At 75, Bishop Paul Morton Finally Warns Bishop Creflo Dollar: “The Gospel Is Not for Sale” – When Faith Meets Fortune, Who’s Really Profiting?

In a moment that sent shockwaves through pulpits nationwide, Bishop Paul S. Morton, at 75 years old, stepped onto the stage and delivered a blistering rebuke that many had been waiting for but few dared to voice.

Without hesitation, Morton declared, “The gospel is not for sale.”

His words cut through the noise of prosperity preaching like a knife, directly challenging the empire built by Bishop Creflo Dollar.

This was no casual disagreement or theological debate.

It was a public spiritual reckoning between two of the Black church’s most influential voices—Morton, a leader renowned for accountability and transparency, and Dollar, whose flamboyant lifestyle and teachings on wealth have sparked both admiration and outrage for decades.

The catalyst? Dollar’s dramatic reversal on tithing.

For years, Creflo Dollar preached the now-famous 10% tithe as a divine covenant, promising financial breakthroughs to faithful givers.

His message was magnetic: “If you sow, you will reap. God wants you rich.”

With millions of followers, bestselling books, luxury jets, and mansions, Dollar became the face of prosperity gospel’s glitz and glamour.

Then, in a stunning 180-degree pivot, Dollar told his congregation to throw away every sermon, every book he had preached on tithing because, he claimed, it was not biblical.

This reversal ignited chaos.

Some applauded Dollar’s “evolution” of faith.

Others cried betrayal, accusing him of damaging millions who had given sacrificially, sometimes at great personal cost, believing in the promise of blessings tied to tithing.

For Bishop Morton, this was more than a flip-flop—it was a symptom of a deeper crisis.

He saw in Dollar’s reversal a dangerous culture of exploiting faith for profit, a system that wrapped scripture in manipulation and sold salvation like a commodity.

Morton had privately warned church leaders for years about the distortions of the prosperity gospel.

But seeing Dollar continue to preach grace-based giving while living in a $3 million mansion and flying a $65 million Gulfstream jet was the last straw.

The moment demanded a bold, public confrontation.

Morton’s fiery sermon quickly went viral.

Social media exploded with debate.

Pastors were forced to take sides: some rallied behind Morton’s call for integrity; others defended Dollar’s teachings or stayed silent, fearing backlash.

The controversy wasn’t just theological—it was about trust and power.

Behind the scenes, murmurs from insiders, former church members, and respected leaders revealed a brewing storm.

Many congregations reported declining offerings as believers questioned where their money was really going.

Whispers about financial mismanagement and lavish lifestyles of some pastors added fuel to the fire.

To understand the magnitude of this clash, one must grasp how Dollar built his empire.

Starting humbly in 1986 with eight people in a school cafeteria, he grew World Changers Church International into a global ministry with tens of thousands of members.

But unlike traditional pastors focused on salvation, Dollar’s message centered on wealth and divine favor—a message that resonated deeply in communities facing economic hardship.

His success was undeniable: luxury cars, mansions, private jets, and a net worth estimated between $27 million and $50 million.

Yet, with success came scrutiny.

Critics accused him of twisting scripture to justify personal gain.

Scholars labeled his gospel “more capitalism than Christ.”

Dollar famously declared, “If I want to believe God for a $65 million plane, you cannot stop me.”

And for years, he doubled down on prosperity teaching, dominating TV networks, conferences, and even launching an online Bible school.

Then came the bombshell in 2022—Dollar’s public renunciation of tithing.

The fallout was immediate and fierce.

Church members who had sacrificed financially felt deceived.

Social media amplified their frustration, with viral stories of people who gave rent money or went into debt believing in miracles that never materialized.

Adding complexity, rumors swirled that Dollar’s reversal was not purely spiritual but driven by financial and legal pressures.

Reports surfaced of internal ministry restructuri

A former ministry accountant revealed that preparations for audits had begun months before the announcement.

Changes in accounting practices appeared designed to separate personal luxury from ministry expenses—moves that some interpret as damage control rather than repentance.

Experts speculate that Dollar’s pivot could be a strategic rebranding, distancing himself from the prosperity label to appeal to a broader, more mainstream Christian audience.

In today’s culture, repentance sells, and some mega-church leaders are trading Rolls-Royces for relatability.

But not everyone is convinced.

Bishop Morton’s public rebuke echoed sentiments shared privately by other influential leaders like Bishop Noel Jones, Apostle Gino Jennings, and Bishop T.D. Jakes, who caution believers about celebrity pastors’ sudden conversions and warn against blind loyalty without accountability.

An anonymous pastor bluntly stated, “If you collect tithes for 30 years and live like royalty, you don’t get to just say ‘oops’ and expect everyone to move on. People deserve answers, not rebranding.”

The controversy has fractured the Black church community.

Pastors wrestle with how to address congregants’ doubts.

Some quietly shift language from tithing to grace giving; others resist change, fearing loss of credibility and financial stability.

The prosperity gospel’s rise in the 1990s and 2000s found fertile ground in Black and urban churches, where economic struggles made promises of supernatural wealth deeply appealing.

For many pastors, prosperity teaching was a beacon of hope.

Dollar’s reversal felt like a betrayal of those communities.

Now, with trust shaken and authority questioned, churches face a reckoning.

Financial audits and legal inquiries loom.

Congregants demand transparency and, in some cases, refunds.

Others threaten to leave churches altogether.

For Creflo Dollar, the spotlight has shifted.

The jet-setting, scripture-spinning millionaire preacher now stands amid the rubble of a doctrine he helped build and dismantle.

No matter how many Instagram lives or YouTube sermons attempt to explain the change, the public sees this as more than a sermon—it’s a strategic move under pressure.

And the people are watching.

Bishop Paul Morton’s warning is clear: faith is not a commodity to be bought or sold.

The gospel is sacred, and those who lead must be held accountable.

This moment marks a turning point for the modern Black church.

The clash between Morton and Dollar is not just a personal feud—it’s a mirror reflecting the future of ministry itself.

Will churches choose transparency over opulence?

Truth over profit?

Only time will tell, but one thing is certain: the era of unchecked prosperity preaching is facing its greatest challenge yet.