A Country Called Church: Reflections on Faith, Authority and Society

Zeal Akaraiwe

There’s something I’ve observed for years that has quietly troubled me. For all the religious centres that dot our cities and towns—for all the weekly prayers, services, revivals, prayer meetings and vigils—it’s hard to see a matching impact on how we live together as a society. Why is that?

It’s a question that sat with me silently until one day, during a regular Sunday service, I looked up at the pulpit and saw something hidden, yet plain. Not a vision, not a revelation, but a realisation, a pattern, a system; and perhaps, even a kind of quiet conditioning.

So I began a personal exploration. I wasn’t looking for controversy or conflict, only clarity. I started reading, thinking and observing, especially around how the church environment, knowingly or not, shapes its members’ relationship with authority and power in the larger society.

Let’s begin with something small: the pulpit! It’s almost always elevated. The pastor stands above, the people below. Week after week, we “look up” to the one speaking. It may seem harmless, even traditional. But symbols matter. Over time, what does that do to the human mind? Does it build reverence? Or does it slowly teach us to see authority as something that is always above and beyond question?

Then there’s how pastors speak. You’ve probably heard something like: “I had no message yesterday, but the Lord told me clearly to tell you this today…” It sounds spiritual—and may very well be sincere. But it also silences inquiry, silences the mind’s curiosity for challenge, and ensures there’s no dissent to what’s said. If God Himself told the man to say it, who dares to question? In effect, we surrender both our doubt and our reasoning, and perhaps even our responsibility to think critically.

This brings me to a deeper concern. In many churches, instructions are followed without hesitation. Stand, sit, kneel, close your eyes, raise your hands—everyone complies. Why? Because the man with the microphone said so. I once tested this, on a rare occasion when I too held the mic, by asking a congregation to stand, sit, then kneel in rapid succession. They did—all of it. Not because it made sense, but because someone in a position of religious authority gave the order.

Of course, obedience isn’t always a bad thing. But when it becomes automatic and when it’s no longer guided by reflection or conviction, it creates a fertile ground for passivity.

Now compare this to our political environment. A population conditioned to obey without question in church may carry that same behavior into civic life. We don’t demand transparency from our political leaders—just as we don’t ask how church offerings & tithes are spent. We don’t challenge poor governance—just as we don’t raise concerns about unaccountable church practices. Could it be that we’ve unconsciously transferred the reverence we give to pastors onto politicians?

These behaviours aren’t accidental nor unique to us as Nigerians, as psychologists have names for some of these patterns.

The Asch Effect describes how people tend to conform to group opinions—even when they’re clearly wrong—especially when the group leader is seen as authoritative, evident in congregations whether religious or political. Transference explains how emotional patterns from one relationship (say, with a spiritual leader) can show up in entirely different settings (like politics).

And Dependent Personality Traits speak to the fear of disagreement and a deep need for approval, which prevents people from thinking or acting independently.

Even biologically, things are at play. Oxytocin, sometimes called the “bonding hormone,” is released during group rituals—prayers, singing, shared emotion. It makes us feel good. Safe. United. But it can also numb critical thinking, especially when tied to repeated messages that discourage questioning. The goose bumps you get when certain hymns are played that make you suddenly feel “generous” with your offering aren’t really accidents and isn’t really the “Holy Spirit” prompting you either.

Some call this psychological patterning but I call it something more familiar: church culture. When this culture teaches people—sometimes without saying it outright—to never question the man on the pulpit, it’s only a short leap to never questioning the man in power.

I once coined a word: Stupulpidity: The illogical, misplaced and disastrous ideology that attributes extraordinary knowledge and wisdom to the man holding the microphone or the man at the top and therefore refuses to vet or question substance. It’s the blind trust in a person holding a microphone simply because they’re elevated— physically, spiritually or politically. It’s a dangerous habit that discourages accountability and encourages manipulation.

Let me be clear: I love what the Church is supposed to represent and I believe in its purpose, its beauty and its potential. But I also believe that to fulfill its true mission— being a light to the world—it must raise people who are bold, thoughtful, and principled.

Not just obedient. If churches modeled transparency—sharing financials, explaining decisions, encouraging open dialogue—imagine how that might spill over into the wider society. If sermons focused not only on what God can do for us, but also on how we ought to live with integrity, humility and courage, perhaps our politics would look different.

The Church should be where we learn to speak truth, not suppress it. Where we learn to question for understanding, not to divide. Where we practice empathy and accountability, not hierarchy and silence.

The church is meant to be the light and light symbolises “showing the way” but, with the current state of affairs, are we worth following? If the church isn’t raising people to whom transparency and accountability is second nature; people who are bold enough to reason through and question practices for the purpose of getting better understanding and improving systems; people who seek knowledge and wisdom for themselves and not arrogate it to others to do for them; then what type of light is the church producing?

Society is a reflection of its most consistent influences. In many parts of the world, and certainly here, the Church is one of those. That means it has both a burden and an opportunity.

It’s time to rise to both.