An Open Letter to the Lords of the Megachurches

To the CEOs of God’s Corporate Kingdom,

Let’s not waste time with pleasantries, gentlemen (and the rare lady among you, though your business model rarely leaves room for those). You know who you are. You’re the ones standing on multimillion-dollar stages, under blinding lights, flanked by pyrotechnics and worship bands that look like they’re auditioning for Coachella. You’re the pastors who’ve traded pulpits for platforms and shepherd’s staffs for corporate budgets.

You are the stewards of your stadiums, the authors of your book deals, the faces on your streaming apps, and the leaders of a “faith” that looks suspiciously like a business empire. Let me ask you, how does it feel to kneel at the altar of quarterly earnings while invoking the name of a Savior who overturned the tables of the money changers?

Your churches are not houses of God; they’re monuments to greed. You’ve built empires out of tax-exempt donations, adorned with jumbo screens, luxury seating, and parking lots that rival amusement parks. All while the people you’re supposedly serving, the hungry, the homeless, the broken, are left to rot just outside your gilded gates.

And let’s talk about your sermons. Oh, how you love to preach on blessings, on prosperity, on the rewards of giving. Not giving to the poor, of course, that’s not scalable. No, you urge your flock to give to you: the shepherds of this dazzling, hollow kingdom. Give till it hurts, you say. Tithe faithfully, you say. And when the checks clear, you roll into the parking lot in your luxury SUVs, heading home to mansions far removed from the people you claim to lead.

Do you ever stop to wonder what Jesus would think of your operation? The man who was born in a barn, who had no place to lay His head, who dined with sinners and outcasts? Would He be impressed by your laser shows, your slick marketing campaigns, your million-dollar salaries? Would He applaud your investment portfolios and your sprawling campuses?

No, He wouldn’t. And you know it.

You’ve turned the Gospel into a product, and salvation into a sales pitch. You’ve traded humility for spectacle, service for self-promotion, and the cross for a brand logo. And you’ve done it all in the name of Jesus, the man who warned us about false prophets and wolves in sheep’s clothing. Do you not see the irony? Or are you too busy counting your royalties to care?

Your ministries aren’t ministries; they’re scams. Your churches aren’t churches; they’re corporations. And your faith isn’t faith; it’s theater. And the worst part? You’ve convinced millions of people that this is what Christianity looks like. You’ve turned the Bride of Christ into a sideshow, a gaudy, grotesque parody of what it was meant to be.

The world doesn’t need more megachurches. We don’t need bigger buildings, flashier productions, or more best-selling books. We need mega-food-kitchens. Mega-homeless shelters. Mega-outreach programs that actually do the work of Christ instead of paying lip service to it.

So here’s my challenge to you, oh lords of the modern temple: Tear it all down. Sell your stadiums, your sound systems, your luxury cars, and your mansions. Take every dollar you’ve accumulated and use it to feed the hungry, house the homeless, and heal the broken. Walk away from the spotlight and get your hands dirty in the service of the least of these.

But let’s be honest, you won’t. Because that would mean giving up the power, the prestige, and the profit. And why would you do that when you can continue milking your flock, all while claiming that God has “blessed” you for your faithfulness?

The day will come when you have to answer for all of this. The day when you stand before the throne of the God you’ve spent your lives exploiting. And I hope, for your sake, that you’ve saved a piece of your fortune to buy His forgiveness. Because you’re going to need it.

In disgust,

R.L. Lawrence