David Abioye retirement from Living Faith Church sparks debate over leadership, succession and ministry transition in Nigerian Pentecostalism
Kayode Adebiyi
There are some stories that just can’t be contained within the walls of a church. They seep into public discussions, not because people are hunting for scandal, but because they resonate deeply.
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The recent development surrounding Bishop David Abioye and Bishop David Oyedepo have become one of such stories.
This is not an attempt to tear or run anyone down. Far from it. As a christian and one raised in the church vineyard, respect for those called into ministry is a guiding principle.
Both men have dedicated themselves tirelessly to their ministry. However, when situations arise that prompt tough questions—especially within the Christian community—it’s important to approach them with care and honesty.
David Abioye’s journey into ministry did not begin with ambition for the pulpit. Back in the 1980s, as a young lecturer at the Polytechnic, he had his sights set on launching a tech company to boost his income.
But everything changed when he met David Oyedepo at a Christian Student Fellowship meeting.
That encounter changed the trajectory of his life. He abandoned business aspirations and embraced full-time ministry.
When Oyedepo relocated from Kaduna to Lagos, Abioye took on the role of Resident Pastor at the Garden of Faith in Kaduna, which was then the national headquarters of the ministry. In 1993, he was consecrated as a bishop.
Over the years, he served in various locations, including Kaduna, Durumi, and later Goshen in Abuja, eventually becoming the first Vice President of Living Faith Church Worldwide.
For nearly forty years, he stood by his leader’s side. Many pastors refer to him as the quiet stabilizer, and even members of Oyedepo’s family have publicly recognized the fatherly role he played during their early years in ministry.
On October 18, 2024, a valedictory service was held to celebrate his retirement at the age of 60, in accordance with the church’s constitution and rule for pastors.
There was no scandal leading up to this moment. No doctrinal disputes were mentioned. It was simply presented as a routine transition.
Bishop David Oyedepo’s own journey is equally remarkable.
After his conversion on February 19, 1969, he recounts receiving a liberation mandate during an 18-hour vision in May 1981.
From humble beginnings in Ilorin, through Kaduna and Iyana Ipaja, the ministry blossomed into a global movement based in Ota, Ogun State.
He founded Covenant University and Landmark University, authored over a hundred books, and is widely regarded as one of Africa’s most influential Pentecostal leaders.
It’s hard to argue against the impact he’s had. But even as we celebrate that impact, Christians are reminded that “the best of men are still men, even at their very best.”
Living Faith Church has a retirement policy that requires pastors to step down at 60, which was applied to Bishop Abioye and another senior bishop leading the Ibadan parish.
Interestingly, this rule doesn’t seem to apply to the founder, who is over 70.
Is that inherently wrong? Not really. Many ministries allow their founders to lead for life, and in Pentecostal circles, it’s not unusual for leadership to pass down to a biological son.
There’s a clear acknowledgment that Pastor David Oyedepo Jr. is being groomed for greater responsibilities. If he’s truly called and ready, most people would not have a problem with that.
The real question is not whether family succession is bad; it’s about how loyalty and institutional rules are interpreted when they impact different people in different ways.
Scripture warns believers against favouritism. James 2:1 advises, “Have not the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ… with respect of persons.” This message was directed at everyday Christians, not just secular organizations.
After Retirement, Then What?
What has left many observers feeling uneasy is what transpired after the retirement.
Bishop Abioye started holding fellowship meetings that drew in many who had long appreciated his pastoral gifts.
There were reports that his books were pulled from Living Faith Ministry church outlets, and he was allegedly declared persona non grata at the Ota headquarters, barred from attending Shiloh, the annual convention where he once served and sat as Vice President.
A memo reportedly advised branches worldwide to distance themselves from him. Some spiritual sons were allegedly warned that association with him could strain their access to the spiritual father.
If these accounts are accurate, the obvious question is why.
Was he accused of false doctrine?
Did he publicly attack the ministry?
Did he reject his spiritual heritage?
Publicly, he has remained respectful, often referring to Oyedepo as “my father in the Lord.” There has been no visible campaign of bitterness from his side.
For many Christians, this creates emotional dissonance. If a man serves faithfully for forty years and is retired according to policy, what is he expected to do next? Retire from ministry entirely, even if he still feels called to shepherd people?
Jeremiah spoke of God’s word as “a burning fire shut up in my bones” (Jeremiah 20:9). Can a calling simply be switched off because a position has ended?
Yet, as we question the system, should we also take a moment to reflect on Abioye’s choices? Could his remarkable loyalty have extended a season that might have turned out differently? For four decades, he remained steadfast. He never stepped away at the peak of his influence.
Was that simply obedience, or did his long tenure quietly create a situation where his worth was only recognized in the shadow of another? In human dynamics, being constantly available can often be mistaken for being permanent.
Even Jesus “did not commit Himself unto them, because He knew all men” (John 2:24). Is there a valuable lesson here about finding the right balance between loyalty and understanding our true calling and when to take a walk?
There has been a debate among Christians about whether we are truly serving God or just the platforms we’ve been given.
And you know what? There’s some truth to that. Colossians 3:23 instructs believers to work as unto the Lord and not unto men.
But let’s not forget that the Bible also shows us times when separation wasn’t about rebellion but redirection. Take Paul and Barnabas, for instance.
They had a sharp disagreement in Acts 15, yet both continued to spread the Gospel, and it actually reached even more people. Their split was tough, but it wasn’t seen as heresy.
Today’s Church is grappling with this very tension. When does loyalty turn into silence? At what point does obedience to a structure conflict with obedience to personal conviction about one’s calling?
These are not just rebellious questions; they are questions of conscience.
Looking beyond the individuals, there’s a bigger issue at play in Nigerian Pentecostalism. There’s a noticeable culture where founders hold immense moral and spiritual power.
In some circles, senior ministers even talk about cursing their spiritual sons if they disagree.
Certainly, there are rebellious protégés and ungrateful followers, but the fear of being cut off or labelled disloyal often stifles open conversations.
Paul had a word for the Corinthian church about this very thing, warning them against dividing themselves based on who they followed.
“Who then is Paul, and who is Apollos, but ministers by whom ye believed?” (1 Corinthians 3:5). The early church was cautioned against building their faith around human figures.
When being associated with a retired bishop could put your standing with another leader at risk, it makes you wonder if the culture we are seeing is more about spiritual fatherhood or just institutional control.
Recently, during the inaugural service of Bishop Abioye’s Conquerors Global Assembly, many felt a mix of emotions.
There was joy for a new beginning, but also sadness over the fracture that seemed to lead up to it.
For those who have followed Bishop Abioye’s ministry since the 1990s, it was a moment that felt deeply human.
This is not just a corporate shake-up. These are men who have prayed, built, traveled, and stood together in front of congregations for decades.
In secular organizations, transitions can feel pretty cold. But the Church is meant to be different. Romans 12:10 encourages believers to outdo each other in showing honour.
So, when a long-serving deputy steps into a new season, shouldn’t the prevailing atmosphere be filled with blessings rather than the cloud of tension occasioned by all these avoidable issues?
The world outside doesn’t read internal memos; it observes patterns. It pays attention to how leaders treat those who have been closest to them.
It notices if rules are applied fairly and whether disagreements are handled with respect and dignity.
None of this takes away from the incredible work done through Living Faith Church Worldwide.
It doesn’t lessen the legacy of Bishop David Oyedepo, nor does it elevate David Abioye to a saintly status. They are both human and accountable to God.
1 Peter 4:17 reminds us that judgment starts in the house of God. But this judgment is not about condemnation; it’s about self-reflection and examination.
If a man has served faithfully for forty years and is then retired, is it unfair for him to continue preaching if he feels called by God? If he does so with respect, should that provoke hostility?
Perhaps the most profound question is this: can the Church model transitions that reflect both authority and tenderness, both structure and grace?
Because beyond the policies and platforms, there are real people. Pastors with feelings, congregants with questions, and young ministers figuring out what leadership truly means.
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And the credibility of the Gospel is always on the line.
Selah!
