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Recently, Bishop Dag Heward-Mills made a striking comment to the effect that musicians who have been groomed as sons within the Church should not charge or feel entitled to a salary for ministering in the Church. While this might stem from a spiritual perspective of service, humility, and sacrifice, I humbly disagree with this approach. It may sound noble in theology, but in practice, it places an unfair and unsustainable burden on the shoulders of those offering their gifts to the Church.
These are not just instruments; these are livelihoods. These are not just melodies; they are years of training, time, sweat, and skill. When we blur the lines between ministry and labour, without properly valuing both, we risk breeding resentment, burnout, and hidden suffering among those who serve. And worse, we embed into our systems a distorted view that spiritual loyalty must come with economic silence.
The issue here is not whether someone should give their gift freely. Many do—and gladly. The issue is whether the leaders, the “fathers,” should require that sacrifice without offering anything in return. A true father, spiritual or otherwise, does not hesitate to honour the gift of his son. He pays it joyfully—not because he’s compelled, but because he understands the worth. He sees the value and gives without being begged. Not because the son asked, but because the father knows.
And this isn’t limited to musicians or churches. There is a broader societal issue at play. Not long ago, Dr. Mensa Otabil spoke about the disconnect between the rich and poor in the Church. He acknowledged the growing division, but I believe he missed an important piece of advice to his rich congregants: the burden of bridging that divide does not lie only on the poor. It lies on the rich too and even more so. Yet too often, especially in Ghana or more broadly in the “black mindset”, the wealthy are seen as under no obligation. If they give, it’s applauded. If they don’t, it’s excused. Giving is framed as generosity, not responsibility.
This cultural mindset allows a dangerous narrative to take root. Whenever a less privileged person speaks up or seeks fair compensation, they’re quickly labeled as entitled, ungrateful, or opportunistic. But here’s the question: why is it controversial to expect those who benefit from the labour, talent, or service of others to compensate that labour fairly?
There was a time in Ghana—and it wasn’t that long ago—when businesses, and even churches, made provisions for their workers. Employers would offer basic accommodation, provide means of transport, and ensure a decent living wage. These weren’t luxuries—they were acknowledgments of the dignity of work. Today, this care has all but disappeared. Unless you’re a highly educated professional, most businesses won’t even blink twice before expecting you to survive with the barest minimum. In cities like Accra, where rent alone can swallow your entire salary, people are literally performing daily miracles just to live.
That said, a friend recently offered a different perspective that deserves attention. He argued that when the Church has already invested in nurturing and training a person—like a musician—it feels uncomfortable for that same person to then expect payment for serving the Church. From this angle, it’s not about exploitation but about the mutuality of love, sacrifice, and growth. After all, wasn’t the initial training given freely? Shouldn’t the response also be one of service?
This is a valid concern. Gratitude matters. And giving back to the very institution that helped raise you should never feel transactional. But even within that relationship, we must be careful not to place permanent expectations of sacrifice on those who have grown and now offer consistent, valuable service. Especially when their labour becomes central to the functioning or experience of the Church.
So when we talk about “entitlement,” let’s pause. Let’s reframe the discussion. It is not only about what people expect to receive—it is also about what the powerful, the rich, the spiritual leaders, and employers refuse to give. This is not just a church problem. It’s a mindset problem. A cultural failure. A moral gap.
Church fathers, community leaders, and business owners should lead by example—not just in preaching sacrifice, but in practicing fairness. If a church member is good enough to serve, then they’re good enough to be honoured. If a musician can draw a crowd, then they are adding value—and value must be acknowledged. We must move away from the glorification of unpaid excellence and instead embrace a culture that rewards service, not just praises it.
And yes, let’s talk about the elephant in the room: the reputation of Ghanaian rich people as stingy. It’s not just gossip. It reflects lived realities. The weddings with unpaid service providers, the businesses that delay salaries for months, the churches that take but never give back. We must shift this narrative—not with PR campaigns, but with action. Let generosity be driven by understanding, not ego. Let giving be an act of justice, not a photo op.
In the end, this is not simply a financial conversation. It’s a moral one. It’s about how we treat each other. It’s about systems that honour value, reward labour, and create dignity. Because when we refuse to pay people what they’re worth, we’re not just being frugal—we’re being unjust.
And justice, like worship, is sacred.
