By Oyewole O. Sarumi
There is a quiet contradiction playing out across African Christianity, and it is one of the most troubling paradoxes of our time. Churches preach unity from the pulpit, sing about being “one body in Christ,” and quote the apostle Paul with confidence—yet, in practice, many congregations operate more like rival franchises than members of the same spiritual family.
Large churches flourish beside smaller, struggling congregations but rarely pause to ask whether proximity should translate into partnership. Instead, suspicion replaces solidarity. Growth becomes competition. Visibility becomes threat. Influence becomes territory. And mission; ironically, is often outsourced to distant lands while the church next door quietly collapses under the weight of unpaid rent, untrained leadership, and exhausted faith.
This is not an exaggeration, nor is it unique to one country or denomination. It is happening across Nigeria and much of Africa. Mega-churches build global mission arms, sponsor conferences abroad, and plant branches strategically, yet remain disconnected from weaker churches in their immediate neighborhoods. Churches across denominations rarely collaborate for evangelism, social outreach, or discipleship, as if Christ were divided along doctrinal brand lines.
The call before us is both ancient and urgent: to reconsider what practical unity truly means, not merely unity of language or prayer points, but unity expressed through shared faith, shared burdens, shared resources, and shared mission.
Christian unity is not a metaphor; it is a theological reality. Paul does not describe the Church as a federation of independent spiritual businesses but as a body, one body, with many members (1 Corinthians 12:12–14). A body does not compete with itself. The eye does not sabotage the hand, nor does the head ignore the pain of the foot.
Yet much of modern church culture behaves as though Paul wrote, “There are many brands, each with its own market share.”
The New Testament church was deeply interconnected. Local congregations were autonomous but never isolated. They knew one another’s struggles. They prayed across distance. They shared finances across ethnic and cultural boundaries. They understood that faith in Christ created obligations beyond geography and beyond convenience.
When famine struck Judea, Gentile churches did not say, “That is not our jurisdiction.” Paul did not argue that relief should be denominationally restricted. Instead, aid flowed across lines that the ancient world considered unbridgeable (Acts 11:27–30; Romans 15:25–27). This generosity was not charity; it was fellowship. Paul explicitly calls it koinonia, a sharing rooted in shared life.
There is something almost comical, if it were not so tragic, about the way missions are sometimes practiced today. Churches will spend millions sending missionaries thousands of kilometers away while ignoring a struggling congregation a few streets away. Pastors will preach passionately about unreached people groups while refusing to collaborate with the church across the road because “they don’t teach it exactly like us.” This is not missions; it is spiritual tourism.
To be clear, global missions are biblical and necessary. The gospel must go to the ends of the earth. But Scripture never presents global mission as an excuse for local neglect. Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and the ends of the earth are not competing priorities; they are a single movement outward.
What we see instead is a selective application of mission theology. Supporting distant missions carries prestige. Supporting a small church nearby carries inconvenience. The former comes with photo opportunities and annual reports; the latter requires humility, patience, and shared leadership.
In many cases, the real issue is fear, fear that helping another church will reduce one’s own influence, attendance, or financial strength. This fear exposes a marketplace ecclesiology rather than a kingdom one.
The idea that churches within the same locality see each other as competitors rather than collaborators is one of the most damaging developments in African Christianity. It reflects a shift from ecclesiology to economics. In business, competition is expected. In the Church, it is a scandal.
Jesus did not say, “By this all people will know you are my disciples, if you grow faster than the church down the street.” He said love, practical, sacrificial love, would authenticate our witness (John 13:34–35).
The early Church Fathers understood this deeply. Cyprian of Carthage famously declared, “He cannot have God as his Father who does not have the Church as his mother.” The Church was not a collection of rival households but a shared family. Augustine warned that pride fractures the body more effectively than persecution ever could.
The Puritans later echoed this concern. John Owen argued that divisions among believers weaken the gospel’s credibility before the world. Richard Baxter lamented pastors who built personal followings rather than strengthening the broader Church, calling it “spiritual self-interest clothed in religious language.”
In much of Africa today, large churches possess extraordinary resources, financial capital, educational access, publishing power, trained clergy, media reach, and institutional stability. With such resources comes moral responsibility.
James is blunt: “If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking daily food, and one of you says, ‘Go in peace,’ without giving what is needed, what good is that?” (James 2:15–16). Replace clothing and food with training, books, stipends, or mentorship, and the principle remains unchanged.
Small churches are not poor because they lack vision or faith. Many are poor because they lack access, to education, to networks, to resources, to stability. Large churches often have what smaller churches need, not to control them but to strengthen them.
Support does not mean absorption. Partnership does not mean loss of identity. The New Testament model is cooperation without domination.
Unity is not sustained by money alone. Paul repeatedly asked churches to pray for him, not because he lacked faith, but because ministry is communal work (Ephesians 6:18–20; Colossians 4:2–4). Prayer binds churches together in ways that funding alone cannot.
Beyond prayer, presence matters. Visiting another congregation, sharing pulpits, mentoring young pastors, exchanging ideas—these practices dismantle suspicion and humanize ministry. When leaders know each other personally, competition loses its grip.
Research in African ecclesial studies increasingly shows that churches engaged in inter-church collaboration demonstrate higher pastoral sustainability, reduced burnout, and greater community impact. Unity is not only biblical; it is practical.
One of the most striking features of early Christianity was its refusal to be confined by ethnic, cultural, or structural boundaries. The gospel consistently crossed lines that society deemed sacred.
Yet modern African Christianity often elevates denominational identity above kingdom purpose. Churches refuse to collaborate on evangelism, social justice, or community development simply because doctrinal emphases differ, even when those differences fall well within historic Christian orthodoxy. This posture is not theological discernment; it is institutional insecurity.
The Nicene Creed affirms one holy catholic (universal) church. That universality does not erase denominational distinctives, but it relativizes them. No single denomination exhausts the fullness of Christ.
Healthy Christianity is neither parochial nor imperial; it is “glocal”. It roots itself deeply in local relationships while remaining open to the global work of God (Revelation 5:9–10).
When African churches support one another, financially, spiritually, intellectually, they strengthen the entire body. When they isolate themselves, they weaken not only others but themselves.
The irony is profound: churches that fear losing influence by sharing resources often discover that generosity expands their witness. Mutual support does not shrink the Church; it multiplies it.
The call before African Christianity is not complicated, but it is costly. It requires humility over empire, cooperation over control, and kingdom thinking over brand protection.
Let us pray for one another; not performatively, but persistently. Let us share resources; not selectively, but sacrificially. Let us encourage one another; not competitively, but genuinely. Let us support financially when able; not as patrons, but as family.
This vision is not idealistic. It is biblical. It is human. And it reflects the very heart of Christ, who did not cling to power but gave Himself for the life of the world.
Until churches learn to see neighboring congregations not as rivals but as fellow members of the same body, our declarations of unity will remain eloquent but empty. The world does not need bigger churches nearly as much as it needs a united one.
The body of Christ does not flourish through competition. It flourishes through love.
