When Men of God begin exposing God’s Men!

By Jimmy Aglah

Once upon a time in the Republic of Uncommon Sense, a respected pastor raised concerns about the activities of false prophets, and before the congregation could finish saying Amen, another man of God had reportedly begun preparing to open the archives of embarrassing secrets. What started as a general sermon about questionable spiritual practices soon produced a remarkably personal response, complete with warnings about information that could allegedly embarrass prominent religious personalities.

For a country that has spent years complaining about unemployment, this was encouraging news. The religious industry had apparently created a new profession: Prophetic Intelligence Officer, specialising in the collection, preservation and strategic release of confidential information about fellow servants of God.

The trouble began when Pastor Mensa Otabil, founder of the International Central Gospel Church, raised concerns about the activities of people parading themselves as prophets. He questioned their conduct, criticised what he considered fraudulent spiritual practices and challenged genuine prophets to expose impostors rather than accommodate them.

He also made it clear that he believed in genuine prophecy. His quarrel was not with the existence of the prophetic gift, but with individuals whose conduct, in his view, brought the ministry into disrepute.

It was a serious matter. After all, when a man announces that God has sent him with a message, the ordinary citizen has limited opportunities to cross-examine the sender. Heaven has no publicly listed telephone number, and attempts to reach the Almighty through customer service have historically produced long periods of silence.

Otabil did not mention Reverend Isaac Owusu Bempah by name in the remarks at the centre of the latest controversy. He was speaking generally about what he considered troubling developments within the prophetic ministry.

But somewhere in the Republic, the message appeared to have travelled through an unusually efficient spiritual postal service. Although no recipient had been named, the sermon seemed to have arrived in a particular inbox marked PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL.

Enter Reverend Isaac Owusu Bempah of Glorious Word Power Ministries International.

The Reverend was not amused. Responding publicly to Otabil’s criticism, he accused the ICGC founder of undermining the prophetic ministry and questioned the fairness of making sweeping judgements about those who practise it.

There was a reasonable argument buried somewhere in that response. A dishonest doctor does not make medicine fraudulent, just as one corrupt policeman does not automatically turn the entire police service into an armed robbery syndicate. Every profession has its troublesome members, and Christianity has never promised that everyone carrying a Bible is carrying good intentions.

Indeed, when a respected religious leader suggests that a majority of people practising a particular ministry are impostors, those who consider themselves genuine practitioners are entitled to question the basis of that assessment.

Unfortunately, Owusu Bempah’s response soon travelled beyond theology into territory more familiar to Ghanaian political press conferences.

He reportedly threatened to disclose damaging information concerning Otabil and people he associated with him. He also made allegations about private conduct and spiritual practices, none of which has been independently substantiated in the reports reviewed.

And that was when the Republic discovered something extraordinary about the management of spiritual secrets.

Apparently, information about alleged misconduct can be so sensitive that it must remain confidential until somebody makes an inconvenient public statement. Then, suddenly, the heavenly archives begin preparing documents for public release.

In ordinary language, this is called keeping something up one’s sleeve. In the Republic, we may soon have to call it the Gift of Strategic Revelation.

Consider the possibilities.

Suppose a prophet claims to possess credible information that a fellow minister has committed serious wrongdoing. Instead of presenting the evidence to the appropriate authorities or pursuing the matter through established church procedures, he decides to keep the information in reserve.

The days pass. Congregations grow. Offerings are collected. Conferences are organised. The alleged wrongdoing remains conveniently undisturbed.

Then one Sunday, somebody delivers an inconvenient sermon.

By Monday, the archives are ready for inspection!

What a remarkable administrative arrangement. Even the National Archives would envy such an efficient retrieval system.

Of course, whether the threatened revelations contain credible evidence is another matter entirely. The Republic has no intention of converting unverified allegations into established facts merely because they were announced from a pulpit.

But the principle deserves examination.

If information is sufficiently serious to justify public exposure, why should its disclosure depend on whether the person concerned has offended the keeper of the information?

Our elders say that when the drum changes its rhythm, the dancer must examine his steps. In the Republic, however, a change in the rhythm of a sermon can apparently send another preacher straight to his confidential files.

The controversy is particularly fascinating because it unfolds in a country where prophecy has become an increasingly visible part of public life.

There was a time when the prophet was principally concerned with repentance, righteousness and the moral condition of society. Today, certain practitioners have expanded the portfolio considerably. Election results, football matches, presidential ambitions, celebrity marriages and the future employment prospects of politicians have all found their way into the prophetic department.

Some prophets have become so interested in elections that one wonders whether the Electoral Commission should create a special desk for spiritual collation officers.

Unfortunately, the industry has a quality-control problem.

When a prediction comes true, the prophet receives congratulations. When it fails, the congregation may be informed that prayer changed the outcome, that the prophecy was conditional, or that the public misunderstood the revelation.

It is a wonderfully flexible arrangement. Imagine a weather forecaster announcing heavy rainfall, only for the entire country to experience brilliant sunshine. If challenged, he explains that the sunshine confirms the forecast because the nation prayed against the rain.

He might lose his job at the Meteorological Agency. In certain prophetic circles, however, he could qualify for promotion.

This is why the concerns raised by Otabil deserve serious consideration, even if one questions the breadth of his generalisations. Religious authority carries enormous influence in Ghana. People may surrender savings, postpone medical treatment, make political decisions and sometimes reorganise their entire lives because somebody claims to have received instructions from heaven.

The consequences of deception can therefore be devastating.

Yet Owusu Bempah’s defence of genuine prophecy also raises a legitimate point. The existence of impostors does not establish that every prophet is an impostor. If a market contains counterfeit goods, the sensible response is to identify the counterfeits rather than declare the entire market fraudulent.

The real difficulty arises when a debate about standards and accountability is answered with personal allegations.

Otabil raised a general concern about questionable prophetic practices. Owusu Bempah disputed his assessment and subsequently introduced allegations about Otabil and others. These are distinct actions, and the distinction matters.

The first invites a discussion about the credibility of prophetic ministry. The second raises additional questions about the responsible handling of allegations.

If a religious leader possesses credible evidence of serious wrongdoing, the public interest demands that it be handled responsibly, not preserved as ammunition for a future disagreement.

A secret that is dangerous enough to expose somebody should surely be important enough to investigate before that somebody becomes an adversary.

Otherwise, the public is entitled to ask whether the alleged wrongdoing is the real concern or merely a convenient weapon.

The Republic has therefore proposed the establishment of a National Prophetic Standards and Accountability Authority, complete with a Department of Failed Predictions, a Directorate of Spiritual Intelligence and a Special Unit for the Recovery of Confidential Revelations.

Under the proposed regulations, every prophet making a public prediction would be required to submit a written statement identifying the prophecy, its expected date of fulfilment and the conditions under which it may be considered unsuccessful.

Post-event explanations would be accepted only upon payment of a modest administrative penalty.

Prophets claiming to possess evidence of serious misconduct would also be required to report it promptly through appropriate channels. The practice of announcing damaging allegations only after an offensive sermon would attract a surcharge for late revelation.

Naturally, the proposal would encounter resistance. Some might argue that the Holy Spirit cannot be regulated by an earthly institution. Fair enough. But nobody is proposing to regulate the Holy Spirit. The concern is with human beings who claim to speak on His behalf, particularly when their declarations affect the lives and livelihoods of others.

As our elders remind us, the fact that a man wears white does not mean his hands are clean.

Meanwhile, the faithful continue following the controversy. Some defend Otabil’s criticism of questionable prophetic practices. Others sympathise with Owusu Bempah’s objection to sweeping generalisations about prophets. Still others wonder whether the public discussion is helping the church address the problems that gave rise to the original sermon.

One fact, however, must not be lost in the excitement. The latest episode has not been established as a direct exchange of personal accusations between the two pastors. Otabil’s remarks were general. Owusu Bempah’s response was directed at Otabil. At the time of the reports reviewed, no public reply from Otabil to those latest allegations had been established.

That makes the episode all the more intriguing.

A general sermon about accountability has produced a response that itself raises questions about accountability.

And the Republic, which has always admired the efficiency of its public institutions, is naturally fascinated by a system in which confidential information can apparently be retrieved faster than a missing file at the Lands Commission.

The Republic has no objection to religious leaders challenging one another’s teachings. Indeed, the church should be able to accommodate vigorous debate about doctrine, morality and the proper exercise of spiritual authority.

But there is something profoundly troubling about the suggestion that alleged wrongdoing may be held in reserve until a disagreement makes disclosure convenient.

For now, the Republic awaits further developments with considerable interest.

The sheep have been advised to continue grazing, the shepherds have been reminded of their responsibilities, and the proposed Prophetic Standards Authority has opened applications for inspectors.

Applicants must possess good judgement, sound moral character and the ability to distinguish divine revelation from personal grievance.

Previous experience in political communications will be considered a disadvantage.

After all, when a general sermon produces threats of personal exposure, the real question is not who possesses the biggest collection of secrets.

It is why alleged wrongdoing should become a matter of public interest only when somebody feels offended.