Faith is like a stream of clean water flowing through the heart of a believer, refreshing the soul and nourishing the spirit. But what happens when poison is poured into the stream? The water becomes toxic, harming those who drink from it. This is what disinformation does to faith and the Church—it corrupts, pollutes, and gradually replaces truth with deception. A man who drinks poisoned water may not die immediately, but with each sip, his strength weakens. So it is with the Church when falsehoods are dressed as divine revelations, and deception is coated with the sweetness of religious language. This is the slow but steady erosion of spiritual health, the unseen decay that eats at the soul of a people who ought to be the light of the world. In Africa, where proverbs hold deep wisdom, the Igbo say, “When rain beats the leopard’s skin, it does not wash off the spots.” No matter how much we try to mask falsehood with religious fervor, it does not change its true nature.
In African villages, the elders warn that “a snake that swallows a stone must struggle when it tries to crawl.” When the Church consumes the stone of disinformation, it struggles in its movement, unable to fulfill its divine mission. Nigeria, like many parts of Africa, has witnessed the rise of loud voices claiming to speak for God but peddling narratives that serve personal ambition rather than divine truth. Many pulpits have become theaters of manipulation, where the word of God is twisted to serve the interests of men. When a church leader declares that suffering is a sign of God’s abandonment, yet the Scriptures tell us that even Jesus suffered, one must ask: whose gospel is being preached? When a prophecy is given not to edify but to control, whose spirit is speaking? The elders say, “A lie can travel for twenty years, but truth will catch up with it in one day.” Yet, when lies are repeated often enough, they start to feel like truth—this is how disinformation works, and this is how faith is corrupted.
Once upon a time, the call to ministry was a sacred burden, a fire shut up in the bones, an assignment from heaven. But now, in the era of “career pastors,” many no longer wait to be called by God—they call God themselves, declaring divine mandates where none exist. The danger of self-made prophets is that their words are often rooted in ambition rather than revelation. Prophecies do fail, but not all failures are innocent mistakes. When God truly speaks, His word does not return void. Yet today, the land is littered with predictions that have crumbled like houses built on shifting sand. A pastor declares a certain candidate will win an election, yet the opposite happens. Another proclaims the world will end in a specific year, yet life continues. A popular preacher insists that a disease is a hoax, yet thousands die from it. When these words fall flat, there are no apologies, no explanations—just new prophecies to cover the old. The elders say, “A liar’s memory must be strong.” But even the best liars forget, and when they do, the people suffer.
Consider the recent turmoil within the United Methodist Church in Nigeria. A schism over LGBTQ policies escalated into deadly violence, with homes set ablaze and innocent lives, including children, lost in the inferno. This tragedy underscores how misinformation can ignite longstanding tensions, turning brethren into adversaries. As reported, “A religious schism has turned deadly in Nigeria, with a church member fatally shot and two young children killed as homes were set ablaze.” Such events are stark reminders that when the roots of a tree begin to decay, it is only a matter of time before the branches fall. Those who call themselves messengers of God but spread division are not builders of faith but architects of destruction. “When the drum of war beats, even the deaf can hear it,” the Yoruba warn, yet many in the Church choose to pretend that the chaos around them is not of their own making.
The COVID-19 pandemic further unveiled the Church’s vulnerability to disinformation. Prominent religious figures propagated theories linking the virus to 5G networks and the “New World Order,” leading many astray from life-saving health guidelines. One pastor’s controversial stance against vaccines, including those for malaria, exemplifies this peril. As noted, he “has preached against vaccines and has been accused of undermining efforts to eradicate serious infectious diseases.” In a land where proverbs are wisdom’s vessels, the Yoruba say, “The insect that eats the vegetable is within the vegetable.” The threat to the Church’s integrity often comes from within, masked as enlightenment but rooted in ignorance. Many so-called pastors refused to follow science, telling their congregations that “God will protect them” without wisdom. But did not God also give us the sense to avoid danger? Is faith now an excuse for recklessness?
The digital age, with its vast plains of information, has become a double-edged sword. While it offers unprecedented access to knowledge, it also serves as a breeding ground for conspiracy theories that exploit religious sentiments. In Nigeria, conspiracy theorists have been “turning nearly every conversation into religious debates through information manipulation and misinformation.” These falsehoods sow discord among religious communities, leading to suspicion and, at times, violence. The Hausa caution, “He who brings ant-infested firewood into his house should not complain when lizards start to visit.” By allowing disinformation to fester, the Church inadvertently invites chaos into its fold. Faith, when hijacked by lies, becomes a tool of oppression rather than liberation.
A true revival will not come from emotional preaching or miracles alone—it will come when the Church embraces truth over deception. Nigerians must ask: What kind of faith are we building? One that stands on shifting sand, or one rooted in the eternal rock of truth? The Bible says, “You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.” Yet, too many Christians prefer comfortable lies over uncomfortable truth. A goat that follows a blind man into the forest will soon be lost. If the Church continues to follow leaders who traffic in deception, it will find itself wandering in darkness, far from the light of Christ. But there is still hope. Just as the prodigal son returned home, the Church can still turn back, cleanse itself, and rediscover the purity of faith that once made it a beacon of hope.
Faith, in its purest form, is a beacon of hope and a fortress of truth. However, when tainted by disinformation, it becomes a weapon of division. The Church must recognize that “a single lie discovered is enough to create doubt in every truth expressed.” To rebuild trust, religious leaders must champion transparency, encourage critical thinking, and denounce falsehoods unequivocally. As the Akan say, “By the time the fool has learned the game, the players have dispersed.” The time for the Church to act is now, lest it finds itself isolated in a world that has moved beyond its reach. If the pulpit loses credibility, what remains? If faith is built on lies, what will stand when the wind of truth blows?
Let those who have ears hear. Let those who seek truth rise above deception. The elders say, “No matter how long a log stays in the river, it will never become a crocodile.” No matter how often a lie is repeated, it will never become truth. And no matter how much deception infiltrates the Church, there will always be a remnant who choose to stand for what is right. The time has come for believers to stop drinking from the poisoned well of disinformation and return to the living water of truth. It will not be easy—the road of truth is narrow, and the gate is small. But as history has shown, a single candle can push back the darkness. Will the Church be that candle, or will it allow the darkness of deception to consume its light? The choice remains ours to make.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah, Igalamela/Odolu
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