When a truth strikes too close, it ceases to be theory and becomes testimony.
“The Sword of Saul — a very powerful sermon! I’m greatly inspired by this message. It roots down to the current tragedy going on in churches today. More oil to your lamp, sir,” wrote @Ngbede from Benue,
echoing what many whispered but feared to say aloud. For indeed, the crisis of fatherhood within the Church has become a moral epidemic. What once stood as covering has turned into captivity. The same altars that once anointed sons are now draining them of dignity, dreams, and direction.
Across Africa, Europe, and the Americas, a painful narrative unfolds: the rise of spiritual monarchs ruling over silenced heirs. Many fathers who should nurture destiny have become architects of dependency—keeping their sons impoverished, emotionally broken, and perpetually begging. It is the colonial theology of control, baptized in clerical language. Some call it “spiritual discipline,” but heaven calls it domination.
Behind many pulpits today, one can hear the echoes of Saul’s insecurity. When grace begins to bloom in the life of a son, suspicion replaces mentorship. Blessings are withheld, opportunities blocked, and reputation sabotaged—all in the name of “spiritual covering.” Some fathers prefer their sons to crawl, for fear that their walking might expose their own stagnation. Others keep their protégés indebted—financially and emotionally—so that gratitude becomes chains, and loyalty becomes servitude.
The tragedy has gone deeper still. There are cases where married spiritual fathers, entrusted with authority, have secretly manipulated or seduced the fiancées of their sons—turning mentorship into moral betrayal. These are not isolated moral failures but symptoms of a decaying system where charisma has replaced character. When the sacred trust of fatherhood becomes a means of exploitation, the entire altar trembles under divine scrutiny.
Many spiritual sons today live as paupers, not because heaven has denied them blessing, but because their “fathers” have weaponized access. They can bless outsiders generously, yet starve their own spiritual children, keeping them at the mercy of stipends and crumbs. Such sons are not disciples; they are hostages of an empire masquerading as mentorship. It is the same ancient spirit of Saul—loving David’s harp but hating David’s destiny.
The Holy Bible says, “Woe unto you, shepherds of Israel that feed themselves! Should not the shepherds feed the flock?” (Ezekiel 34:2). The Lord’s rebuke resounds across generations. True fatherhood empowers; false fatherhood enslaves. The divine purpose of mentorship is multiplication, not manipulation. When fathers begin to compete with sons, the oil dries up, and the Spirit withdraws His approval.
Yet amid this decay, God still preserves remnants—fathers who give freely, bless genuinely, and rejoice when their sons excel. They understand that fatherhood is stewardship, not ownership. Bishop T.D. Jakes once said, “You know you’re a father when your ceiling becomes your son’s floor.” That is the essence of kingdom succession: to release, not to restrict.
But this is not merely an African crisis; it is global and generational. From Lagos to Los Angeles, from Nairobi to New Delhi, pulpits quake under the weight of wounded sons and silent fathers. The Church is producing orphans beneath mentorship, beggars beneath blessings, and slaves beneath sermons. The irony is unbearable: those who should teach liberty have institutionalized captivity.
Saul’s problem was never David’s talent—it was his own insecurity. Instead of seeing David’s rise as proof of his legacy, he saw it as a threat to his throne. The modern Saul behaves the same. He hides control behind theology, greed behind piety, and jealousy behind counsel. They preach submission but practice suppression. They speak of legacy but fear replacement.
But heaven is stirring a new order. Davids are learning discernment—not rebellion, but resilience. They are discovering that submission does not mean subjugation. They are learning to honour genuinely but not idolize blindly. For while it is written, “Obey them that have the rule over you” (Hebrews 13:17), it is also written, “Be not ye the servants of men” (1 Corinthians 7:23). True honour flows from freedom, not fear.
The day of colonial Christianity must end—the era where sons serve forever in borrowed garments while fathers hoard inheritance. God is dismantling the monopolies of grace, scattering the empires built on intimidation, and restoring dignity to spiritual sonship. For the Spirit of God is not given to create celebrities but to raise generations.
The Church must begin to talk honestly about these wounds. Healing begins where hypocrisy ends. The pulpit must no longer be a shield for immorality or manipulation. The hierarchy of holiness must be replaced with the fellowship of accountability. Those who lead must remember that the anointing was never meant to make them untouchable—it was meant to make them usable.
David refused to strike Saul, but God Himself eventually took the sword from Saul’s hand. The pattern remains the same: heaven will always defend abused sons and confront unrepentant fathers. For the kingdom does not run on favouritism but on righteousness.
As the Spirit searches through the body of Christ, one truth rings louder than ever: love is the only weapon that heals. When fathers begin to bless again, and sons begin to serve without fear, revival will flow again. The future of the Church depends not on who holds the microphone, but on who holds no malice.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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