I’ve been thinking about the atmosphere in the Nigerian Christian community lately, and it feels… tense. Not dramatic, exactly, but like one of those family meetings where everyone is avoiding eye contact because nobody wants to say the obvious. At some point, though, someone has to talk about it. Maybe that’s what this is.
One of the biggest concerns floating around is the slow erosion of unity. Nigerian Christians have always celebrated the idea of being one body, even across denominational lines. But now it feels like there’s this subtle competition; especially among preachers. You see it online all the time: the carefully worded shade, the “corrections,” the not-so-subtle theological takedowns.
And the thing is, I don’t think most of these ministers are acting out of malice. Many genuinely love God. But the digital world rewards conflict. A spicy clip gets views. A controversial opinion spreads faster. Before long, what should have been a quiet private conversation becomes a public rivalry. Regular Christians are left wondering whom to trust, and honestly, it gets exhausting.
The ripple effect is a growing sense of disrespect toward Christian leadership in general. Some of it is understandable; people want transparency and accountability. But sometimes the critique becomes cynicism. Every pastor is suspect. Every leader is assumed to be manipulative until proven otherwise. Even sincere leaders feel the weight of that suspicion.
Then there are the allegations by some ministers who claim they’re being sidelined or persecuted by established Christian bodies like PFN or CAN. Whether there’s truth there or just misunderstanding, the mere perception creates fractures. One group says “the fathers are blocking younger voices,” another insists structure is necessary to prevent chaos. Maybe both are right in parts. But the public back-and-forth makes it harder for the wider community to see any form of collective leadership as trustworthy.
This ties into a wider conversation about integrity and accountability. Many believers want more clarity about financial practices, prophetic declarations, and the increasing celebrity culture in some ministries. And they’re not wrong to ask questions. But the conversation has become polarized: one side thinks asking questions equals rebellion, the other thinks authority is inherently suspect. Meanwhile, the healthy middle ground (where accountability actually happens) keeps shrinking.
But here’s the thing we don’t talk about enough: the church still has a massive role to play in shaping Nigerian society. A positive one, if we let it.
Because when the church is healthy, it becomes a stabilizing force. It promotes social cohesion in a country that can feel like a patchwork of competing identities. It brings people together across tribe, class, and political lines in ways few institutions can. I’ve seen churches become lifelines for people drowning in poverty; offering food banks, free medical outreaches, skills training, scholarships. And honestly, many Nigerians survive because their local church quietly fills the gaps left by government.
Corporate social responsibility isn’t just for big companies. Churches, with their influence and resources, can pioneer community development; clean water projects, schools, shelters, mental health support. Some already do this beautifully. Imagine if more joined in, not for publicity, but out of conviction.
And let’s be real: the church is supposed to be the conscience of society. Not in a self-righteous way, but in that gentle-but-firm voice that reminds leaders they’re accountable. Historically, the Nigerian church has played that role.
By Sola Adebawo @Vanguard
