In the ever-spinning wheel of Nigerian religious life, a new breed of theology has emerged; one that elevates affluence to the level of spiritual virtue and regards the poor not only as unfortunate but almost as offensive. A recent statement by a popular preacher exemplifies this tragic drift. In his sermon, he declared that Jesus abhors friendship with poor people because of poverty. These words, sadly cheered by his audience, weren’t just off the mark; they were off the map of everything Christ embodied, and it is not certain which (h)oly (g)host endorsed it.
Let us state it clearly and without apology: Jesus does not abhor the poor. Jesus abhors poverty. These are not semantics. This is the difference between a Christ who saves and a caricature who segregates.
In a nation like Nigeria, where the gap between the rich and the poor has become an ever-widening chasm, where religious leaders often serve as de facto moral and philosophical authorities, such distortions and misdiagnosis of poverty must be called out, corrected, and countered with the Truth.
There is a dangerous tendency on some Nigerian pulpits to conflate financial lack with spiritual failure. Poverty is not merely treated as a problem to be solved but as a stigma to be avoided at all costs, even at the cost of compassion.
This is responsible for why some self-pontificating pastors have amassed inordinate wealth at the expense of the ‘despicable poor’ they so brazenly extort.
This distorted theology preaches success without sacrifice, wealth without wisdom, and blessing without burden. It reduces the gospel to a cash transaction: the richer you are, the holier you must be. In this warped worldview, the poor are not just unlucky; they are unworthy. They are not just struggling; they are spiritually suspect.
But nothing could be farther from the truth.
The Bible’s portrait of poverty is deeply nuanced. While Scripture never glorifies material lack, it also never equates wealth with worth. The poor are not second-class citizens in God’s economy; in many cases, they are His first concern.
“He raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap.” —Psalm 113:7
From Genesis to Revelation, God shows consistent concern for the marginalised, the widow, the orphan, the foreigner, and yes, the poor. Any theology that places the poor outside the reach of divine friendship is not Christian; it is capitalist idolatry dressed in a cassock.
To understand Christ’s attitude toward the poor, one must simply observe His life. He was born in a stable, not a palace. Raised by a carpenter in a backwater town, not by aristocrats in Jerusalem. He lived among the ordinary, ate with outcasts, touched the untouchable, and challenged the elite.
His disciples were not men of wealth but men of work; fishermen, tax collectors, zealots. His most powerful parables were about beggars (like Lazarus), indebted servants, and Samaritans, who went out of their way to help the wounded. His miracles often met basic needs: feeding the hungry, healing the sick, and delivering the oppressed.
To say believers should avoid the poor because of their poverty is to contradict Christ. It is to accuse Christ of elitism when, in fact, He was the ultimate egalitarian. His gospel is not gated. It is open to all, but especially urgent for those on the margins.
Now, let’s be fair. Jesus did show a holy disdain, not for people, but for poverty itself, especially when it was created or sustained by injustice.
Poverty in biblical terms is often the result of corruption, oppression, or social failure, not laziness. This is especially true in places like Nigeria, where structural issues, poor governance, and systemic corruption, even in some churches and mosques, perpetuate cycles of lack.
When Jesus turned over the tables in the temple, He wasn’t throwing a tantrum; He was confronting an exploitative religious system that turned faith into a marketplace, as is the case today.
When He warned that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom, He wasn’t condemning all rich people. He was confronting the arrogance that affluence often breeds.
Jesus doesn’t hate the rich. He doesn’t hate the poor. He hates any form of spiritual blindness that makes us indifferent to suffering.
Being a friend of the poor does not mean romanticising poverty or ignoring the need for empowerment and development. It means walking in empathy, dignity, and solidarity with those who are economically disadvantaged, while also fighting the structures that keep them that way.
To befriend the poor is not to lower standards but to raise awareness; to recognise that our worth is not in what we wear but in who we are.
Jesus never asked people how much they had before loving them. Any preacher who suggests that we must disconnect from the poor is preaching from the mount of Mammon, not the hill of Calvary. This mindset breeds contempt, fuels inequality, and erodes the gospel’s power to transform society.
In some churches today, people are often judged by their appearance, their cars, and their seed offerings. The more you give, the closer you sit to the altar. The poorer you are, the more invisible you become. However, in Christ’s eyes, the woman with two mites gave more than all the rich donors. She gave out of sacrifice. And He saw her.
If we are to reclaim the gospel in our generation, we must recapture the heart of Christ for the broken. We must stop preaching success as sanctification. Wealth is not a sign of God’s approval, just as poverty is not a sign of His rejection. Some of the most devout saints in Scripture were materially poor, yet spiritually rich. Others, like Joseph of Arimathea and Lydia, were wealthy, yet generous and godly.
The standard is not what you have; it’s what you do with what you have.
We need preachers who will inspire wealth and instill wisdom. Who will challenge the poor to rise and not be crushed, but also challenge the rich to stoop in service. Who will teach prosperity with purpose, not pride.
If Jesus were physically present today, where would He be? Most likely not in the mega cathedrals. He’d probably be in the ghettos, in IDP camps, in prison cells, in overcrowded public hospitals, breaking bread with the downtrodden and forgotten, and restoring their humanity.
To be a friend of the poor is not to endorse poverty; it is to affirm dignity. It is to look beyond the lack and see the image of God. It is to offer not just bread, but brotherhood. Not just handouts, but hands held.
Jesus touched the leper, welcomed the beggar, and wept at gravesides. If our “gospel” leads us to cross the street away from the poor, we are following something else, not Christ.
Let the Church of today beware of the temptation to replace divine compassion with capitalist contempt. If we are too polished to kneel beside the broken, too prosperous to partner with the poor, then we are too far from Jesus.
To say “Jesus abhors friendship with the poor” is to repudiate the gospel and crucify it not on a Roman cross, but on the altar of greed and ignorance.
Jesus came not to reinforce class but to redeem it. He bridged the gap between heaven and earth, not so we could build bigger walls between ourselves and the struggling, but so we could build longer tables.
Jesus doesn’t detest the poor; He dignifies them. He doesn’t walk away from poverty-stricken hearts; He walks toward them. The real enemy is not the man without money, but the system (and preacher) without mercy.
If we claim to follow Christ, let us carry His heart, not just His name. Let us fight poverty, not the poor. Let us be friends of the unwilling lowly. In doing so, we draw nearer to the One who stooped low to lift the world.
He loved the poor. He died among the poor. He rose for the poor. And He sends us, His Church, not to mock them, but to uplift them.
Until we reflect that Christ, we are not preaching the gospel. We’re merchandising it.
Let us love the poor; let us fight poverty. Remember: The true enemy is not the empty pocket; it’s the empty heart, even on the ‘altar’.