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judewrites:Whether I am Christian does not determine whether the argument is true. You say suffering comes from Adam and Eve’s sin. That is a belief, not proof. Yet, history also shows the danger of religious authority. The French Revolution challenged the Catholic Church’s privileges and pushed society toward secular citizenship and legal equality. Now consider responsibility. If a child is starving, Adam and Eve did not withhold the food. If a government steals public money, Adam and Eve did not steal it. If war destroys a community, Adam and Eve did not fire the missile. Human beings did, but religion would have us hold Adam and Eve, culpable but not the very people who are responsible. I don't need Adam and Eve to explain human cruelty. I can observe it. |
judewrites:This is why religion functions as an escape from responsibility. Why should people thousands of years later explain poverty, disease, war, abuse, and inequality through the actions of two figures from an ancient story? I did not eat the fruit or make that decision, so holding me accountable would be unjust. The story also conflicts with scientific evidence. Fossils, archaeology, and genetics show that modern humans have existed for roughly 300,000 years, with hominin ancestors reaching back millions of years. A literal Adam and Eve is inconsistent with human genetics. Without this story, we would study disease, economics, psychology, politics, and human behavior; and seek practical solutions. But calling the world “broken because of the Fall” can discourage responsibility by treating poverty and suffering as inevitable or divinely planned. Adam and Eve are not governing countries, designing economies, starting wars, exploiting workers, or controlling access to food, healthcare, education, and opportunity. We are. We do not need Adam and Eve or original sin to explain human cruelty. I can observe it directly. Nor do we need paradise to justify reducing suffering. If someone is suffering, that alone is reason to care. The world we inherited may not be our fault but the world we leave behind is our responsibility. |
Evaress:Perhaps the question is not, “Why is God partial?” but, “Why assume there is a God behind all of this?” Life is not fair. People are born into vastly different circumstances, and suffering often seems random. That does not necessarily mean God is partial; it may mean nature does not follow our idea of fairness. We often imagine a perfectly good and powerful God, then ask why He allows suffering. But perhaps we should ask what evidence we have that such a God designed and governs this world. “God has a reason for everything” only postpones the question. What is the reason for a child’s suffering, a loveless life, or being born into circumstances one spends a lifetime escaping? Sometimes “God’s plan” is simply a name for what we do not understand. Your doubts are nothing to be ashamed of. They show that you are taking the question seriously and facing reality honestly. If no divine hand guarantees justice, responsibility falls on us. We must feed the hungry, protect the vulnerable, challenge injustice, and make life less cruel. Let's ask, "Now that I see life isn’t fair, what will I do about it?” |
MaxInDHouse:But your textbook analogy actually raises another question. If two people read the same book and one can determine what is good, useful, or correct while the other cannot, then what gives the successful reader the ability to make that distinction? You say it is their “attitude.” But how do they know which attitude is correct? How do they know which interpretation of the book is right? How do they distinguish the wisdom in the book from the parts that require reinterpretation? Obviously, the reader's own reasoning becomes necessary to determine what the book actually means and what should be applied. The achievement of people who use the book successfully does not prove that the book itself is the source of their judgment. It proves that human beings are capable of reading, interpreting, evaluating, and selecting from a text. And that brings us back to the real question: if human reasoning is required to determine what the “Word of God” means, how do you prove that your interpretation comes from God rather than from the human mind interpreting the book? |
sonmvayina:You've made two separate claims. First, you say “evil” in Isaiah means calamity. Show that from the Torah; don't simply substitute “calamity” and declare the issue settled. Second, you claim that “the universe is a mental creation of THE ALL. ” What evidence supports that, and what exactly is “THE ALL”? Is this demonstrable, or merely another belief? Redefining evil is a linguistic argument; placing the universe in a cosmic mind is philosophical. Both require justification. I am waiting. |
MaxInDHouse:Then show us the original text and establish your translation from it. If you are dismissing the English rendering as a translation error, that creates an obvious problem: how do you know which parts of the Bible you are reading are accurately translated and which parts are not? You cannot appeal to translation errors only when a passage becomes inconvenient. And if your position is that God deliberately chose not to know something, then demonstrate that from the text rather than simply asserting it. While you're at it, explain Amos 3:6: “Does disaster occur in a city without Yahweh having caused it?” Is that also a translation error, or does your argument about God creating evil suddenly change when we reach another uncomfortable verse? Post the Hebrew, give us the translation, and defend the interpretation. That would be a much more useful lesson than telling me I choose not to know. |
maestro299:You're changing the subject. My argument isn't that threats or violence against Isese worshippers are acceptable. They're not. My point is that an African can be taught to regard what is indigenous as fetish, while treating foreign religious practices as holy. If you disagree with that argument, address it directly. What does violence against Isese worshippers have to do with the fact that the same akara is considered ordinary food until it is associated with an indigenous remembrance? |
MaxInDHouse:But none of that actually explains Isaiah 45:7. You have given examples of God supposedly controlling fire and lions, but the verse does not say, “I create dangerous things and can redirect them.” It says: “I make peace and create evil.” So the question remains: what exactly does evil mean here, and what textual evidence makes your interpretation the correct one? You cannot take stories from Daniel, add your own theological explanation, and then use that explanation to tell us what Isaiah meant. That's interpreting the verse through your theology rather than establishing what the verse actually says. If your claim is that evil means calamity rather than moral evil, make that case from the text and its context. The lions and the furnace can wait. Isaiah 45:7 is the question. If God genuinely did not know whether Abraham would obey, or genuinely had to investigate Sodom to discover what was happening, then you are describing a God whose knowledge is not exhaustive. That creates a much bigger theological question: what exactly do you mean when you call this God all powerful, and what is the basis for deciding which things he knows and which things he chooses not to know? And more importantly, if your position is that God deliberately limits his own knowledge, then you cannot use “God knows everything” when convenient and “God chooses not to know” when a passage creates a problem. |
MaxInDHouse:You claim my interpretation is wrong, so explain Isaiah 45:7 and show exactly where my reasoning fails. “Humble yourself and learn” is not an argument. Isaiah 45:7: “I am the one who made light and made darkness, who makes peace and creates evil/things bad; I am the Lord God who does all these things.” And whether the word “omniscient” appears in the Bible is irrelevant. If you reject the idea that God knows everything, argue that point. Otherwise, you are debating a word instead of the claim. If you have the correction, put it here. Let everyone judge the argument for themselves. |
MaxInDHouse:I wonder why your God would state something so plainly in Isaiah 45:7, then leave it to you thousands of years later to explain what he “really meant.” If an omniscient God knows how people interpret language, why communicate so straightforwardly and rely on followers to correct it? That is the convenience of biblical interpretation: when the text says something uncomfortable, believers become God’s public relations department. You call my reading erroneous because it conflicts with your theology. I call it reading the sentence without deciding in advance what it may mean. |
ParadiseDark:Don't bother engaging this funny fellow. His “true religion” has an interesting relationship with genocide. Apparently, Jehovah occasionally gets involved in mass destruction, while his followers spend the rest of the week explaining why this is somehow different when he does it. Even Isaiah 45:7 has Jehovah taking responsibility for creating “evil” or calamity, depending on the translation. It is a rather impressive arrangement: Jehovah gets to commit or authorize the unpleasant things, while humans are expected to maintain the moral cleanliness of the brand. |
We desperately want reality to have intention because intention is familiar to us... We understand plans, purposes, beginnings, and endings. An indifferent universe frightens us because it does not owe us an explanation. A chair has a carpenter, so the universe must have a creator. A book has an author, so existence must have an author. But the universe is not a chair, and reality is not a book. We are projecting the logic of human manufacture onto existence itself So we invent one. The deepest illusion is not believing in God but believing that reality is obligated to make sense to us. ![]() ParadiseDark: |
MaxInDHouse:Pele o |
MaxInDHouse:Yeye dey smell. Are you not seeing this part? now try defining belief and faith, and show me how they connect to reality... |
MaxInDHouse:You see why y’all believers never confront reality but instead spin a narrative; cherry-picking the evidence that suits you while conveniently ignoring what doesn’t. Even when what you have chosen is clearly incomplete, contradictory, or erroneous, you cling to it simply because it supports the narrative you have already been conditioned to believe... |
MaxInDHouse:I'm gonna try and explain it for a 10 year old to understand. When I said, “Yes, you have silenced me, with facts, of course,” I was not genuinely admitting that you had silenced me or that you had presented facts. “With facts, of course” was the sarcastic part, because I was questioning whether what you presented could actually be called facts. I then followed that sarcasm with a genuine intellectual challenge: since you seem confident in distinguishing what is known from what is believed, define belief and faith and explain how either one establishes a connection with objective reality. And you have not done that up until now either.... ![]() |
MaxInDHouse:Stop quoting me out of context to justify your ridiculousness. You ought to quote my entire text, not selectively pull out the part that merely seemed to testify to your ignorance. Your inability to comprehend what you read has clearly prevented you from recognising the sarcasm in what I wrote. |
There is something deeply uncomfortable about the way many Africans have learned to look at themselves. I am not saying that Africans should abandon Christianity. I am not saying that we should return blindly to everything our ancestors did. Our ancestors were human beings. They made mistakes, just as we make mistakes today. A culture should evolve, question itself, correct itself and improve. What troubles me is something else: where did we learn to despise certain things about ourselves? Consider something as ordinary as akara. A woman fries akara by the roadside. A Christian walks past, buys it, eats it and thinks nothing of it. But let that same akara be prepared as part of a remembrance of someone who has died, and suddenly the food becomes "fetish." The bean has not changed. The oil has not changed. The food has not changed. Only the story attached to it has changed. And somehow, the African has been taught that what is native to him must be suspicious. He can celebrate Christmas. He can celebrate Easter. He can wear Santa Claus costumes. He can exchange gifts and share food in remembrance of the birth and death of Jesus Christ. But let him remember his own ancestors, observe an indigenous festival, participate in a masquerade or preserve a traditional practice, and suddenly words like pagan, fetish, demonic and sacrifice appear. At some point, we have to stop and ask ourselves: who taught us to see ourselves this way? This is where I make the uncomfortable statement: the black man has, in many ways, become white. Not in his skin. Not in his facial features. But in the way he has learned to measure himself. He looks at the foreign and sees civilisation. He looks at the indigenous and sees backwardness. He changes his name. He changes his festivals. He abandons his ancestral memory. He begins to desire the symbols, institutions and values of the people who taught him that his own were inferior. And then he calls that progress. This is not an argument against Christianity. It is an argument against unexamined inheritance. If Christianity is what you genuinely examined, questioned and chose, then it is yours. But if you were taught that everything African was evil before you were old enough to question it, then perhaps your certainty deserves examination too. You don't have to return to your ancestors. You don't have to worship what they worshipped. But you should at least know what you abandoned. Because a people can walk so long on another person's road that they forget they ever had one of their own. And when that road disappears, they may discover something frightening: They no longer know how to find their way home. |
How do you get a book, read yourself into it, and then treat everything written in it as though it was directly addressed to you? The Bible speaks within a specific historical and cultural context, to the people of Israel and their covenant with their God. It was not talking to Africans who would become Christians thousands of years later, or to people outside that tradition. Yet modern Christians often read these ancient texts and immediately insert themselves, “God said this to us. God loves us. We must obey.” That is what baffles me. People also project emotions onto God that the text does not directly give them. “God loves you” becomes assumed and internalized, even though it comes through writing, translation, and interpretation rather than direct communication. But if someone truly loves you, you would not need an ancient book to know it. You would expect presence and immediacy, not distant claims filtered through centuries. And yet, even with history in view, suffering, conquest, cultural disruption, people still hold on to the belief that God loves them, reshaping the narrative so it stays intact. At some point, I think we should stop asking only, “What does the Bible say?” We should also ask, “Why do I think this book is speaking directly to me?” And, “How did I come to believe this God was mine in the first place?” |
People often describe marriage as sacrifice, but I think that idea is deeply misunderstood. Most of what people call sacrifice in marriage is not sacrifice at all. It is responsibility functioning within a role that was voluntarily accepted. I recently saw a video of a man talking about how unmarried people are often the loudest voices giving advice about marriage. He used an example of a husband saying his wife washes his clothes while washing hers, and the comment section immediately turned into a debate. Some people argued that a grown man should wash his own clothes. Others insisted marriage should always be “50/50.” The man responded by saying modern people no longer understand marriage because marriage requires sacrifice. But I disagree with that framing. I do not think waking up early for your family, helping your partner, cooking, cleaning, providing financially, or supporting a household should automatically be described as sacrifice. Those things are responsibilities attached to a role people willingly entered. There is a difference between sacrifice and role acceptance. If I decide to become a doctor, sleepless nights become part of the profession. If I become a father, responsibility naturally follows. We do not constantly describe these things as sacrifice because they are understood to be part of the role itself. Marriage should be understood the same way. For example, a woman who is single may wake up at nine in the morning because her schedule allows it. But after marriage, she may begin waking up earlier because the structure of her life has changed. Her husband may be leaving for work early, children may eventually arrive, and the demands of the household become different. Modern thinking immediately labels this sacrifice. But is it really sacrifice? Or is it simply adaptation to a role she willingly accepted? If I drive an automatic car, I use one foot most of the time. I would not say I am sacrificing my other leg. I am simply functioning within the system I chose to operate in. Marriage works similarly. The real problem is that many people enter marriage physically but never psychologically. Their bodies enter the institution, but their minds remain attached to singlehood. So every adjustment feels like a personal loss. Every responsibility feels unfair. People begin saying things like: “I sacrificed my freedom.” “I sacrificed my peace.” “I sacrificed my sleep.” Eventually marriage becomes emotional accounting instead of partnership. This is one of the reasons many modern relationships struggle. People want the emotional benefits of marriage without accepting the structural changes that naturally come with it. They want companionship without obligation, commitment without inconvenience, and stability without responsibility. But every meaningful role in life changes the person inside it. A parent cannot remain completely self centered. A leader cannot avoid responsibility. A committed partner cannot behave as though they are still entirely independent. That transformation is not oppression. It is the consequence of entering a shared structure. True sacrifice does exist in marriage, but it should not be confused with ordinary responsibility. Caring for a sick spouse for years through pain and uncertainty may involve sacrifice. Enduring extreme hardship together may involve sacrifice. Those situations go beyond normal role performance. But ordinary duties within marriage are not automatically sacrifice. They are participation. The danger of constantly describing marriage as sacrifice is that people begin to see responsibility itself as suffering. And once that mindset develops, resentment slowly enters the relationship because every act becomes something to be counted and repaid. The healthiest marriages are probably built by people who understand that marriage is not about preserving singlehood under one roof. It is about consciously accepting a new role and the responsibilities attached to it. That is not sacrifice. That is commitment. |
This was the second week since I met Titi, and in that short time we had seen each other four times on different days. Four meetings, four separate disasters to my peace of mind. Every outing had been memorable, the kind of reckless adventure that leaves a man lying awake at night wondering when exactly he transformed from an ordinary hustler into a hopeless romantic fool. Love, lust, ambition, delusion, they often wear the same perfume. Today made it the third day in a row we were seeing each other that week. I could hardly ask for official leave just to spend time with the hottest and richest girl I had ever spoken to, a woman who, in my increasingly biased opinion, was very likely destined to be mine. So I did what underpaid workers across the land have done since civilization began. I called in sick on Wednesday. Nearly everyone in our office did it sooner or later, except a few noble creatures like Serah, who always told the truth and accepted consequences like some kind of administrative martyr. Besides, Titi represented opportunity. She was beauty, excitement, escape, and upward mobility wrapped in one expensive package. In my mind she had become like a difficult five-unit course I absolutely had to pass. Not just pass. Excel in. So far, my performance had been promising, but today was examination day. I intended to scatter that course orally, practically, and theoretically. By the time I was done, she would suspect my pen never ran dry, my plantain was machine-made, and my hips operated on industrial fuel. “Bros, go now.” The voice yanked me back to reality. I turned and saw the man behind me in the ATM queue pointing impatiently at the machine. I had been so lost in fantasy that I forgot I was standing at the front of a line full of citizens already irritated by life. A dangerous place to daydream in Lagos. I hurried through my transaction, boarded a taxi, and about forty minutes later I arrived at her estate in Jakande Phase 1. The place looked like the sort of compound money builds when it wants privacy. A giant gated duplex stood before me, with high fences dressed in roughly chiseled stone. Even the gate looked expensive and unfriendly. I straightened my shirt, checked my breath, and dialed her number again for what had to be the fifteenth time. No answer. Then the gate opened slightly. I smiled to myself. I expected Titi to rush out and fling herself at me the way she had done the last two times we met, once at an elegant lounge in Opebi and another in GRA, each embrace so sudden and forceful I nearly lost balance and ancestry. In preparation, I widened my stance like a man bracing for affection. Instead, a small boy, no older than nine, peeped through the opening. Before I could speak, a man’s harsh voice barked from inside. The boy disappeared instantly and the gate slammed shut. I frowned and reached for my phone to call again. It slipped from my hand. At least, that was what I thought. What really happened was that something, or someone, hit me from behind with such force that I was launched forward into the fence. My shoulder smashed against stone. Pain burst through my arm. Before I could turn, another blow sent me crashing to the ground. Then they descended. Fists. Boots. Something hard and heavy. The world became noise and pain. “Lord Je... Jaso... yee!” My mouth was trying to pray, but grammar had abandoned me. GHBOOW! A strike landed across my ribs. “God please... please...” GHAN! GBISHH! A kick folded into my stomach and stole the air from my lungs. GBAW! My face scraped the ground. “...Piss oh please...” I meant peace, but under enough beating even vocabulary develops a concussion. GBIIIQSHHH! “As I ebnetr wrre haaa!” I was attempting repentance now, but the prayer came out like a broken keyboard. Half words, wrong tenses, punctuation without purpose. If heaven graded clarity, I was doomed. At some point the blows paused. I lay curled on the ground, trembling, trying to gather the pieces of myself. In my head I prayed properly. Father, forgive me. Is this how I will end? You know I try to live right. But today... today I came here for fornication. Lord Jesus, you know my thoughts. Forgive me. I am a sinner. In fact... I came from fornication. Then laughter exploded around me. Cruel, delighted laughter. One of them mocked in a dramatic voice, “I came from fornication!” Only then did I realize I had spoken the prayer aloud. Wonderful. Not only was I being beaten to death, I was also providing entertainment. I tried to lift my head, tried to see who they were, tried to scream, but something heavy crashed against my skull. The earth tilted. The voices stretched far away. And I fell into a darkness so complete it felt like I had stepped off the world itself. |
We were driving toward the terminal where I usually boarded the intra-state mass transit bus, the BRT. She was on her way home from visiting her cousins but decided to stop by first, as if derailing my entire evening schedule was a casual hobby. Only a few hours earlier she had called to ask where the Tiron Movies office was located, saying she might come by the next day. I never imagined she meant that same day. Some people say “I might come around” the way politicians say “we’re working on it.” Titi, apparently, moved with military efficiency. She had not mentioned that her father was in the army until I asked why a man built like a reinforced gate was shadowing her every movement. With kidnappings becoming the national pastime, her father had assigned Musa, also known as Mosko, as her driver and bodyguard. The man looked less like staff and more like a one-man emergency response unit. Her father was the notorious Lieutenant Colonel Maduekwe, the officer credited with helping crush insurgencies in the North some ten years earlier. Though he had since risen to the rank of Major General, many still called him Mad Lt. Col. It was not the kind of nickname one repeated in his presence unless one was tired of owning teeth. I knew this because the day I stood before him, my tongue resigned from duty and fled without notice. Still, the evening itself had been glorious. The kind of evening that tricks a young man into believing destiny has finally remembered his address. I sat there building castles in my head, painting futures with reckless optimism. Me and Titi. Better clothes. Better life. Maybe even a car whose doors opened without prayer and shoulder force. Human beings can manufacture fantasy from the smallest attention. A smile, a touch, a woman with perfume and confidence, and suddenly you’re drafting wedding invitations in your skull. When I boarded the BRT, I noticed several passengers glancing at me sideways with expressions that mixed curiosity, amusement, and the silent gossip Nigerians can perform without speaking. I ignored them. In my mind the explanation was obvious: I smelled of expensive perfume, the kind of scent that announced itself three seconds before the wearer arrived. Let them stare. For one evening at least, I was not the struggling telesales boy chasing reluctant subscribers. I was a man returning from somewhere important. By the time I got to my street, the area was bright with electric light. A miracle in itself. What a day. I walked to Anuru’s kiosk, the small provision store that had saved me from hunger more times than dignity would allow, and asked for bread and powdered chocolate. I had no strength left to cook. Romance may lift the spirit, but it does nothing for tired legs. Anuru handed me the items, then paused. He leaned forward and stared at my face with the grave concentration of a doctor discovering a new disease. This was becoming suspicious. “What is it?” I asked. “Wetin dey my face?” “Oga…” he said slowly, squinting for accuracy. “E be like… say na woman mouth.” “What?” I demanded a mirror. He passed me one from under the counter, scratched but serviceable. I looked. There, blazing on my cheek like evidence in a criminal trial, was the full red imprint of Titi’s lips. For a moment I just stood there, bread in one hand, chocolate in the other, staring at my own reflection like a man betrayed by his skin. Then memory rushed back. She had kissed me before I jumped out in a hurry to catch the BRT, and in all my confusion and excitement, I had forgotten to wipe it off. Which meant I had ridden a crowded public bus across Lagos wearing a woman’s lipstick mark like a campaign poster. Anuru laughed so hard he had to hold the shelf. I snatched the mirror away, wiped my face with the back of my hand, and walked home with whatever remained of my pride. Still, beneath the embarrassment, I was smiling. Some humiliations are worth it. |
What kind of conscience celebrates the suffering of fellow human beings simply because they were born into a different tribe? No one chose the ethnicity into which they arrived. No one earned their bloodline before birth. Yet some speak with pride about massacres, starvation, and marginalization as though cruelty becomes noble when the victims are neighbors. That is moral collapse dressed as patriotism. A failed coup by a number of men does not justify condemning millions who never planned it, never ordered it, and never held power. Collective punishment is the language of barbarism. To blame an entire people for the acts of a few is not justice. The deepest insult is this: many who excuse such violence still bow mentally to the same foreign powers that looted Africa, enslaved Africans, and carved nations for their convenience. They reserve mercy for distant oppressors and venom for those beside them. |
orisa37:P.S: Biafra was not one of Nigeria’s constitutional states that was later removed from the constitution. It was a secessionist republic formed during the civil war. Also, Nigeria did not start with 36 states. The 36-state structure came decades later through several rounds of state creation. If we want to discuss history seriously, we should use facts. Invoking God to praise the destruction of a people’s struggle does not make the act righteous. History should be examined with honesty, not wrapped in sentimental slogans like “no victor, no vanquished” while millions suffered death, displacement, and starvation during the Nigerian Civil War. If Biafra was removed from constitutional language or political reality, that was the result of human power, war, and political decisions, not divine endorsement. Leaders must be judged by the lives affected by their actions, not by convenient praise after the fact. Real unity cannot be built on silence, denial, or selective memory. |
Dtruthspeaker:Funny 🤣 |
Dtruthspeaker:Snakes never eat sand, neither is every man tilling the ground. |
Dtruthspeaker:Once again. I apologize. And I would always apologize. Let me use an analogy. According to the book, God caused a woman to suffer pain in childbirth. Humanity answered with anesthesia, medicine, and safer delivery. Instead of kneeling before suffering because a text described it, we studied the problem, understood the cause, and created relief. That is the purpose of our intelligence: to confront reality, improve reality, and reduce needless suffering. So when I mention places like Turkey, once deeply Christian, or Syria, with ancient Christian roots, and someone replies, “The Bible foretold it,” I hear ...................... disguised as insight. If suffering, decline, persecution, or civilizational change are simply to be accepted because they were predicted, then thought itself becomes useless. And there is a deeper problem. Turkey was Islamized centuries ago. Generations have been born into a different faith through history, not personal conspiracy. If salvation depends on believing in Jesus in the approved way, then countless people are swept toward hell largely by birthplace and inheritance. One could then assume that this is divine justice, or a system arranged so that not everyone was ever meant to make heaven!!! |
Dtruthspeaker:Damn. I apologize! Since every suffering, killing, and kidnapping is excused because God supposedly said it beforehand, then compassion has no meaning, injustice becomes holy, and the dead are told they deserve it. As a humanist, that is the death of conscience dressed as faith. |
Dtruthspeaker:The idea that labor pain is some divine curse starts falling apart once you look at the body itself. Childbirth pain can already be explained by the baby’s large head, the narrow human pelvis, contractions, stretching, pressure, and all the physical strain involved, so there is no need to drag heaven into what anatomy already explains. Human biology created the difficulty, not a punishment story. What makes it even harder to defend is that modern science has gone far in reducing that pain through epidurals, surgery, better maternal care, and medical knowledge. If something was meant to stand forever as a curse, it is strange that human understanding keeps finding ways to weaken it. To me, that says knowledge has done more against suffering than fear ever did. |
Context video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oATV6W1fsfY?si=bodFMK7uw88Vt3pe This Sunday, most churches in southern Nigeria will be full. Songs will rise. Hands will lift. People will say they are entering the presence of God. But some truths do not wait politely outside the sanctuary. The same argument many Christians once used against our African deities now returns to their own doorstep. They asked: if your gods are real, why did they not stop the slave ships? Why did they not scatter the colonizers? Why did they not strike down those who chained bodies, burned villages, stole lands, and renamed worlds? Now the same question can be asked of Christianity. If the Christian God is the ruler of heaven and earth, why does He not stop those who massacre Christians, bomb churches, abduct worshippers, and erase ancient Christian communities? Why must frightened people defend an all-powerful God with hashtags, politics, and pleas? The blade they sharpened for others has found its way back to their own hands. My point is not to defend African religion or attack Christianity as a sport. My point is consistency. If silence during African suffering was proof that African deities were false, then what is divine silence during Christian suffering proof of now? If conquered people were told their gods were weak because invaders won, then what does it mean when believers today are conquered, displaced, and killed while praying to the God said to rule all things? This is where many people like Baba Isaac Omolehin are blind to the harder possibility: religions are human systems built around meaning, fear, power, identity, memory, and hope. Perhaps men crown their tribal god as universal God, then call history itself proof. The God of the Bible emerges from a particular people, a particular land, a particular story, a particular tradition. Adam and Eve, Eden, Israel, Sinai, the prophets, these are not generic human memories shared by all civilizations from the beginning. They come through Hebrew tradition, through the Torah and the Tanakh, later through Christianity's expansion. That matters. Because if many peoples never knew that story until conquest, trade, mission, or empire carried it to them, then we should be honest enough to admit that what many call “universal truth” also has a historical route, a political route, and a violent route. How do you justify a conqueror killing your ancestors, humiliating your culture, then handing you his God and calling it salvation? Would it not have been better handing you guns and ammunition instead? ![]() How do you separate revelation from domination? How do you know whether conversion came from truth, survival, fear, schooling, pressure, hunger, or force? These are not childish questions. And if there is a supreme reality beyond all names, why assume it is fully captured inside one religion, one book, one tribe’s language for the sacred? If something greater exists, it would not belong to any institution at all. Perhaps that is why sun worship appears across civilizations, because every human being can see and depend on the sun. Even Christianity carries this openly: worship on Sunday, the very day of the sun; East star, often linked in popular discussion to older fertility and spring symbols; halos placed behind holy figures like solar discs; and Jesus rising into the sky as a visible image of ascension and light. Many repeat the symbols without noticing what they are participating in. We are quick to label mystery, slower to prove anything. The moment certainty outruns evidence, belief has begun. That is not automatically evil. But it should be admitted honestly. So when people like Baba Isaac Omolehin say “defend the church,” I hear something else: defend inheritance, defend identity, defend community, defend memory, defend the story that made life feel ordered. |
