As a little child growing up in a Pentecostal denomination, I was always terrified by the mention of God, Man of God, Bishop, Pastor, Apostle, and any other title that invoked religious authority. My parents had left Rwanda as refugees and settled in a small village in Uganda. There, the Gospel had found us. I made my own faith declaration at age 11 and was filled with the Holy Spirit with the evidence of speaking in new tongues. That part has never bothered me. What bothered me was the distance created between God and me and the sacredness of the “men of God,” who were too big to question and too decorated to approach. In my Christian life, I have sought to understand and demystify this “God the Father,” who is more intimidating than my own earthly father. For people who have had scary and intimidating earthly fathers, this big and unapproachable God could make sense. But for me, my father was never an intimidating man. He was a man of the people, often entertaining his friends at our home over a few rounds of the local brew. They often talked until late in the night, laughing and weaving all kinds of tales of wars they never fought and lions they never killed. Every now and then, we questioned our father about his adding juice to his stories, to which he replied in Kinyarwanda, “nayinzoga,” meaning, “leave drinking conversations alone.” The situation at church was different. God the Father was a punishing God and an unapproachable God. The only people who could hook you up with the man above were the men of God. These men had a monopoly on God’s voice. They knew the nuances of approaching God and possessed all authority to give context to scripture. However, something inside me always wanted to know how the community could contribute to the interpretation of theology within the community context. That’s how I ended up in theological school, examining faith in community. At this point in my theological quest, I find much contradiction between who God is and how communities of faith behave around the “big man” theory. The “big man” theory centralises religious authority in a single charismatic leader or a hierarchy of authority. The Pentecostal movement to which I belong is notorious for this kind of spiritual hierarchy. The movement has created rock-star leaders with branded products, publishing rights, and institutions that they control from the top. The brands they lead attract masses in large buildings with lights, large sound systems, and music that rivals the best rock bands in town. These spectacles of church services are exuberating, sensational, and hyperactive. And when the man of God steps on the stage, it’s as if God Himself is about to speak. The “big man” Christian community model is rooted in centuries-old traditions that have emphasised top-down control, with religious leaders as the primary intermediaries of spiritual truth and value. The question about these models remains open-ended. What is the role of ordinary believers in hearing God for themselves and framing religious practices in a manner consistent with how God wants to express himself in the community? For example, in America, where most believers have already met their basic needs, a faith community might express itself by focusing on the God who is present in personal spaces for spiritual growth and expression. In Rwanda, where most believers are still struggling to meet daily needs, God is present in their efforts to create economic development and meet each other’s physical needs (Romans 15:1-3). The “big man “in this congregation is not one who gathers resources to create a big show (1 Peter 5:6) but one who cures the blind beggar (Mark 10:46) and bandages the wounds of a stranger (Luke 10:25). As we all become more educated, interconnected, pluralistic, and information-driven, I see a new model of the Christian community emerging, especially in Africa. Communities are increasingly demanding accountability and concrete faith expressions that touch everyday lives. The untouchable Man of God is now debatable in digital public squares. The youth are questioning the establishment. Governments are opening the curtain to see what’s behind the untouchables. The legal process is asking questions about taxation and human rights protections. Some are calling this the secularisation of churches, interferences by the government, and an attack on sacred spaces. I call this religious accountability, value co-creation, and community engagement. In the coming years, we are going to see more deliberate moves towards more experiential and communal forms of spiritual engagement. In this new community-based exegesis, individual believers and social institutions will demand more accountability from the “big men” and “big women.” Religious leaders will have to move away from the top-down model of authority and more towards a collective and empowering form of leadership. This shift in leadership models will help religious institutions to remain relevant and impactful. Without this humility, the gap between young Africans and old-fashioned leadership models will continue to widen, leading to a decline in faith, as we have seen in Europe and elsewhere in the world. The writer is an investor, pastor and philanthropist
