I must begin with a confession. Before sitting down to write this piece, I have spent a quite considerable amount of time watching and listening to TikTok videos that I would probably never have deliberately gone looking for. My journey began rather innocently with the flamboyant Zimbabwean businessman Wicknell Chivayo, whose extraordinary lifestyle naturally arrested my attention. What particularly fascinated me was footage showing this businessman enjoying an extraordinary degree of personal access to Kenya's President William Ruto. In one video, the President himself was behind the wheel, driving Chivayo across his expansive farm and waxing almost agriculturally lyrical as the landscape unfolded around them. There were macadamia plantations, sheep moving beneath and around the trees, cattle, cultivated acreage and the unmistakable impression of agricultural enterprise conducted on a scale for which walking would have been less a farm tour than an endurance event. The fuel-guzzler therefore appeared to have a perfectly respectable job description. Ruto pointed things out as they moved, explaining the farming operation with the unmistakable enthusiasm of a man showing another man something he had built and was pleased with. In another scene that particularly arrested me, attention shifted to an extraordinarily fattened bullock, the sort of animal whose proportions make one momentarily wonder whether ordinary cattle and this particular specimen belong to the same economic class. Then came another remarkable scene: the President personally driving Chivayo towards the helipad where a helicopter waited. Now, presidents generally have drivers. Wealthy businessmen generally have drivers. When the President becomes the driver and the businessman becomes the passenger on his way to his helicopter, even a moderately curious man is entitled to sit upright. I certainly did.
So I began looking more closely at the spectacle of extraordinary wealth, and the deeper I went, the more astonishing it became: magnificent motor vehicles, private aviation, expensive watches, great houses, lavish gifts and an almost theatrical splendour surrounding people who seemed equally comfortable moving among the powerful. I saw Chivayo's interactions with political royalty stretching across the continent, from King Mswati III of Eswatini in the south to presidents and political leaders elsewhere in Africa, including President Ruto here in the east. At some point I stopped counting. My curiosity had been sufficiently awakened, and TikTok, having apparently noticed this, decided that I required further education. The algorithm is a remarkably attentive creature. Give it five minutes of curiosity and it will prepare a captivating catalogue of views.
The more I watched, the more it supplied. Soon another flamboyant Zimbabwean, Genius "Ginimbi" Kadungure, entered my screen from beyond the grave, a man whose spectacular lifestyle, exotic cars, palatial home and lavish entertainment had fascinated audiences long before his tragic death in 2020. Then one wealthy personality introduced another, one mansion apparently knew another mansion, one Rolls-Royce appeared to have the telephone number of another Rolls-Royce, and before long my innocent curiosity about conspicuous African wealth had left the paved road altogether. Chief Bernard appeared. Then came men claiming association with Freemasonry, secret societies and, in some of the more audacious testimonies, Satan himself. I had apparently touched the algorithmic hem of a garment, and virtue had gone out of it in abundance. So I listened. I watched the vehicles, toured the mansions electronically and observed bundles of currency being displayed with considerable evangelical enthusiasm. I listened to men recounting seasons of financial frustration and apparent insignificance before some alleged spiritual turning point, followed by testimonies of dramatic material transformation. Some spoke as though while professing Jesus Christ their finances had been coughing, wheezing and surviving on economic life support, but after discovering another spiritual arrangement the financial heavens suddenly opened. Cars appeared, houses appeared, money appeared, attention appeared and women appeared. If the testimonies were taken entirely at face value, one could almost conclude that darkness operates a remarkably efficient money-churning department.
I kept watching, and the testimonies became increasingly colourful. One young man reportedly boasted that his newfound prosperity had transformed his fortunes with women so comprehensively that he could now have a different woman for breakfast, lunch and dinner, ladies who only months earlier would scarcely have donated a second glance in his direction. Apparently wealth had not merely improved his balance sheet; it had introduced catering arrangements, and I waited patiently to hear whether provision had also been made for ten o'clock tea. Then matters became even more extraordinary. There was talk of Satan not as the adversary from whom men flee but as some supposed deliverer from poverty. There was talk of evangelising this alternative allegiance. There was even talk of organising what was described as a crusade for Satan at Kasarani Stadium, with an alleged Kes. 2 million venue charge reportedly being regarded as surprisingly affordable. By this point my eyebrows had travelled sufficiently far north to require repatriation.
Somewhere in the middle of all this magnificence another thought struck me with almost comic force: Kenyan university lecturers have been on strike over CBAs. Strip away the industrial-relations vocabulary, the negotiating committees, salary scales, implementation matrices, return-to-work formulas, inter-ministerial consultations and enough spreadsheets to make Microsoft Excel itself request compassionate leave, and somewhere underneath all of it sits one stubbornly uncomplicated matter: money. Lecturers work and expect to be remunerated adequately. Scripture itself says, "Thou shalt not muzzle the ox when he treadeth out the corn" (Deuteronomy 25:4), and Paul carries the principle directly into human labour: "The labourer is worthy of his reward" (1 Timothy 5:18). Apparently even an ox has a remuneration philosophy. So consider the extraordinary juxtaposition confronting the economically bruised Kenyan scrolling through his telephone. The university professor is holding a placard while the TikTok millionaire is holding car keys. The professor is discussing CBA implementation while the other gentleman is discussing millions. The lecturer is waiting for negotiations while another fellow claims to have negotiated directly with the supernatural. One is waiting for Treasury while the other appears to be suggesting that Treasury is unnecessarily complicating matters. Somewhere between those two screens sits an unemployed graduate, an indebted businessman, a parent calculating school fees, an underpaid worker, a university student wondering where next semester's fees will come from, and perhaps even a striking lecturer quietly wondering whether his union accidentally entered negotiations with the wrong treasury.
At that point the matter ceases to be merely hilarious, because money has begun to preach, and it is preaching to a congregation already hurting. The mansion becomes the sermon illustration, the luxury vehicle becomes the testimony, the currency bundles become the apologetics, the expensive clothing provides the vestments, the social-media following becomes the congregation and the algorithm becomes the evangelistic spout. Beneath the entire spectacle lies an extraordinarily powerful proposition: I struggled when I believed what you believe; I changed allegiance; look at me now. Do not underestimate that sermon. To a man comfortably employed, adequately housed, well fed and financially secure, the spectacle may be merely curious entertainment. To someone facing rent, debt, unemployment, school fees, unpaid salaries or a business gasping for liquidity, however, the same spectacle can become irresistibly captivating. Poverty has a way of making certain advertisements unusually audible.
And perhaps we should admit something else before becoming too self-righteous about the people who find this spectacle alluring: temptation is called temptation precisely because something about it appeals. Nobody needs supernatural assistance to resist an advertisement for misery. The difficulty begins when the offer glitters, when the testimony appears to work, when the mansion is real, when the engine actually roars, when the bank balance appears healthy and when the person making the proposition seems considerably happier than the person rejecting it. To an unemployed graduate, an unpaid lecturer, a collapsing businessman or a young man watching his peers apparently accelerate past him economically, the message can become almost musical: come this way, change allegiance, stop struggling, take the shorter road, enjoy yourself, look what happened to us. There is something here reminiscent of the Sirens of Greek mythology, those enchanting creatures whose irresistible song was said to lure passing sailors from safe passage towards destruction upon the rocks. The terror of the Sirens was not that their song was ugly. Had they sounded like malfunctioning wheelbarrows, maritime safety would have been considerably easier. Their danger lay precisely in the beauty of the song. The melody concealed the shipwreck. And perhaps that is one useful way of understanding the glittering gospel now flowing through our screens: the vehicle is part of the melody, the mansion is part of the melody, the currency bundles are part of the melody, the women are part of the melody, the supposed overnight transformation is part of the melody. The rocks do not appear in the advertisement.
Yet this is precisely where Christianity offers something infinitely more comforting than merely shouting instructions from the shoreline. We have a Saviour who understands temptation. "For in that he himself hath suffered being tempted, he is able to succour them that are tempted" (Hebrews 2:18). Again Scripture declares, "For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin" (Hebrews 4:15). Those words become astonishingly relevant here because Christ Himself once stood before the most magnificent display of worldly glory ever assembled and heard essentially the same chorus. He was shown "all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them" (Matthew 4:8), and the tempter attached to that splendour the proposition, "All these things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me" (Matthew 4:9). Our Lord therefore does not look upon the financially distressed man staring too long at these videos with cold incomprehension. He knows what it is to have glory displayed before the eyes and an alternative allegiance proposed as the route to possessing it. He understands the melody, but He also knows where the rocks are.
That makes Jesus Christ not merely our example in resisting temptation but our compassionate High Priest and present help in the middle of it. Hebrews does not say that because we are tempted we should crawl away from God in embarrassment; it reaches precisely the opposite conclusion: "Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need" (Hebrews 4:16). What magnificent news for anybody who has watched enough of these displays to feel even the faintest stirring of envy, fascination or spiritual confusion. Come boldly. There is mercy there. There is grace there. There is help there. The Saviour does not merely condemn the sailor for hearing the song; He is able to save him from following it onto the rocks. Indeed, He has heard a far grander version of the same satanic chorus than TikTok could ever assemble, rejected it completely, and emerged without bowing. "Get thee hence, Satan" (Matthew 4:10) was not the response of One unfamiliar with the offer. It was the response of One who saw the glory, heard the proposition, recognised the price and chose the Father.
And this, perhaps, is what makes the modern spectacle simultaneously so fascinating and so ancient. The technology is new; the melody is not. TikTok has supplied the vertical screen, the algorithm has perfected distribution, luxury vehicles have improved considerably since the first century and the mansions now come with infinity pools, but the underlying chorus remains remarkably unchanged: look at the glory, contemplate the things, imagine yourself possessing them, and only afterwards consider what might be required of you. The Christian therefore need not panic when the music becomes attractive. He needs to recognise the song. We have heard its score before. It played on an exceeding high mountain in the wilderness, and Jesus Christ has already shown us both its composer and its destination.
But before anybody closes this article and proceeds directly to the nearest Masonic lodge carrying a CV, three passport photographs and an M-Pesa statement, some forensic housekeeping is necessary. A man saying on TikTok that Satan made him rich does not establish that Satan made him rich. A Rolls-Royce proves the presence of a Rolls-Royce. A mansion establishes the existence of a mansion. A bundle of currency establishes that currency was available when the camera was switched on. None of these things, standing alone, establishes the spiritual mechanism by which the assets were acquired. Some stories may be substantially true, some exaggerated, some theatrical, some marketing, some carefully curated fragments of complicated financial histories, and some may even be outright scams constructed around one of humanity's oldest vulnerabilities: the desperate desire to become rich quickly. Scripture commands neither gullibility nor naivety. "The simple believeth every word: but the prudent man looketh well to his going" (Proverbs 14:15). "Prove all things; hold fast that which is good" (1 Thessalonians 5:21). "Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God" (1 John 4:1). I therefore make no allegation that every flamboyant personality whom an algorithm placed before me acquired his wealth through Freemasonry, Satanism or supernatural means. People appearing consecutively on TikTok do not thereby become members of the same conspiracy; the algorithm is not an ecclesiastical register. My concern is with something deeper and much more important: the proposition increasingly being placed before economically frustrated eyes that righteousness leaves you struggling while some alternative allegiance will make you rich.
That proposition deserves examination, and fortunately Scripture has already heard the sales pitch. Long before TikTok discovered vertical video, long before Rolls-Royce perfected the motorcar, long before Mercedes-Benz discovered that leather seats could become instruments of evangelism, and long before architects began designing mansions requiring drone photography simply to fit the building into one frame, another preacher of material glory conducted perhaps the greatest wealth presentation ever recorded. "The devil taketh him up into an exceeding high mountain, and sheweth him all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them" (Matthew 4:8). Luke says that he showed Christ "all the kingdoms of the world in a moment of time" (Luke 4:5). Those last words deserve particular attention: the glory of them. Satan did not show Jesus graves, ruined families, chains, judgement, broken consciences or hell. He showed Him glory. The presentation was magnificent. Kingdoms stretched before Him. Thrones, treasuries, cities, palaces, political power and earthly splendour formed the exhibition. Evil did not introduce itself wearing ugliness. It came carrying magnificence.
Then came the proposition: "All these things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me" (Matthew 4:9). There, in one sentence, lies perhaps the greatest forensic anatomy of ungodly riches ever written. "All these things" identifies the assets; "I will give thee" states the promised return; "if" introduces the terms and conditions; "thou wilt fall down" reveals the consideration; and "worship me" finally produces the invoice. The genius of the temptation lay in displaying the assets before disclosing the liability. Satan showed the kingdoms before mentioning the knees. He presented the glory before producing the worship clause. Had modern advertising existed, one suspects that "fall down and worship me" might have appeared somewhere at the bottom of the screen in six-point font moving rapidly from right to left. But Jesus read the small print. "Get thee hence, Satan: for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve" (Matthew 4:10).
That response settles something fundamental, because Christianity is not opposed to wealth. Scripture would become internally incoherent if we attempted to make poverty synonymous with righteousness. Abraham "was very rich in cattle, in silver, and in gold" (Genesis 13:2). Isaac sowed and "received in the same year an hundredfold: and the LORD blessed him," until he "waxed great, and went forward, and grew until he became very great" (Genesis 26:12-13). Job was "the greatest of all the men of the east" (Job 1:3), and after his ordeal "the LORD blessed the latter end of Job more than his beginning" (Job 42:12). David declared, "Both riches and honour come of thee" (1 Chronicles 29:12). Solomon possessed wealth of such staggering proportions that portions of 1 Kings 10 read like the audited accounts of a Treasury that had never heard of austerity. God is therefore not allergic to money. "The silver is mine, and the gold is mine, saith the LORD of hosts" (Haggai 2:8). "The earth is the LORD'S, and the fulness thereof" (Psalm 24:1). "Every beast of the forest is mine, and the cattle upon a thousand hills" (Psalm 50:10). If the cattle upon a thousand hills belong to God, heaven is presumably not anxiously awaiting the next IMF disbursement.
Poverty, therefore, is not holiness, but neither is wealth righteousness. That distinction demolishes two equally dangerous doctrines. The poor Christian cannot point at his empty pocket and announce that poverty proves his spirituality, and neither can the rich sinner shake his car keys before heaven and announce that prosperity proves divine approval. A bank balance measures money; it does not measure righteousness. A mansion tells us the size of the house, not the condition of the soul living inside it. A motor vehicle may tell us something about purchasing power but absolutely nothing about eternal standing. The great biblical question is never simply, "How much does he have?" but rather, "How did he obtain it, what place does it occupy in his heart, whom does he serve, and what has he exchanged for it?"
Precisely here Psalm 73 becomes almost embarrassingly contemporary. Asaph confesses, "But as for me, my feet were almost gone; my steps had well nigh slipped. For I was envious at the foolish, when I saw the prosperity of the wicked" (Psalm 73:2-3). He looked around and saw people whose conduct disturbed him but whose circumstances fascinated him. "They are not in trouble as other men" (Psalm 73:5), and "their eyes stand out with fatness: they have more than heart could wish" (Psalm 73:7). One can almost imagine Asaph scrolling: another mansion, another vehicle, another bundle of money, another testimony, another gentleman explaining how questionable conduct has apparently improved his liquidity ratio. Eventually he reaches the dangerous conclusion, "Verily I have cleansed my heart in vain" (Psalm 73:13). There speaks the ancient version of the modern crisis: I have followed God, so why am I struggling? He mocks God, so why is he prospering? I pray, so why am I counting coins? He boasts about darkness, so why is he counting millions? I am waiting for my CBA while he is apparently waiting for delivery of another Range Rover. Have I misunderstood something?
Asaph says the contradiction was "too painful" for him, "until I went into the sanctuary of God; then understood I their end" (Psalm 73:16-17). Their end is the variable TikTok cannot comfortably accommodate. TikTok shows the afternoon while Scripture asks about eternity; the camera shows arrival while God asks about destination; the video shows acquisition while Scripture asks what was exchanged; the algorithm measures engagement while heaven weighs the soul. Suddenly Asaph's valuation changes completely: "Surely thou didst set them in slippery places" (Psalm 73:18). David arrives at the same conclusion: "Fret not thyself because of evildoers, neither be thou envious against the workers of iniquity" (Psalm 37:1), because "they shall soon be cut down like the grass" (Psalm 37:2). Then comes heaven's comparative valuation: "A little that a righteous man hath is better than the riches of many wicked" (Psalm 37:16); "Better is a little with righteousness than great revenues without right" (Proverbs 16:8); and "Better is little with the fear of the LORD than great treasure and trouble therewith" (Proverbs 15:16).
Heaven apparently employs a different quantity surveyor. It does not merely measure the size of the asset; it examines the title, investigates the consideration, establishes the encumbrances, asks how the property was acquired and, before issuing the final valuation, searches for liabilities invisible from the road. That is why Paul becomes even more forensic. Contrary to one of the most frequently misquoted verses in popular speech, Scripture does not say money is the root of all evil. It says, "the love of money is the root of all evil" (1 Timothy 6:10). Money is an instrument. Money can build a hospital or finance corruption, educate an orphan or purchase betrayal, print Bibles or purchase thirty pieces of silver, establish scholarships or silence witnesses. The currency does not decide; the heart does.
Immediately before that famous warning Paul writes something extraordinarily relevant to a generation being evangelised with instant riches: "they that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare" (1 Timothy 6:9). Not merely those who are rich, but those who "will be rich." The determination itself becomes dangerous when wealth ceases to be a possible consequence of faithful labour and becomes an objective for which everything else is negotiable. Yesterday's abomination becomes today's inconvenience; today's inconvenience becomes tomorrow's compromise; tomorrow's compromise becomes next year's lifestyle. James describes the progression clinically: "every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed. Then when lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin: and sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death" (James 1:14-15). Desire becomes enticement, enticement conceives, conception produces sin and sin matures into death. Sin apparently has a project programme, and its completion certificate is not one any sensible client should wish to receive.
This is why Jesus speaks of "the deceitfulness of riches" (Matthew 13:22; Mark 4:19). Riches can lie without speaking. They can impersonate security, importance, freedom, happiness and even blessing. A man can own seven vehicles and still have no idea where his life is going. He can build a mansion containing fourteen bedrooms and discover there is nowhere inside it to hide from himself. He can place armed guards at every gate and remain utterly undefended against his next heartbeat being his last. He can purchase the finest mattress available and discover that sleep stubbornly remains unavailable over the counter. He can attract a crowd of admirers and still spend every evening wondering whether anybody loves him rather than his money. Our young gentleman with the alleged breakfast, lunch and dinner arrangement therefore introduces another problem entirely. If newfound wealth merely enables a man to consume human beings as though they were courses on a hotel menu, the relevant question is no longer how rich he has become but whether money liberated him or merely financed his bondage.
Solomon conducted that experiment long before TikTok. "I made me great works; I builded me houses; I planted me vineyards" (Ecclesiastes 2:4). He accumulated servants, cattle, silver, gold, singers and "the delights of the sons of men" (Ecclesiastes 2:8), and then tells us, "whatsoever mine eyes desired I kept not from them" (Ecclesiastes 2:10). Solomon effectively possessed the ancient world's unlimited premium subscription: no spending limit, no parental controls, no insufficient-funds notification and apparently very few earthly pleasures beyond his reach. Then came the review: "Behold, all was vanity and vexation of spirit" (Ecclesiastes 2:11). Experiment concluded. Sometimes money does not break a man's chains; it gold-plates them. Sometimes wealth does not conquer lust; it gives lust a procurement department. Sometimes prosperity does not enlarge the man; it merely enlarges the operating budget of his appetites.
Christ introduces another wealthy gentleman in Luke 12 whose agricultural enterprise performed magnificently. "The ground of a certain rich man brought forth plentifully" (Luke 12:16). Production exceeded storage capacity, so the businessman approved an infrastructure-expansion programme: "I will pull down my barns, and build greater" (Luke 12:18). Having secured his assets, he issued an extraordinarily optimistic long-term forecast: "Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years; take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry" (Luke 12:19). One can almost see the PowerPoint presentation: production excellent, storage expansion approved, asset position excellent, retirement outlook excellent, lifestyle forecast eat, drink and be merry. Then heaven entered the meeting: "Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee" (Luke 12:20). Meeting adjourned. The balance sheet had omitted mortality. The man's financial projections covered many years while his remaining life covered several hours. Jesus concludes, "So is he that layeth up treasure for himself, and is not rich toward God" (Luke 12:21).
Apparently one can therefore be a millionaire on earth and an insolvency case in heaven. Laodicea achieved precisely that feat. "I am rich, and increased with goods, and have need of nothing," it announced, but Christ examined the same accounts and pronounced it "wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked" (Revelation 3:17). Smyrna produced the reverse valuation. Christ acknowledged its "poverty" and immediately inserted the divine auditor's qualification, "(but thou art rich)" (Revelation 2:9). Two balance sheets, two valuations, one enormous question: which accounts are we reading?
This explains why Jesus speaks about Mammon almost as a rival deity: "No man can serve two masters" (Matthew 6:24). He does not say it is inconvenient or difficult; He says it cannot be done. "Ye cannot serve God and mammon." Notice the verb: serve. Money is a useful servant, but Mammon is a dreadful master. Once Mammon becomes master, morality begins reporting to Finance. Truth remains company policy until lying becomes more profitable. Loyalty survives until betrayal offers a better package. Sexual restraint remains operational until indulgence becomes affordable. Justice continues until corruption submits a superior quotation. Conscience remains employed until Mammon recommends restructuring. Eventually even worship goes out to tender.
And suddenly we are back on the mountain: "All these things will I give thee, if..." It is the words after the "if" that the wise man investigates. What must I bow to? What must I deny? Whom must I betray? What must I conceal? Whom must I exploit? What must I worship? What must I become? What happens to my conscience, my fellowship with God and ultimately my soul? Those are precisely the questions glitter is designed to postpone. The eye is invited to linger on "all these things" so long that the mind never reaches the "if."
Then Jesus introduces perhaps the most devastating valuation equation ever spoken: "For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?" (Mark 8:36). Matthew adds, "Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?" (Matthew 16:26). Observe Christ's mathematics. He does not put one Mercedes-Benz on one side of the equation, does not upgrade it to a Rolls-Royce, does not put a mansion there, does not put Kes. 2 million there and does not even put Kes. 2 billion there. Christ apparently concludes that ordinary examples are inadequate and places the whole world on the table: every bank, every skyscraper, every gold reserve, every diamond mine, every oilfield, every corporation, every palace, every aircraft, every yacht, every title deed, every currency reserve, every magnificent house currently touring TikTok and every luxury vehicle whose door is being opened in slow motion. Gather everything and put it on one side of the scale, then put one human soul on the other. Christ says you still made a loss. I know of no more devastating financial analysis in all literature.
Scripture then supplies case studies for anyone requiring supporting documentation. Esau exchanged his birthright for one meal (Genesis 25:29-34; Hebrews 12:16-17). Achan saw silver, gold and a beautiful Babylonian garment, coveted them, stole them and concealed them beneath his tent, only to discover that assets hidden underground may eventually become exhibits in court (Joshua 7:20-26). Gehazi pursued Naaman for silver and garments after Elisha had refused payment, obtained precisely what he wanted and returned carrying Naaman's leprosy as an unsolicited bonus (2 Kings 5:20-27). Judas asked perhaps the coldest procurement question in Scripture: "What will ye give me, and I will deliver him unto you?" They contracted at thirty pieces of silver (Matthew 26:15), but shortly afterwards the money became unbearable in his hands and he threw it into the temple (Matthew 27:3-5). Scripture has therefore conducted the longitudinal study across different centuries, participants, currencies, asset classes and temptations, and the finding remains remarkably stable: whenever profit requires rebellion against God, apparent gain eventually reveals itself as catastrophic loss.
Yet Christianity does not merely tell me what money cannot do. It teaches me what money is, where legitimate wealth comes from, how it should be acquired and how it should be held. Work is honourable. "The hand of the diligent maketh rich" (Proverbs 10:4). "Seest thou a man diligent in his business? he shall stand before kings" (Proverbs 22:29). Deuteronomy 8:18 says, "thou shalt remember the LORD thy God: for it is he that giveth thee power to get wealth." Wealth may arise legitimately from labour, skill, enterprise, investment, inheritance, innovation, stewardship and providence. Christianity does not require me to apologise because the work of my hands prospers. But Deuteronomy immediately understands prosperity's danger: when "thy silver and thy gold is multiplied," beware lest "thine heart be lifted up, and thou forget the LORD thy God" (Deuteronomy 8:13-14). Scripture therefore has a theology for lack and a theology for abundance.
Paul knew both. "I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound," he writes. "Every where and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need" (Philippians 4:12). Then comes the famous verse so often detached from this context: "I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me" (Philippians 4:13). Paul's Christianity survived both an empty pocket and a full one. That is maturity. The Christian who can follow God only while his bank balance rises has not yet demonstrated that Christ is his treasure, while the Christian who believes poverty itself proves holiness has equally misunderstood Scripture. Paul therefore does not instruct Timothy to command rich believers to dispose of everything and become poor. Instead he says, "Charge them that are rich in this world, that they be not highminded, nor trust in uncertain riches, but in the living God" (1 Timothy 6:17), and then commands them to "do good," to be "rich in good works, ready to distribute, willing to communicate" (1 Timothy 6:18).
There is biblical prosperity: have money, but do not let money have you; own property, but do not let property own your conscience; drive the vehicle, but never allow the vehicle to drive your theology; build the mansion, but remember that "except the LORD build the house, they labour in vain that build it" (Psalm 127:1); increase your income, but never decrease your integrity to accomplish it. And if money ever requires you to bow before paying you, remain gloriously broke rather than magnificently enslaved. Moses understood this valuation when he chose "rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season," esteeming "the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures in Egypt" because "he had respect unto the recompence of the reward" (Hebrews 11:25-26). Moses looked at Pharaoh's treasury and apparently concluded that the pension package was inadequate. Eternity had altered his arithmetic.
And this brings me to what I regard as the magnificent counter-proposition of the gospel, and indeed the true legitimacy upon which the Christian may speak of riches at all. I do not need to envy anybody's mysterious wealth, negotiate with another altar or go shopping for another spiritual master because my claim to riches does not begin in a lodge, a secret covenant, an occult initiation or the promises of Mammon. It begins at the cross and rests upon the grace of Jesus Christ. Paul states it in language so astonishing that we should resist every temptation to weaken it: "For ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, that ye through his poverty might be rich" (2 Corinthians 8:9). There is my legitimate title. There is the covenantal foundation upon which I stand. There is the transaction I am not ashamed to proclaim. Christ was rich. Christ became poor. He did so "for your sakes." And the declared redemptive purpose was "that ye through his poverty might be rich." Whatever dimensions of those riches we proceed to examine across the whole counsel of Scripture, whether spiritual inheritance, divine provision, sufficiency, fruitfulness, stewardship or material increase as God entrusts it, their legitimacy for the believer begins in Christ and remains subordinate to Christ. I therefore do not have to apologise for believing that God may prosper the work of my hands, because the same Scripture that warns me against covetousness tells me that it is God who gives "power to get wealth" (Deuteronomy 8:18); the same Bible that warns against trusting riches tells me that "the blessing of the LORD, it maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow with it" (Proverbs 10:22); and the same apostle who warns that the love of money is the root of all evil declares, "My God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus" (Philippians 4:19). The issue, therefore, is not whether riches may legitimately enter the life of a believer. The decisive questions are their source, their means, their mastery and their purpose. If Christ became poor that through His poverty I might be rich, why should I abandon Christ in order to become rich? The proposition collapses under the weight of its own absurdity.
I therefore refuse the suggestion that following Jesus Christ is some unfortunate financial error from which another spiritual master must rescue me. I do not serve a bankrupt Father. "The earth is the LORD'S, and the fulness thereof" (Psalm 24:1). "The silver is mine, and the gold is mine" (Haggai 2:8). "Both riches and honour come of thee" (1 Chronicles 29:12). I am "accepted in the beloved" (Ephesians 1:6), have "obtained an inheritance" (Ephesians 1:11), am an heir of God and joint-heir with Christ (Romans 8:17), have been blessed "with all spiritual blessings in heavenly places in Christ" (Ephesians 1:3), and possess an inheritance "incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away" (1 Peter 1:4). I belong to the Christ in whom "are hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge" (Colossians 2:3), and Paul reaches the almost breathtaking declaration that "all things are yours; And ye are Christ's; and Christ is God's" (1 Corinthians 3:21-23). Why, then, should an heir abandon his Father's house because somebody outside is jingling car keys? Why should somebody seated "in heavenly places in Christ Jesus" (Ephesians 2:6) become spiritually disoriented by somebody else's leather seats? And why should one for whom Christ Himself became poor in order that he might become rich conclude, upon seeing another man's Rolls-Royce, that perhaps Jesus Christ was the wrong economic decision? No. The Christian's answer to the glitter of ungodly riches is not that riches are evil. It is that we refuse to seek from darkness what redemption has already legitimately located for us in Christ.
And here, finally, the two competing economic gospels stand naked beside each other. Satan says, "All these things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me" (Matthew 4:9). Jesus says, "Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you" (Matthew 6:33). "All these things" appears in both propositions, but what radically different kingdoms they reveal. One says bow and receive things; the other says seek God and trust your Father for things. One converts possessions into the price of worship; the other restores possessions to their proper position beneath worship. One asks you to exchange allegiance for provision; the other reminds you that "your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things" (Matthew 6:32). One begins with things and ends at an altar; the other begins at the altar and puts things in their proper place. That, ultimately, is the collision at the centre of this entire spectacle.
Therefore let the TikTok videos roll, let the engines roar, let the gates of magnificent compounds swing majestically open, let the currency bundles cover the tables, let the watches glitter and let the cameras pan lovingly across the upholstery. Let whoever wishes announce whatever spiritual allegiance he pleases, let crusades be advertised and testimonies be given, but let every extraordinary factual claim also be subjected to extraordinary scrutiny, because Christianity gives me no licence to surrender my brain merely because somebody mentions the supernatural. And yes, let university lecturers continue demanding the legitimate fruit of their labour. There is nothing ungodly about asking to be paid. "The labourer is worthy of his reward" (1 Timothy 5:18). Abraham was rich, Isaac prospered and Job prospered. Scripture does not canonise financial misery.
But in the middle of an economically bruised society, where lecturers negotiate CBAs, workers wait for salaries, graduates search for jobs, businesses wrestle with cash flow, parents calculate school fees and young people wonder whether honest labour will ever permit them to breathe, let us recognise just how seductive the spectacle of apparently instantaneous wealth can become. The temptation is powerful precisely because the need is real, but need does not sanctify every solution. Hunger did not turn stones into bread merely because Satan suggested it to Christ (Matthew 4:3-4), and financial frustration cannot turn darkness into light merely because darkness arrives driving a beautiful car.
So I watched the videos, listened to the testimonies, saw the vehicles, toured the mansions through my screen, heard the boasts, contemplated the supposed breakfasts, lunches and dinners and listened to the astonishing claims of financial transformation. After all that digital sightseeing, however, I returned to one ancient question that no TikTok video, mansion, bank balance, presidential acquaintance or motor vehicle can answer away: "For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?" (Mark 8:36). The whole world, not merely a mansion, not merely a Rolls-Royce, not merely millions, but the whole world, and Christ says the soul is still worth more.
So let the whole world glitter. Let Babylon display her merchandise, let Egypt exhibit her treasures, let the tempter unveil his kingdoms and let every screen flash its carefully curated glory. Let the Sirens sing until the sea itself seems musical. I will work, build, teach, practise my profession, invest and prosper as God enables me. I will receive legitimate increase with thanksgiving. I will refuse envy and covetousness. I will refuse to confuse poverty with holiness, but I will equally refuse to confuse riches with righteousness. I will remember Christ's warning that "a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth" (Luke 12:15). I will remember that the melody may be beautiful while the rocks remain deadly. And if the entire glory of this world should ever arrive carrying a contract whose consideration is my conscience, my worship, my obedience to God or my soul, I will not even negotiate the valuation.
For sometimes the most expensive thing a man ever buys is money. Sometimes the person displaying everything has lost something the camera cannot show. Sometimes the man apparently laughing all the way to the bank is simply travelling magnificently in the wrong direction. And whenever the glittering proposition finally reaches those ancient words, "All these things will I give thee, if...", I pray for enough spiritual sobriety to stop staring at "all these things" and immediately investigate what comes after the "if." Yet should the melody ever become dangerously beautiful, I know where to run. I have a High Priest who was "in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin" (Hebrews 4:15), One who is "able to succour them that are tempted" (Hebrews 2:18), and before whose throne I may obtain "mercy, and find grace to help in time of need" (Hebrews 4:16). The Sirens may sing, the kingdoms may glitter, the cars may roar, the currency may pile high and the whole world may be placed upon the table, but the glory is not worth the bow, the money is not worth the master, the melody is not worth the shipwreck, the world is not worth the soul, and Jesus Christ is worth infinitely more than them all.
Wow wow this piece is comprehensive & eye opening on riches, wealth & eternity matters. Keep on the good work brother Erastus Kayani.