdened by human doctrines that place more weight on rules than on grace. The gospel, once a flowing river of life, now trickles through a maze of human opinion, its clarity clouded by conflicting interpretations. Even Nicodemus, who sought Jesus by night, would have been more bewildered in this generation, for today, the same scripture that offers salvation is subjected to twenty different interpretations before noon.
What would the fathers of faith say? Augustine of Hippo, who saw the cross as the bridge between man’s sin and God’s mercy, might grieve at how that bridge has become a toll gate, controlled by those who demand a doctrine fee. Martin Luther, who championed grace, might shudder at the weight of legalism that burdens believers. A.W. Tozer, who warned that “a scared world needs a fearless Church,” might wonder whether the Church today fears irrelevance more than it fears losing its soul.
And yet, despite the noise, the cross still stands. The shame of the cross was not only in its suffering but in its victory. Beyond the blood and the nails, it carried a love that could not be silenced. Perhaps therein lies our hope. The pulpit may be divided, the voices many, and the confusion great, but the cross itself remains unshaken. The Christ who hung upon it did not promise the certainty of human doctrine; He promised a Spirit that leads into all truth. And perhaps, if we silence the debates and kneel before the old rugged cross—not as theologians, but as broken souls in need of grace—we might finally hear the only voice that truly matters. That is the voice of the Holy Spirit
– Inah Boniface Ocholi, a Pastor, writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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