Introduction: Stop Treating Tithing Like the Stock Market
Let’s be honest: there’s something nauseating about people standing behind a pulpit with diamond watches pitching the idea that God’s favor is doled out like dividend checks. Somewhere between the “declare your miracle” testimonial and the “send me your offering” altar call, we traded the scandal of the cross for a get-rich-quick scheme. You’ve seen it: slick PowerPoints with growth-chart graphics, flashy “miracle offerings,” and pastors in private jets telling you to sow a financial seed. And you, dear reader, have probably either rolled your eyes or felt a pang of guilt for not writing that big check.
Remember that time you scraped together twenty bucks to put in the offering plate—hoping beyond hope that God would bail you out of your credit-card debt—only to find rent still due a few days later? That sting in your wallet is God’s way of reminding you: He never promised an easy life. He promised Himself. Yet here we are, year after year, watching prosperity preachers reel in donations by promising that a little seed of cash will sprout into an orchard of financial blessing. A gospel built on “give to receive” is like performing heart surgery with a chainsaw—mangling true faith and preying on people’s deepest hopes. It’s time the church called out the racket for what it is.
1. The Gospel Is Good News, Not a Get-Rich-Quick Scheme
Imagine your first encounter with Jesus: fishermen at the shore, dusty sandals, dead religious rules, and ultimately, a scandalous cross. Did our Savior come announcing He was your personal wealth manager? Of course not. The earliest Christians suffered persecution, imprisonment, and even death for preaching grace—not credit scores and quarterly earnings.
“For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils.”
—1 Timothy 6:10 (ESV)
You’ll notice Paul doesn’t say, “Love giving money to me.” He warns that loving money itself leads to spiritual bankruptcy. The prosperity crowd flips it on its head: “Love giving money to us, and watch it multiply.” But Scripture never markets faith as a multilevel-marketing scheme; it calls us to take up our cross.
When I was in college, I once gave a reluctant ten bucks to a “blessing bank” offering at a megachurch. I thought, “If I give to this fund, God will bless my grades.” I still got my D in organic chemistry—though I did gain a deeper understanding of false hope. That moment taught me something crucial: the gospel offers forgiveness and new life, not GPA boosts or fat bank balances.
2. False Promises, Real Disappointment
Let’s play a quick round of “Spot the Scam”:
- Kenneth Copeland’s “Blab It, Grab It” series encourages you to shout financial proclamations until cash rains down on your head. Yet if you listened to his donor testimonies, you’d find many still scraping by—paycheck to paycheck—wondering why their “blabbed” debts remain.
- T.D. Jakes will sell you a vision of global influence while slapping a four-figure price tag on his conference ticket—conference swag included, of course.
These ministries have slick branding teams and Fortune-500 marketing budgets. They make devotion look like a business seminar, complete with executive coaching and “CEO of your life” buzzwords. But faith sold like a consumer good inevitably disappoints—because it replaces the cross with convenience.
“Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth… but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven.”
—Matthew 6:19–20 (ESV)
Jesus didn’t sneak in a footnote: “…unless you send 10% to my favorite televangelist.” He wants your heart, not your HSA. After one particularly hype-heavy sermon, I found myself scrolling through my church’s app at midnight, wondering if the preacher was serious—or if I was just the latest mark. The next morning I stumbled into a local food pantry to volunteer. Standing elbow-deep in canned beans and rice, I felt a richer sense of purpose than every glossy billboard or viral sermon clip could ever provide.
3. When the Poor Get Poorer, Who’s Profiting?
A hallmark of any scam is that somebody always gets rich at your expense. Drive past megachurch campuses and you’ll see sprawling auditoriums, corporate-style office complexes, and mansions fit for influencers. Meanwhile, the small church feeding the homeless around the corner is scraping by just to keep the lights on.
“Religion that is pure and undefiled before God the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction…”
—James 1:27 (ESV)
If your pastor’s yacht costs more than your church’s benevolence fund, you’ve prioritized spectacle over service. The early church sold possessions to support widows, took care of prisoners, and shared meals with the needy. Prosperity churches sell possessions—yours—to build palaces for talking heads.
I remember a grandmother at a church picnic who, upon hearing a prosperity pastor brag about jet-setting to Africa, muttered to her friend, “My tractor gets me around just fine.” We all chuckled, but her laughter was a sober reminder: ministry rooted in luxury divorces the gospel from everyday people. True Christian generosity isn’t measured by drop-dead ceilings or penthouses; it’s measured by hands-on compassion in the trenches.
4. Wealth Can’t Save Your Soul
Have you noticed prosperity preachers often act like Jesus dropped from heaven in a tailored suit demanding bigger bank accounts? They preach “health and wealth” as though the cross is a bad PR campaign for poverty. But the real gospel turns that upside-down:
“Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”
—Matthew 10:39 (ESV)
When the Pharisees measured godliness by tithing mint and cumin, Jesus rebuked them for neglecting justice, mercy, and faithfulness (Matthew 23:23). Prosperity theology makes tithing the be-all and end-all—while bypassing every call to love your neighbor. They act like a larger offering equals a fatter salvation package.
After one of those “give and get” sermons, I sat in my car staring at my bank balance and felt a sinking dread. But later that week, I joined a group handing out sandwiches at a homeless shelter. In that chilly hallway, with shivering hands reaching for food, I felt richer than any prosperity promise could ever make me. Because the gospel isn’t about inflating your bank balance—it’s about expanding your heart to love others.
5. True Blessing Is Suffering—and Grace
Scroll through social media and you’ll see highlight reels of victory claims: miraculous healings, luxury cars, dream homes. But you never see posts celebrating jail time for preaching the gospel or rejoicing when your family disowns you for your faith.
Paul, the original “prosperity hater,” boasted about his weaknesses: beatings, shipwrecks, hunger, persecution—and he called those blessings:
“For when I am weak, then I am strong.”
—2 Corinthians 12:10 (ESV)
The cross is scandalous precisely because it proclaims: suffering doesn’t mean God has abandoned you; it means He’s walking with you. Prosperity gospel tells you pain equals personal failure. The Bible says pain often equals deeper dependence on Christ.
On a mission trip in a dusty village, I met a widow who’d lost her husband, her home, and nearly her faith. Yet as she shared bread with new friends, her face radiated joy I’d never seen in any panoramic “God wants to bless you” graphic. She said, “God didn’t promise me a fat bank account; He promised me Himself.” That single sentence carries more weight than all the “blessing manifests” memes combined.
Conclusion: Ditch the Pulpit Ponzi Scheme
At the end of the day, the prosperity gospel isn’t just bad doctrine—it’s a betrayal of the very substance of Christianity. Jesus never ran a Kickstarter campaign for His kingdom. He ran a cross. He called us to give our lives away, not our wallets away in search of fleeting payoffs.
Challenge for Your Next Step
- Read Your Bible—Stop skimming devotionals penned by millionaire pastors and actually wrestle with Scripture. Ask hard questions.
- Serve the Marginalized—If your giving budget doesn’t touch the poor, prisoners, and brokenhearted, you’re missing James 1:27 entirely.
- Embrace the Cross—Practice gratitude in suffering and find true contentment in Christ alone (Philippians 4:11–13).
So next time you see a “miracle offering” banner, turn down the infomercial music and pick up the Word that says, “My grace is sufficient for you.” Your soul—and your wallet—will thank you.
Thanks for reading.
