Jesse grew up in a religious home. By which I mean a P-E-R-F-E-C-T home, the wealth-looking one, the one that was talked about and envied in equal measure, the one whose integrity shone like the swords of the 3 musketeers, the one inclined more to the American dream in a lot of ways than to the African outlook; but which fact no soul is strong-hearted enough to concede.
He had four siblings. They lived a life of a house made of red bricks plastered with strong mortar, beautified decoratively with tiles and pavers; Sunday clothes ironed chip-crisp, walls that hung with neatly framed, strong-worded KJV scripture verses—the as-for-me-and-my-house-we-will-serve-the-Lords, the faith-can-moveth-mountains, the the-joy-of-the-Lord-is-my-strengths, the be-still-and-know-that-I-am-Gods. And ah, how can I forget, the fleet of cars; Swahili men call them Magari ya Kifahari. God lived in the house. Oh yes, he did.
His father, Pastor Samuel, was admired by all—he had that beautifully-curled moustache, and boy did his sermons massage congregants’ eyes into tears! When he talked holiness, integrity, and justice, the congregation swam in rivers of tears. The joy of the Lord is your strength, brother, he would say, while he straightened a crippled man’s leg here or gave sight to a blind woman there. Miracle-working man of God! Hallelujah!
Every Sunday, Samuel stood on the heavenly-lit pulpit, voice trembling with conviction, hands raised, singing Hallelujah Hosannah, calling on the congregation to live holy lives. The boy Jesse could only watch, knowing that much of what his father preached was a stage-play—a dazzling performance to hide the life behind the closed doors. That is because away from church, inside their house, the picture was different.
He now remembers mornings when the house was quiet, his father absent on a week-long conference, and instances where he was repeatedly defiled by the maid, but it felt nice. There were evenings when this man, who preached righteousness, hit Jesse’s mother so bad she hid in her room for days, because she confronted him about Lisa, his PA; there were days he had secret meetings with the church treasurer, and Jesse could hear their whispers through the walls—the hushed voices of meetings that made no sense to a child. By the time Jesse hit twelve, he understood what those whispers had been about: his father was coercing the treasurer to “give me the offertory money or… is this ministry yours?” he stopped praying. “My father is a liar, a thief. I cannot trust him, so how can I trust God?”
By fifteen, he questioned God Himself. Maybe there is no God. Otherwise, why doesn’t Dad face any consequence from Him? “The church I’m supposed to love teaches one thing, yet the man I look up to does another.” By eighteen, he had walked away from church and begun to live in rebellion—not with joy, but with a quiet bitterness. “Perhaps Jesus is just a story. Perhaps I should live the life I choose, even if it is sinful.”
He now lives a secular life of the bottle, drugs, women, porn and Nyege Nyege. He feels an indifference to faith and is highly drawn to sin. His father’s hypocrisy has eroded his belief, fuelling anger and resentment toward him and others, on top of confusion and depression. Growing up under expectation while witnessing failure has left him between reputation and reality.
For pastors’ kids like Jesse, as they have been christened, faith often becomes a distant concept, and they’re more likely to miss the personal touch of Christ because the actions of their parents blind their sight. They hear sermons about honesty and integrity, but at home, they see deceit in its full colours. Some have not even taken the vow to become Christians, yet they are considered so by virtue of parentage.
On Sundays, pastors like Jesse’s father, Samuel, speak of holiness, stewardship, and moral discipline. Off the pulpit, they live in excess—wealth, women and indulgence financed by the very congregation that kneels before them in reverence. The offertory basket, intended to support ministry and help the needy, often becomes a source of personal gain. Yet on the pulpit, they always insist, “I don’t get anything from the basket. When you give, you give to the Lord.” To Jesse, the famous line by men of God, “God has blessed me,” translates plainly to, “You guys are giving just fine.” Show me a church and I will show you a place that fears financial accountability; an institution whose accounting system is either non-existent or deeply flawed.
Often, financial records are poorly kept, donations are recorded haphazardly, and financial oversight is minimal. As the church leans heavily on the generosity of its members, pressuring them to give continuously under the guise of spiritual obligation, money quietly finds its way into pastors’ personal pockets. What should be a sacred act of stewardship—supporting ministry and aiding the needy—becomes a vehicle for personal enrichment. It is not that proper accounting systems are unavailable; rather, the absence or compromise of these systems is deliberate, probably serving the interests of pastors who intend it that way, so they benefit from the lack of transparency. These are things that pastors’ children see, and in some cases are nurtured into.
Another layer of harm lies in the way some pastors groom their children to inherit ministries. Leadership is presented as destiny rather than a calling. The message is clear: the church is family property. For children, this is suffocating. They are raised to inherit not vocation, but wealth and power, whether they have a genuine calling or not. At first, the children follow, believing this is what serving God means. But as they grow older, something begins to shift. They see that ministry, as they have known it, can be arranged, inherited, and even bought—that one’s lineage can open doors that prayer never did. Slowly, a painful truth dawns: anyone can become a pastor if they are born to the right parents. They start to question whether the God they heard about from the pulpit was ever truly there, or if He had long been replaced by ambition and human systems.
It is also not uncommon, given that anyone with influence desires to benefit from it, to get contaminated by the power of politics and the temptation to become a who-is-who of society. So, believe it or not, many pastors in Kampala are getting corrupted by politicians and are doing the politicians’ bidding. Here is how you’ll find out who is corrupted: by watching their televised sermons and paying attention to political bias woven into their messages. And here is what you might not know: these men of God are actively forming secret understandings with politicians to secure favours and funding. In doing so, they manipulate the faith of their followers, bending sacred truths to suit personal interests—all while their children are watching. It is not surprising, then, that trust is lost. Children grow up watching this distortion. They see their parents—once humble shepherds—transformed and woven to become negotiators, lobbyists, and strategists.
Across the globe, many preachers are living large (or do you disagree?). The contrast between public sermons on humility versus private displays of wealth is jarring. American televangelist Kenneth Copeland has amassed significant wealth during his career and has referred to himself as a “very wealthy man.” The Houston Chronicle referred to him as the wealthiest pastor in America, with a net worth of $750 million in 2021. As of 2024, Copeland’s net worth was estimated to be $300 million.
Creflo Dollar owns two Rolls-Royces, a private jet, and high-end real estate such as a million-dollar home in Atlanta, a $2.5 million home in Demarest, New Jersey, and a home in Manhattan that he bought for $2.5 million in 2006 and sold for $3.75 million in 2012. Dollar has refused to disclose his salary, and for declining to disclose any financial information to an independent audit, Creflo Dollar Ministries received a grade of “F” (failing) for financial transparency by the organisation Ministry Watch. What are his children learning, do you think?
Now, the topic of prosperity within the church is a hot one. On one hand, some argue that the Bible encourages wealth accumulation, interpreting scriptures as affirming that God blesses the faithful with material success. We’re talking Deuteronomy 8:18, Proverbs 10:22, and 1 Timothy 6:6-10. Whatever the theological stance, there is a universal moral boundary that should never be crossed: it is wrong to accumulate wealth at the expense of a congregation, especially if said wealth is built by manipulating trust.
Many Kampala pastors’ wealth accumulation raises serious ethical concerns. Take one pastor in Kyanja, for instance, who started a church, set up an orphanage, schools, and radio and TV stations. Here is his cheat code trick: when donors send money for, say, 100 gifts for 100 children, all 100 children would pose with the same gift, while the remaining 99 gifts would be kept by the pastor and his family. Genius, huh? There are many more sophisticated tricks these pastors use to cheat.
Many pastors in Kampala have long solicited money from their local flocks for building projects, only to later announce that the intended projects cannot be completed. Rarely do they provide proper accountability for how the money was spent. Luke 16:10-12 warns: “Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much… if you have not been trustworthy with someone else’s property, who will give you property of your own?” Guess who is watching? Not only God, but their shine Jesus shine-singing children too.
Now, the subject of homosexuality, adultery and other sex-related tendencies by pastors against church members has been a huge whirlwind, particularly in the 2000s. While courts may have ruled that homosexual cases against a cross-section of pastors were false, the deeper damage lies in the minds of their children, who know better than courts who their parents really are. In their minds, their parent might forever be guilty, even though the child won’t say it out loud. Having seen manipulations, corruption, or other moral failings—as outlined above—it is natural for them to connect the dots and suspect that even the sexual claims might hold truth. No court verdict can undo the erosion of trust, the confusion, or the loss of innocence that follows such experiences.
The Path Forward: Integrity, Truth, and Restoration
Change begins with honesty—first in the home, then in the church. Pastors must:
- Prioritise family: Time, guidance, and nurturing faith at home are critical.
- Practice integrity: Public preaching must reflect private living.
- Allow choice: Children should inherit vocation by calling, not by expectation.
- Model humility: Wealth, power, and influence must be tempered with responsibility.
For people like Jesse—who, because of the influence of their parents’ misdeeds, have grown up living a life of sin, wrongdoing, or have abandoned Christianity—see this: your experience of betrayal does not determine the truth of God. Healing, restoration, and trust in God remain possible, grounded not in human actions but in the unwavering love and guidance of God. Scripture reminds us that faith is not measured by human integrity, and it should now be clear that your faith was misplaced. Of course, you didn’t know that when you were young. But it’s true. Scripture says: “Cursed is the man who trusts in man, who makes flesh his strength, whose heart turns away from the Lord.” —Jeremiah 17:5
Even flawed parents may act with misguided love, yet their failings do not nullify the truth of God’s Word. The Bible, the guidance of the Holy Spirit, and prayer remain the strongest pillars of unshakable faith. Psalm 119:105: “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path.”
