When Toke Makinwa recently revealed on her podcast Toke Moments that she no longer pays tithe to the church, it struck a nerve. Not because it is entirely new. But because she said it out loud.
For many Christians, especially in Nigeria, tithing is not just a spiritual practice. It is a deeply ingrained obligation. Ten percent of your income belongs to God. And in practical terms, that often means ten percent goes to your church.
Toke’s position challenges that structure.
She explained that she still gives offerings and supports church activities, but she has stopped the fixed monthly tithe. Instead, she prefers to channel that money directly to people in need. Hospitals. Widows. Individuals struggling with rent or medical bills. Real faces. Real emergencies.
Her reasoning is simple. In her view, many churches are financially comfortable, even wealthy. If that is the case, she argues, why not redirect resources to people whose needs are immediate and visible?
Whether you agree with her or not, the discomfort around this conversation is revealing.
Tithing, traditionally rooted in biblical teachings, was designed as a system to sustain the temple and support religious leaders. In modern times, churches have evolved into institutions with buildings, staff, media arms and in some cases, vast assets. The question that quietly lingers for many believers is this: at what point does giving to God become funding an institution?
Toke also questioned leadership patterns in some ministries, where succession often remains within a founder’s family. That observation touches on a broader concern about structure, transparency and accountability in certain religious organisations.
It is important to say this clearly: many churches do incredible work. They run schools, hospitals, outreach programmes and feeding initiatives. They provide community, guidance and hope. Tithing, for millions of people, is an act of faith and obedience, not financial analysis.
But faith and questioning can coexist.
Toke’s decision appears less like rebellion and more like a personal redefinition of stewardship. She is not rejecting giving. She is redefining where her giving goes. In her words, how can she claim to love God while ignoring someone directly in front of her who cannot pay rent or hospital bills?
That perspective resonates in a country where poverty is visible and urgent. In Nigeria’s current economic climate, the gap between institutional wealth and individual struggle can feel stark. When people see extravagant church buildings alongside struggling congregants, questions naturally arise.
The deeper issue here is not whether tithing is right or wrong. It is about intention, impact and accountability.
Is giving about fulfilling a rule, or meeting a need?
Is obedience measured by percentage, or by compassion?
Does God require structure, or sincerity?
For some, the answer remains unchanged. They will continue to tithe faithfully to their churches, trusting the system and its leadership. For others, like Toke, giving has become more direct and personal.
Her stance forces an uncomfortable but necessary reflection. In a generation that increasingly demands transparency from governments and corporations, it is not surprising that religious institutions are also being examined.
At its core, this is not a story about rebellion against faith. It is about how faith is expressed.
Toke Makinwa’s choice may not redefine doctrine. But it does reflect a broader shift among young Christians who are asking harder questions about money, power and purpose in the church.
And perhaps that is not a threat to faith. Perhaps it is faith maturing.