The Gospel of Gold: Prosperity Theology and the Strange Metamorphosis of Jesus
- Shane Warren
- Sep 20
- 6 min read
“The metamorphosis of Jesus Christ from a servant of the abject poor to a symbol that stands for gun rights, prosperity theology, anti-science, limited government (that neglects the destitute) and fierce nationalism is truly the strangest transformation in human history.”— Rainn Wilson
There are few theological distortions as remarkable, and as dangerous, as the rise of prosperity theology. Rainn Wilson’s words land with force: how did a radical peasant from Galilee, who preached solidarity with the poor, end up rebranded as a cultural mascot for wealth, nationalism, and “God wants you to have a bigger house”?
This is not simply a matter of misinterpretation. It is the outcome of an intentional project: the commodification of faith. Religion has always had its institutional gatekeepers and political entanglements, but what we see in prosperity theology is different. Its theology rewritten to fit a neoliberal script, faith converted into transaction, devotion equated with profit margin. And in a society where politics, economics, and culture now bleed into one another, this hybrid has become one of the most volatile cocktails of our time.
The Historical Jesus: A Radical of the Margins
Strip away centuries of dogma and creeds, and the historical Jesus emerges not as a defender of empire but as its critic. His message was not about wealth, comfort, or private advancement; it was about justice, compassion, and solidarity. Gustavo Gutiérrez famously called this the “preferential option for the poor” not because the poor were morally superior, but because they were systemically abandoned.¹
The gospels place Jesus firmly on the side of outcasts. He dines with tax collectors, touches lepers, welcomes women into his circle, and elevates children as examples of the kingdom. As John Dominic Crossan argues, this was more than a spiritual posture; it was a social revolution.² The Sermon on the Mount, with its blessings for the meek and its warnings against storing treasures, was not a poetic meditation for Instagram quotes. It was an indictment of Roman economics and temple hierarchies.
The Jesus who overturned tables in the temple was confronting the exploitation of the poor in the name of religion. Fast forward two millennia, and we now see churches raising millions to install giant LED screens while preaching that poverty is a sign of weak faith. Somewhere along the line, the prophet of Galilee became the mascot of Goldman Sachs.
The Prosperity Gospel: Faith as Capital
Prosperity theology did not fall from heaven. It was crafted. Its roots stretch into early Pentecostalism, but it found its defining voice in the mid-20th century through Oral Roberts’ “seed faith” teaching and Kenneth Hagin’s “Word of Faith” movement.³ Their formula was simple: give generously to God’s work (usually their ministry), and God will bless you with financial abundance.
By the late 20th century, with televangelism exploding, the prosperity gospel had the perfect stage. Figures like Joel Osteen and Creflo Dollar could beam their sermons into millions of living rooms, promising that your financial breakthrough was just one prayer and one offering away. Kate Bowler’s research shows how this theology has become America’s most successful homegrown religious export, spreading across Africa, Asia, and Latin America; precisely where poverty is deepest.³
And therein lies the cruelty. The Jesus who said “sell what you own and give to the poor” (Matthew 19:21) is now invoked to justify pastors in private jets. The Christ who declared “you cannot serve both God and money” (Matthew 6:24) is preached as the ultimate wealth advisor. As Harvey Cox wryly observed, prosperity preachers have created “a new Pentecost, but this time the tongues of fire are made of gold.”⁴
Theology as Ideology: The Political Dimension
To dismiss prosperity theology as a fringe phenomenon is to miss its ideological weight. Max Weber’s analysis of the Protestant ethic explained how Calvinist ideas of vocation and discipline laid the groundwork for capitalism.⁵ Prosperity theology goes further: it does not just inspire capitalism, it sanctifies it.
By teaching that poverty is a result of insufficient faith, it transforms structural inequality into personal failure. By equating wealth with God’s blessing, it inoculates the rich from critique. And by weaving itself into nationalist rhetoric, it recasts Jesus not as the itinerant preacher who called all nations to justice, but as a tribal deity who guards borders and blesses armies.
Cornel West warns that the great danger of modern America is the commodification of everything - our labour, our culture, our relationships, even our democracy.⁶ Prosperity theology is the religious arm of this commodification. It sells hope like a subscription service. It convinces the poor that their breakthrough is always “just around the corner,” keeping them pacified and loyal to the very systems that profit from their suffering.
And it bleeds into politics. When megachurch pastors endorse candidates who promise tax breaks for the wealthy and cuts to welfare for the poor, we should not be surprised. The theology has already prepared the ground: if you are poor, it is your fault. If you are rich, you are blessed. The ballot box becomes a sacrament in service of inequality.
A Personal Confession: My Roots in Grassroots Spirituality
Part of why this critique is more than academic for me is that it clashes so directly with my own formation. With Catholicism on one side of my heritage and Judaism on the other, I was raised in traditions that, for all their flaws, insisted that faith was about responsibility, not reward.
Catholic social teaching elevates the dignity of the human person and the common good above profit margins. Jewish teaching insists on tikkun olam, the repair of the world, as a sacred duty. My experience of spirituality smelled of candle wax in chapels, soup simmering in kitchens for the homeless, and the sound of psalms sung in community halls.
No one told me God was my investment manager. They told me God was with the widow, the refugee, the child. They told me holiness was in collective struggle for justice, not in personal accumulation. And so, when I hear prosperity preachers reduce God to a cosmic ATM, I cannot help but see both the theological distortion and the human cost.
Violence, Rights, and the Illusion of Dignity
Here is where my work in resilience psychology intersects with theology. People cling to prosperity theology not only for wealth, but for dignity. In a world that constantly strips people of worth through inequality, racism, exclusion; the promise that you matter to God, that your faith guarantees your success, is profoundly seductive.
But anger always lurks beneath. Resilience research shows that anger emerges when people feel their rights or dignity are threatened.⁷ Prosperity theology channels this anger not toward systemic injustice, but inward. If you are still struggling, the fault is yours. You didn’t believe enough, pray enough, sow enough.
This is the cruellest twist. Prosperity theology promises dignity but delivers shame. It tells the struggling single mother that her faith is defective. It tells the jobless worker that his prayers weren’t strong enough. It tells communities ravaged by poverty that their suffering is a sign of divine disapproval. And it blinds people to the collective power of resistance.
Where Do We Go From Here?
If prosperity theology is a gospel of gold, we need a gospel of grit or, if you prefer, a shared ethic of justice. We need what Dorothee Sölle called “the silent cry” - the cry of the oppressed that demands our solidarity.⁸
The Jesus of history is not the one beaming from billboards beside prosperity preachers. He is the one who broke bread with outcasts, who declared peacemakers blessed, who was executed by the state for daring to envision a different world.
Faith was never meant to be a business plan. It was meant to be a compass. It does not guarantee us wealth, but it demands that we orient ourselves toward justice, compassion, and solidarity.
The Jesus of prosperity theology may sell books and cable subscriptions. But the Jesus of history? He still overturns tables.
References
Gustavo Gutiérrez, A Theology of Liberation (1971).
John Dominic Crossan, The Historical Jesus: The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (1991).
Kate Bowler, Blessed: A History of the American Prosperity Gospel (2013).
Harvey Cox, The Future of Faith (2009).
Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (1905).
Cornel West, Democracy Matters: Winning the Fight Against Imperialism (2004).
Shane J. Lopez & C.R. Snyder, Positive Psychology: The Scientific and Practical Explorations of Human Strengths(2009).
Dorothee Sölle, The Silent Cry: Mysticism and Resistance (2001).
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