About a week ago, I made a post titled: “Faith Doesn’t Prevent Storms—It Anchors You in Them.” One of the comments came from a pastor friend, who said, “FAITH IS WHAT YOU TRULY ALLOWED OR ACCEPTED.”
I replied, saying if that were entirely true, then it would make us God! I also added this:
“Let’s not overestimate ourselves, please. We all have countless things we haven’t allowed or accepted that are still very real in our lives. You have, I have, and everybody does.”
It’s a pity how faith has been misrepresented over the years, especially by a certain branch of Pentecostal Christianity. It has turned into some kind of vending machine ideology—press a button, get a blessing. Instant miracles. On-demand breakthroughs. This distortion has led many to disillusionment and quiet resentment. They can’t bring themselves to abandon God, so they sit in church, mouthing “The joy of the Lord is my strength,”while inside, they’re bitter, tired, and confused.
Why do we, my people, look and stubbornly refuse to see?
Yesterday, the Nigerian social media space was flooded with the tragic news of Reverend Azzaman Azzaman’s sudden passing. He was a fiery preacher, known for his outspoken stance on Christian persecution, Northern insecurity, and the call for good governance. He was a fearless voice in a fearful time.
He had just concluded a powerful three-day crusade and was returning when he was involved in a fatal road accident. He was only 54.
His death resurfaced a Facebook post he made earlier this year, where he declared that he would not die by accident and would be satisfied with long life. In our cruelly polarized, and often insensitive social media landscape, some used this as a moment to mock—not just the man, but his message, his faith, and his God. A glance at the names behind such mockery reveals what we already know: Nigeria’s divisions run deep, and even death doesn’t soften the hearts of some.
But let’s step back and ask a hard question:
Does the Bible actually promise long life and prosperity?
Yes, it mentions them—but not as vending-machine guarantees for believers. They’re presented more as possibilities, often tied to wisdom, righteousness, and obedience—not entitlements for shouting “Amen” the loudest. The Bible doesn’t promise ease or luxury. What it does promise is this: trials, perseverance, growth, God’s presence, and eternal life beyond this fleeting one.
God is not a sugar daddy. He’s a Father.
Good fathers don’t always give you what you want—they give you what will form you into who you were meant to be.
So if you’re looking for the prosperity gospel, you’ll find it on a billboard.
But if you’re looking for truth, here it is:
“In this world, you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” – Jesus (John 16:33)
It is noble to speak life. It is wise to hope for longevity. It is powerful to declare by faith. But it is also mature to prepare for death. The only qualification for dying is being alive. And in this country—this beautiful, broken Nigeria—where life expectancy is tragically low and the roads are death traps, we must live with eyes wide open.
No one is promised tomorrow. Not even the anointed.
Not even the prayer warriors.
Not even the ones who just finished a crusade.
We’ve seen great men fall early. Archbishop Benson Idahosa died at 57. Jesus Himself at 33. So let’s stop treating long life like a sign of divine approval and early death like some hidden sin or failure of faith. The real tragedy is not dying young; it’s dying without ever truly living—or worse, living a lie, or even worse still—having not accepted Jesus as Lord and Savior.
So, what do we do?
We anchor our hope, not in outcomes, but in God.
We speak life, but we live ready.
We pray, but we prepare.
We declare, but we don’t deny reality.
And maybe most importantly—
We mourn our prophets with respect, not ridicule.
We stop weaponizing death against each other’s beliefs.
And we remember: The measure of a man’s faith is not in how he died, but in how he lived.
Rest in power, Reverend Azzaman Azzaman.
You fought well. You spoke boldly. You died with your boots on.
May your legacy live longer than your breath.
Benjamin Okoh, a prolific writer, writes from the United Kingdom.
