There is a slavery worse than chains and handcuffs the slavery of the mind dressed in the garment of faith. When a man is enslaved physically, at least he knows he is bound. But when he is enslaved in the name of God, he believes his bondage is holy. That is the kind of slavery many congregations face today.
I grew up watching men and women pour their sweat into church projects, year after year, never questioning, never pausing to ask themselves if the burden was truly from God or from the manipulations of men. They built auditoriums while their children remained uneducated. They paid offerings and tithes while their rent was overdue. They carried baskets of food to pastors' homes while their own families ate crumbs.
This is not service to God it is slavery to men.
The pastors who orchestrate this slavery are clever. They never call it slavery; they call it "sacrifice," "obedience," "faith." They tell you that your poverty is a test of loyalty, that your suffering is your seed, that your unquestioning submission is proof that you love God. And so the members, desperate for blessings, submit themselves willingly to exploitation.
The most painful part is how this system preys on the poor. A man struggling to eat is told that if he sows his last coin, God will multiply it a hundredfold. A woman who cannot afford school fees is told that if she donates to the building fund, God will provide in mysterious ways. The poor are pushed into deeper poverty while the pastors rise into wealth, comfort, and prestige.
I have often asked myself: why is it that church schools built with offerings from poor members are priced beyond their reach? Why do pastors preach equality on Sunday, yet create elitist systems by Monday? If Jesus came for the poor and the broken, why are today's churches built to exclude them?
But the truth is this: many pastors do not see themselves as shepherds; they see themselves as kings. And kings need subjects loyal, unquestioning, submissive. So, they enslave the minds of members with fear of curses, threats of hellfire, and promises of heaven. They make themselves middlemen between God and man, as though God cannot hear prayers directly.
When I began to see through this illusion, I realized that this slavery is not accidental it is deliberate. The faithful are kept busy, drained, and dependent. They are taught that leaving the church is equal to leaving God. They are told that questioning the pastor is questioning heaven itself. They are warned that disobedience will bring curses. It is a system designed not to build the people, but to build an empire.
And yet, the irony is sharp: most of these pastors started poor themselves. They know the sting of hunger, the humiliation of lack, the desperation of the struggling class. But once money flows in, the memory of their penury fades. They climb the ladder and kick it away so no one else can ascend. They hide behind God to justify their greed.
Is this what Christ intended? Did He ask Peter to collect tithes before healing the sick? Did He build a mansion from offerings? Did He demand loyalty to Himself instead of to God? No. He lived simply. He served freely. He broke bread with both the rich and the poor. He condemned leaders who burdened the people with rules while refusing to lift a finger themselves.
This is why I say without apology: what we see today is not shepherding; it is slavery. It is the deliberate exploitation of faith. It is the commercialization of hope. And until the faithful wake up, until they begin to serve God instead of men, until they learn that the kingdom of God is not chained to a pulpit or trapped in a bank account, the slavery will continue.
Life has taught me that bravery, not blind righteousness, is the only way out of this bondage. Only the brave dare to question. Only the brave dare to walk away. Only the brave realize that salvation is not sold, that peace cannot be purchased with tithes, that God is not a merchant of miracles.