Dear Prophet Jeremiah Omoto Fufeyin,
Peace be multiplied unto you from the throne of the Ancient of Days. I write not as a critic, but as a burdened voice rising from the neglected corridors of Nigeria—where altars still groan and broken men still crawl toward hope. This is not a letter penned in judgment, but an epistle from a distant son and brother whose soul bleeds with reverence and righteous concern.
When I stepped into Mercy City in 2019, the atmosphere was electric with awe. It felt as if Eden had relocated to Warri. The crippled danced. The abandoned rose. Invisible chains shattered. I returned home heavy with testimony, but my spirit was famished. I longed not for another miracle, but for doctrine (word of God). I wasn’t hungry for another touch—I needed understanding. I searched tirelessly for a local church that could nourish the flame I received, but I wandered like an orphan—surrounded by temples, yet starved of truth. I had encountered divine power, but the blueprint to preserve it was absent. That void remains.
Sir, this is not a message of criticism. It is a cry—a plea. I speak not only for myself but for thousands—perhaps millions—who encountered God through your hands but now wander, searching for water to keep their seed alive. We carry your spiritual imprint, yet many now perish in deserts of confusion. Oil without light becomes dangerous. But this is not your failure—it is the unfinished song of a master composer. You are heavily anointed, and it pierces the soul when men condemn what they do not understand. Some who mock lack discernment. Worse still are sons who cannot defend the altars they once knelt before. I have seen men healed by your mantle, now silent when the truth is assaulted. Many who once called you “Papa” walk in your corridors but lack the grammar of the Holy Gospel.
And yet, this is the condition of the Church today.
We are enraged by sermons but indifferent to slaughters. We scrutinize prophets while ignoring mass graves. We cast stones at altars while innocent blood cries from the ground. When children were being butchered in northern Nigeria, when entire villages were razed, when widows wept under trees—there was no national outcry. No Senate sessions. No placards. No protests. But when a prophet speaks out of sync with denominational tone, the headlines erupt. Suddenly, the nation finds its voice—its outrage.
This contradiction is not borne by you alone. Many prophets, pastors, and even lay believers suffer the same rejection. The world welcomes religion, but resists revelation. And yet, Papa, do not retreat. Do not silence your trumpet. For Peter wrote:
“Things which are now reported unto you by them that have preached the gospel unto you with the Holy Ghost sent down from heaven; which things the angels desire to look into.” —1 Peter 1:12
Prophet, your ministry is a divine eruption—thunderous like Elijah, compassionate like Christ. But I plead: let this thunder awaken teachers. Let the wind that heals also bring scrolls. What you carry is not just a gift; it is a dispensation, a mystery, a blueprint. The manifestations from your altar are not performances—they are prophecies. But as Paul told the Colossians, even mysteries must be taught, and power must be anchored in knowledge—lest it becomes spectacle.
Extend the reach of your ministry beyond miracles and material breakthroughs. Build scripture mornings, not only miracle nights. Raise a generation that doesn’t just walk through the Jordan but meditates by it. Sons and daughters who do not merely speak in tongues, but interpret visions and teach sound doctrine. For the next warfare will not only be against poverty or disease—it will be against deception. And the Church must be ready, forged with both fire and foundation.
Permit me, Papa, to recall how even the late Prophet TB Joshua immersed his people in truth. He brought in white lecturers—not for pride, but for precision. Those teachings gave form to fire. They gave shape to the move of the Spirit. I believe your Sunday school teachers carry wells of wisdom. Their voices remind me of Nehemiah’s scribes—faithful, fiery, and full. But more must be done. Empower them. Expand their reach. Send your sons and daughters to Bible colleges—not for titles, but for training. Let branches rise not just in cities, but in villages. Let them become schools of truth, not just stages of fire. Build a seminary. Raise thinkers. Forge scribes and authors. For you are not only a prophet to the sick—you are a father to nations.
The rural fields are white. Yet, many of your sons who once walked in power cannot represent you well. Some have turned from the faith, swallowed by fornication, adultery, greed, and pride. I have walked through villages and towns unreached by pastors, untouched by evangelists. These places await the footprints of those you’ve raised. But they cannot go because they do not know. They sing but cannot teach. They shout Amen but cannot divide truth. Papa, you can fix this. Send scrolls into their hands. Establish discipleship centers in the bushes and backstreets. Let the anointing become structured. Turn mantles into ministries. Let your legacy be both power and wisdom.
How can men encounter God through you, return to local churches, and be crucified on those same altars by pastors who condemn prophets? How can they be delivered only to be destroyed by ignorance?
And you too, Prophet—do not stop learning. No matter how high your anointing, knowledge remains key. There are scrolls yet unopened. Depths in the Word that await your voice. Draw from global wells. Let your revivals become curriculums. Let your miracles include minds. Heal the sick, yes—but raise those who can contend with error. Let the ignorant walk again—not just in limbs but in light.
You have done much—shaken cities, broken yokes, fed the hungry, lifted the fallen. But like Paul, we echo:
“Not that I have already attained…”
There is more. More revelations to unveil. More dimensions to open. More stones to place in the tabernacle you are building.
I am but a voice from a far place. Not one who has arrived, but one who hungers. I speak on behalf of those touched by your mantle yet yearning for more. We need your voice not only in fire but in scripture. Raise men who don’t just echo but explain. Raise apostles who do not only rebuke demons but rebuke doctrinal error. Preach Christ—crucified, risen, and returning. Invite sound lecturers. Let international teachers instruct your ministers—not for show, but for sharpening. While the Spirit teaches spiritual things, let education anchor earthly stewardship.
For even angels are leaning in.
Your brother in the Spirit and in truth,
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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