🌿 Papa, Mama… But What Do We Mean?

Nairobi’s air was thick with worship during the week of 31 August to 4 September. Yet somewhere between the messages, the music and the many voices, I found myself returning to a question I had tucked away years ago: 

What exactly do we mean when we call someone “Mama” or “Papa” in the Church? It was an old muse, but the Feast simply stirred it awake.

I have noticed a particular kind of authority today that calls itself family but functions like a fiefdom. It borrows the language of Scripture: father, mother, son, daughter, but strips out the very things that made those relationships honorable: time, transparency, accountability, freedom, etc. Since I process well through the written word, I am putting my thoughts and convictions in writing.

Is discipleship and "spiritual parenthood" the same thing? Has the church let the second masquerade as the first?

 

1.  Discipleship Isn't Optional; It's the Assignment

Before I say anything about titles, let me say this plainly: we need mentors, and we are called to mentor others. This is not the extra-credit portion of the Christian life. Scripture calls mentorship discipleship. Matthew 28:19–20

"Go and make disciples of all nations… teaching them to obey everything I have commanded. “

•  Paul hands the baton to Timothy, who is to hand it to "faithful men who will be qualified to teach others also" (2 Timothy 2:2).
•   Moses poured forty years into Joshua.
• ­  Naomi shaped Ruth into a woman who would be named in Jesus's own genealogy.
• ­ Barnabas took a chance on a young, unproven, formerly persecuting Paul (Acts 9:27) before Paul ever mentored anyone else. 

Perhaps, in contemporary language, what Scripture describes through these relationships is what we would today call mentorship

2.  The Relationship Was Never Instant

ª  Paul did not meet Timothy on a Tuesday and call him “my true son” by Friday. 😏.  

Their relationship was forged over time. Timothy joined Paul in ministry, travelled with him, served alongside him, and endured the demands of the Gospel. Paul knew his character and had witnessed his growth before writing: “Unto Timothy, my own son in the faith…”  1 Timothy 1:2

The word Paul uses for Timothy is the Greek teknon—“child”—a relational word that conveys affection, formation, and belonging. Paul is describing a relationship that has been shaped by his investment in the Gospel, not conferring a rank or ecclesiastical title.

And this distinction matters. 

Paul does, in fact, describe himself as a spiritual father to the Corinthians: “I have begotten you through the gospel” (1 Corinthians 4:15). But notice the context: he is describing his role in bringing them to faith and discipling them, not establishing “father” as the influence through which he acquires control over their lives.

When Paul gives instructions about how the Church should function, he speaks instead of elders, overseers, deacons, teachers, and shepherds (1 Timothy 3; Titus 1; Ephesians 4:11–12). He does not establish a formal church hierarchy of spiritual fathers over spiritual children.

For me, the distinction is important because Paul uses fatherhood language to describe a discipleship relationship.

ª  Elisha's story is even more physical. He wasn't called with a title; he was called with a cloak thrown over his shoulders while he was still plowing (1 Kings 19:19). 

Then came years of quietly serving Elijah (2 Kings 3:11), unglamorous, faithful, unseen service, and it was long before he ever cried out, "my father, my father!" as Elijah was carried up to heaven (2 Kings 2:12). 

Notice, too: he never called him that while receiving instructions, but it surfaced as grief, not as a form of daily address used to secure obedience

3.  Same-Sex, Same-Season, Fully Visible

• Notice, too, who disciples whom…..
• ­Paul poured into Timothy and Titus, men.
• ­Elijah poured into Elisha, a man.
• And when Paul writes to Titus about the women in the church, he doesn't ask for a "mother in Israel" to gather daughters unto herself. He asks for something far more ordinary, and far safer: Titus 2:3–5 "…older women… train the younger women to love their husbands and children." 

Men discipling men. Women discipling women. Not as a rigid biblical rule, but as a wise and intentional safeguard. 

I believe that Scripture gives us this pattern in Titus 2, where older women are instructed to teach younger women, and in 1 Timothy 5:2, where Timothy is told to treat younger women “as sisters, with all purity.” When intimacy and authority become blurred, the language of “Mama” and “Papa” can sometimes provide a family label for relationships that lack the transparency and accountability they require. 

4.  Honor That's Earned Shouldn't Wear the Costume of Honor That's Owed

"Honor your father and your mother" (Exodus 20:12) sits inside the Ten Commandments, and it's unconditional in a way almost nothing else in our faith is. A child doesn't get to withhold honor because a parent had a bad week. That honor is built into the relationship at creation (Genesis 2:24) — it isn't earned, and it can never be revoked.

In my few years as a believer, I have observed that abuse rarely looks like a wicked person seizing power by force. It looks like someone being granted a category of trust that quietly exempts them from ordinary questions, and a title does that work beautifully. Once someone is "Papa," asking them where is mummy, or where did the money go? or why is there no oversight, sounds like betrayal. 

But surely honour does not mean the absence of questions. Even as adult children, we question our earthly parents, respectfully, lovingly and honestly. 😏 How much more should spiritual relationships make room for truth, transparency and accountability?

Jesus saw this coming and named it directly, aimed at religious leaders who had built entire systems of deference around themselves (Matthew 23:5–7). He was not undoing Paul's warmer, later use of "son.", but He was forbidding the version where the title is used as leverage.

"Do not call anyone on earth your father, for you have one Father, and he is in heaven." 

 

5.  In Closing

1.  Let us honor our spiritual leaders. But, like the Bereans, let us also keep our Bibles open. Respect and accountability are not enemies. 

2. Church leaders, please do not demand the honour of a parent while resisting the accountability that comes with spiritual leadership. Paul could say, “Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ” (1 Corinthians 11:1) because his teaching and conduct were not beyond examination. He invited scrutiny, welcomed correction, and consistently pointed people beyond himself to Christ. If we ask people to follow our example, we must be willing for our example to be examined. Spiritual authority should never be a shield from accountability. It should make us even more willing to live transparently. 

3. Mentor generously. Be mentored humbly. Call it discipleship. Call them pastors, teachers, disciplers, shepherds. Scripture already gave us the words.

Lots of Love,

Shikoh 💕

Dear God, I Ordered for Jericho, Not River Jordan

I have received feedback about my last post, which tells me at least some of you are reading carefully 😊. Do not worry. The details of the Asherahs, the Baals, the memorial stones, and yes, even the mysterious “things in the fire,” are still coming. This season has layers. We are not done.

But before we tear down ancient idols and light metaphorical fires, allow me to tell you how my attempt at a profound family devotion was dramatically derailed by a small, confident human being who believes spiritual warfare requires immediate access to a sword.

I asked my children, quite innocently, “Do you know what a battle is?” Without hesitation, our resident extrovert stood up and declared, “A battle is when you need swords to fight Amorites and Canaanites and Girgashites. Mummy, I need a sword because I know some Amalekites.” I paused. Needless to say, the devotion pivoted, and we abandoned live theology and enlisted the Good News Guys on YouTube for animated assistance, the Battle of Jericho. Somewhere between animated priests and collapsing walls, I realized that to my children, battles are cinematic, with plastic swords and dramatic shouting, with the walls of Jericho collapsing on cue. But to us adults with responsibilities, battles look very different. They are quieter. They are fought in prayer or in conversations. They sit inside difficult decisions. They stare at you in a hospital bed. They are often fought at the edge of rivers that look far too wild to cross.

My children are ready for Jericho. Trumpets. Walls. Drama. But God often starts with the Jordan......

By the time we arrive at Joshua 3, Moses is no longer in the picture. The voice that unsettled Pharaoh. The staff that stretched over the Red Sea. The steady presence they had leaned on for decades. Gone. The leader they trusted. Grief was in the camp, and yet movement was required. God had already spoken. “I have given you the land.” The spies had walked through Jericho and had seen the fear in the city. The promise was not vague; it was vivid, tangible, and within reach. But, between the promise and possession was a river at its worst. It was springtime, and snow from Mount Hermon was melting. The Jordan was swollen, loud, overflowing its banks. It was a raging and unapologetic flood, yet God placed them there deliberately. He led a grieving people, carrying fresh loss and fragile faith, and parked them right in front of something that looked impossible.

 

I wrestle with this. Why does a good God show us Jericho, the promotion, the expansion, the answered prayer, the breakthrough we’ve been journaling about for 7 years, and then say, “Great. Now camp right here… in front of this impossible situation”? Why give us destiny in 4K resolution and then buffer the loading screen? Why call so clearly, speak so loudly, confirm it through sermons, random aunties, and three different Scriptures… and then lead us straight to what feels like a foggy, dead end with a roaring river?

And here is the part of the Christian walk I struggle with: I do not want my body “wasting away outwardly” like Paul described, I would very much prefer abs, biceps, quads, good lighting, and excellent makeup while still gaining inwardly, thank you very much. If we are being honest, I want visible flourishing and invisible depth at the same time. I want a soft life on this side of eternity — and in the real eternity too. Boarding passes, not wilderness treks. Cruise ships, not flood-stage rivers. Celebration dinners, not tables prepared in the presence of enemies. I want comfort. I want ease. I want the blessings in Deuteronomy 28 without the refining that so often precedes them. I know suffering is part of the Christian faith; I simply do not volunteer for it enthusiastically. Yet Scripture stubbornly refuses to cooperate with my soft-life theology, and I, mostly, stubbornly submit.

God is more committed to formation than comfort. More invested in depth than ease. More concerned with who we are becoming than how smooth the journey feels. And that tension? That’s where the real battle lives. If this is your camping season, camp well. The Jordan will not sweep you away. When Israel stopped at its banks, after days of trekking from Shittim, dusty and probably exhausted, God spoke. He gave instructions. He reassured them of His presence. He told them exactly what would happen to the river. He did not leave them guessing, and the camping place became a place of clarity.
It became a space for recalibration, for intimacy, for courage to be rebuilt. It was not punishment, but it was preparation. It was not abandonment, but alignment. Sometimes, the bank of the Jordan is where God slows us down long enough to remind us who He is. It is where striving softens into listening. Where anxiety is interrupted by assurance. Where He whispers, “I am still with you. And this will not end the way you fear.” 

Until next time, please take heart because this is not where the story stalls; it is where faith grows roots. And when it is time to step, because that time will come, may you move with quiet courage. May you remember that grace meets you in the water, and promise is waiting on the other side.

And no, you probably will not need a sword!!!!

 

It is a Bit Hot in Here

“For our God is a consuming fire.” Hebrews 12:29

In 2025, I heard God. Not with thunder or angels or dramatic signs, just a loud but grounded conviction that settled into my spirit and refused to leave. It did not shout, it stayed. So I fasted. And I told my husband we were fasting too, because this kind of leading needed witnesses. It needed Gideon-level confirmation, dry wool drenched and drenched wool dried. No confusion. No emotional hype. No maybe it is just me. I needed to know this was God, not ambition, not adrenaline, not imagination. When the confirmation came, steady, quiet and undeniable, I obeyed. Afraid. Peaceful. Excited. Terrified. All at once.

Fast forward to February 2026, and obedience did not deliver me to Goshen with milk and honey and the soft life. Weuh, it has escorted me and my few goats straight to Midian. Full desert mode, burning bush vibes, character development fully activated. God pulled a proper Moses on me, He removed the palace comfort, handed me red Umoja pati pati, and asked that I flip flop. In this heat filled walk, I have no shadow of doubt that God is a consuming fire, I now know that He first takes us into furnaces heated seven times and not candlelight dinners, He takes us into blazing fires, and His fire is intense, Mt. Carmel like. He has been consuming my bulls and Baal, my Prophets, my Altar stones, aka as my plans and my timelines and my spiteful little intellect and everything that has unknowingly pointed to self. I still smell like smoke, a bit charred, but I will be out soon. Everything has met the refiner’s heat, at the family level, He has been exposing and burning the sneaky Asherahs, the subtle patterns and cycles that we did not notice until God says, “Hiyo pia.”

Some days I am God fearing and demon chasing and faith filled and steady and surrendered, but on other days I am like Jonah, bald headed on a hot day under a leaf because the weight of being reshaped is not light work. The good thing is that I can tell that purification is happening.

I find peace in Malachi where scripture says God sits as a refiner of silver and does not throw the silver into the fire and walk away. He sits, He watches, He remains close because the purpose of the fire is not destruction but purification. So I have confidence in knowing that God is not burning down my life, He is burning away what cannot go where He is taking me. 

I don’t have a polished testimony yet, but I can sense that something is being formed in me that comfort could never produce.

If you are in a similar place where obedience feels both peaceful and painful, I want to encourage you that the fire does not mean you missed God. The Refiner is still seated, and He has not stepped away. He is making us more like Himself, and that is always worth it.