As we prepare to enter the final month of 2025, the air across Nigeria is already thick with the familiar rhythm of end-of-year travels, homecomings, and the hopeful exhaustion that precedes every Christmas season. Roads will fill, markets will overflow, and buses will hum across the highways bearing millions making the annual pilgrimage to family roots. But this December also carries the political undertone of governments—both federal and state—eager to remind citizens of their perceived achievements. At the national level, the APC government under President Bola Ahmed Tinubu continues to publicise its commitment to its agenda, insisting that its mission remains on course. In the Southeast, Governor Chukwuma Charles Soludo of Anambra State—fresh from securing a new gubernatorial mandate—reemerges with a renewed mantra: “Promises Made, Promises Kept.” Governance, across various levels, is gearing up to showcase itself as faithful, competent, and triumphant.
Yet, in moments like this, it is easy for us as Nigerians to slip into a cultural habit we rarely examine critically: the tendency to give human beings the level of praise, glory, and adoration that belongs only to God. A battle is won—and we hang medals on veterans as though courage were crafted by their own hands. A degree is earned—and we applaud the graduates, forgetting the breath and strength that made the studying possible. A sum of money is donated, and we engrave the contributor’s name on a plaque as if generosity were an invention and not a grace. An organisation stays in the black through turbulence—and we grant the CEO a bonus, forgetting that no human controls wind, time, or providence.
A scientist makes a groundbreaking discovery—and we award a Nobel Prize, though knowledge itself is a gift we receive, not create. A preacher delivers a powerful sermon—and we drape them in compliments, almost worshipping the vessel rather than the One who filled it. And now, as political leaders come forward with their end-of-year speeches, press briefings, and progress reports, many Nigerians find themselves tempted to join the chorus of applause. After all, our society cherishes gratitude; thanksgiving is deeply embedded in our culture. But between gratitude and glorification lies a thin line that we cross far too often. Of course, governments should be acknowledged for genuine effort. Leadership is no easy calling, and progress—when it truly exists—deserves honest recognition. But there is danger in transferring ultimate praise from the Creator to the created. Human beings, no matter how powerful, competent, or charismatic, remain limited. They do not control the unfolding of history. They do not sustain breath. They do not guarantee security, prosperity, or peace. They work, yes—but they work within spaces God allows. If Nigerians learnt anything in 2025, it is that human structures—no matter how well-crafted—can fail without warning. The year brought unpredictable waves of insecurity, economic pressure, and societal instability. Kidnappings surged in some regions. Families mourned losses they could not have imagined. Prices fluctuated until basic food items became luxuries in many homes. Young people questioned their future; older citizens bore the weight of survival more heavily than in previous years.
And despite all this, we are still here. Not because a governor sat in office. Not because a minister drafted a policy. Not because a senator passed a bill. Not because a president delivered a speech. We are still here because God preserved us—not because the machinery of government functioned flawlessly. This truth does not excuse leadership from accountability; rather, it places leadership in proper perspective. Praising the government beyond measure blinds citizens to their responsibility to demand better. It makes us passive recipients of whatever narrative those in power choose to give. Worse, it creates a culture where leaders begin to see themselves as the source of deliverance, rather than instruments of service.
As we journey into December and prepare to close out a turbulent 2025, Nigerians must resist the temptation to give excessive glory to human beings. Gratitude is good; glorification is dangerous. Praise your leaders where they have done well—but reserve worship, ultimate thanks, and full adoration for God alone. And to every Nigerian who has survived this year’s storms—whether financial, political, emotional, or physical—remember this: your survival is not the achievement of any government. It is a testament to God’s mercy, your resilience, and the quiet strength that has carried you through. Stand tall. Breathe deeply. Walk into December with courage. For surviving 2025 in a nation marked by volatility, struggle, and uncertainty, you deserve honour—but the ultimate praise belongs to God alone.
Obiotika Wilfred Toochukwu; Living Grace Restoration Assembly Inc.. Nkono-Ekwulobia, Anambra State.
