The Nigerian Church stands at a delicate moment in history. At a time when God is calling us to deeper unity, stronger witness, and a higher consecration, we are also confronted with forces that seek to fracture, weaken, and distract us. These forces are not only external; increasingly, they come from within the digital spaces we occupy. Bloggers and vloggers—driven not by a burden for Christ, nor by the desire to build the Body, but by a hunger for clicks, views, and the fleeting currency of online fame—are feeding off the Church like vultures circling a battlefield. Their business model is division, their currency is scandal, and their altar is the algorithm.
We must not be naïve. As the good book reminds us, the thief comes only to steal, to kill, and to destroy. In our time, the digital vultures have sharpened their beaks for the carcass of controversy. They thrive on sensational headlines, exaggerated tales, and distorted half-truths. Like Judas Iscariot, they make their profit by trading the Body of Christ, reducing sacred matters to gossip fodder and turning holy altars into viral hashtags. Just as Judas betrayed the Lord for thirty pieces of silver, many bloggers and vloggers betray the Church for thirty thousand clicks.
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The danger is not merely that they speak, but that we listen. The more attention they attract, the stronger their influence becomes. The danger is not only in their words, but in the spirit that powers them—cynicism, suspicion, mockery, and bitterness. And when members of the Church consume this digital poison, they unknowingly ingest division into their souls. Congregations begin to doubt their pastors, believers turn against one another, and the watching world sees not the radiant Bride of Christ, but a house divided and devouring itself. Did not the Lord say that a house divided against itself cannot stand?
Let us be clear: pastors are not perfect, and churches are not above correction. But correction must come with love, with truth, and with a vision for restoration. Bloggers and vloggers, however, are rarely moved by love; they are moved by monetization. They are rarely fueled by truth; they are fueled by trending numbers. They are rarely concerned with restoration; they are concerned with reach. Their economy is not kingdom economy but the economy of clicks. To them, the Church is not the Bride of Christ but a content farm for endless stories.
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The Church in Nigeria must therefore learn wisdom. Pastors should not descend into the mud to wrestle with vultures. You cannot fight vultures by feeding them. You cannot preserve the sanctity of the altar by dragging it into the marketplace of clicks. Silence, wisdom, and focus on the real work of ministry will often speak louder than counter-attacks. As it is written in the holy writ, “Answer not a fool according to his folly, lest you become like him.” The Church must discern when to speak and when to stay silent.
Believers, too, must exercise discipline. Every click, every view, every share is a seed sown. To click is to sponsor. To comment is to amplify. To share is to evangelize—not Christ, but gossip. We cannot claim to love our pastors and yet fuel the very platforms tearing them down. We cannot pray for revival and yet feast on the carrion of scandal. Revival will not come to a distracted, divided, cynical Church. Revival comes when the people of God humble themselves, pray, seek His face, and turn from their wicked ways—including the wickedness of delighting in the downfall of brethren.
There is also a prophetic dimension to this moment. In Scripture, vultures appear when there are dead bodies on the field. When Abraham made covenant with God, vultures came down upon the sacrifice, and he had to drive them away. In the same way, whenever God is about to establish something powerful with His people, vultures appear. Their presence signals that something sacred is on the altar, something valuable is being birthed. The question is whether we, like Abraham, will drive them away—or whether we will allow them to settle on the sacrifice.
Nigeria stands at a turning point, and so does the Nigerian Church. God is raising men and women for a global harvest. From the prayer movements in Abuja to the missionary footprints across Africa, Europe, and the Americas, the Nigerian Church carries an undeniable mandate. But vultures seek to distract us, to drain our energy into arguments, to fracture our unity with suspicion, and to stain our garments with cynicism. If we do not discern and resist, we risk aborting what God is birthing.
Pastors, therefore, must strengthen the teaching and discipleship of their congregations. We must help believers distinguish between the voice of shepherds and the noise of vultures. We must remind them that faith comes by hearing the Word of God, not by hearing gossip about the servants of God. We must teach that the internet does not define the Church; Christ does. And we must anchor our people in prayer, in the Word, and in covenant community, so they are not tossed about by every trending storm.
In the end, this is not merely about bloggers and vloggers; it is about spiritual warfare in a digital age. The vultures will not disappear, because carrion sells. But the Church can choose not to feed them. We can starve them of attention, resist them with discernment, and overcome them with love and truth. The Bride of Christ is not for sale. The Body of Christ is not clickbait. The Church of the Living God is not a carcass for vultures; it is a temple of glory, a house of prayer, a pillar and ground of truth.
Let the Church in Nigeria rise above the vultures. Let pastors focus on shepherding with integrity, let believers guard their ears and their clicks, and let us all fix our eyes on the Lord of the Church. For He has promised that He will build His Church, and the gates of hell—even when disguised as blogs and vlogs—shall not prevail against it.
Sunday Ogidigbo
Pastor, Holyhill Church, Abuja
@SOgidigbo (Twitter, Instagram, Facebook)
[email protected]
