Here is a humanized summary of the Archbishop’s message, reimagined as a reflective essay:
—
In a world where information travels at the speed of a click, it has become frighteningly easy to share something that isn’t true. We have all been there: a headline that confirms our suspicions, a voice note that stirs our anger, a photo that seems to expose a hidden truth. We hit forward without pausing, and only later, when the damage is done, do we learn that the whole thing was a lie. On the morning of Sunday, October 11, 2026, Archbishop Charles Agyinasare stood before his congregation at Perez Chapel International and addressed this very problem with unusual clarity. His sermon, titled “The Venom of Falsehood – When Lies Become Weapons of Destruction,” was not just another warning about fake news. It was a deeply human call to accountability, one that asked each of us to look beyond our good intentions and confront the real consequences of our digital actions. He urged Ghanaians, and by extension people everywhere, to stop hiding behind the excuse that they were only passing along information. His central message was simple, and yet it cuts to the heart of our modern dilemma: if you have helped spread a falsehood, you cannot simply shrug and move on. Discovery of your error should not end with private regret. It must be followed by action, by real steps to undo the damage you helped cause. The sermon was a reminder that the fight against misinformation is not just an issue for journalists or fact-checkers; it is a moral burden carried by every person who has ever pressed “send.”
What does it mean to repent of falsehood? The Archbishop gave concrete, practical answers. Too often, when we realize we have shared something untrue, we quietly delete the post and tell ourselves that this is enough. We may even think that because we did not create the lie, we bear no responsibility for its spread. But Agyinasare challenged this comfortable logic. If you have shared a false message, he said, your repentance requires action: delete the post if you can, but do not stop there. You must actively inform the people who received the information from you that it was wrong. You must apologize to those who were harmed by the false claim. And you must correct the impression that your sharing created in the minds of others. This is a much more demanding vision of responsibility. It requires us to admit our mistakes out loud, to risk embarrassment, and to engage with the messy aftermath of our actions. Yet this is exactly what makes his message so compelling. He was not asking people to perform a surface-level apology for the sake of appearances. He was asking them to become agents of repair. When a lie has already traveled through a group chat, a workplace, or a family gathering, it cannot be un-sent. But it can be confronted. People can be told, “What I shared was not true, and I am sorry.” That simple act of honesty can be profoundly healing. It restores a measure of trust and sets an example for others who may also have shared the falsehood. The Archbishop’s point was not that we will never make mistakes; it is that we must be willing to face the consequences of our mistakes and try to make things right.
One of the most insightful parts of the sermon was his warning about half-truths. A piece of information can contain accurate details and still be deeply misleading. A photograph can be genuine, but accompanied by a false or malicious caption. An audio clip can be edited so carefully that it makes someone appear to have said something they never intended. A story can be told with just enough context to support a particular narrative, while omitting the details that would change everything. This is perhaps the most dangerous form of misinformation because it is easier to share. It feels true because it is built from fragments of reality. The Archbishop urged his listeners to ask a deeper question than “Is there something true in this?” He asked, “Does this fairly represent what happened?” That phrase cuts through the noise of today’s public discourse. We are so often quick to share content that fits our own biases, especially when it makes a person or group we already distrust look bad. We do not stop to consider whether we are presenting a full and just account. The result is predictable: reputations are ruined, relationships are fractured, and innocent people suffer. The damage cannot always be undone, even when a correction is issued. The original accusation remains in people’s minds, while the retraction is often ignored or unseen. By drawing attention to half-truths, Agyinasare was asking us to be more mature in our engagement with information. Truth is not a weapon to be used selectively in service of our own agendas. It is a standard of fairness that must be applied consistently, even when it means conceding that someone we dislike is not as guilty as we wanted them to be.
To illustrate the devastating consequences of false accusation, the Archbishop turned to the ancient story of Joseph. In the Bible, Joseph was a young man who served faithfully in the household of Potiphar, an Egyptian official. But when Potiphar’s wife made unwanted advances and was rejected, she responded by telling a lies. She accused Joseph of attacking her, and he was thrown into prison, even though he had done nothing wrong. The story is one of the oldest recorded examples of a carefully constructed falsehood destroying an innocent life. Agyinasare used it to remind his listeners that this is not a modern phenomenon. False accusation has always been a poison, but in the age of social media, its power has grown exponentially. Joseph had no platform. He could not tweet his side of the story. He could not call a press conference. He was completely powerless, and he suffered for years because of a lie. Today, we may not be thrown into physical prison, but we can be imprisoned by public opinion. A rumor goes viral, and suddenly the accused is treated as guilty by millions of people. Their career is threatened, their family is harassed, their name is soiled. Even if they are eventually cleared, the stain can remain for life. The archbishop’s use of this story was a powerful reminder that our words have the power to imprison others. Every time we share a story that ruins someone’s reputation, we are essentially throwing them into a dungeon of our own making. We must ask ourselves whether we are participating in justice or in persecution.
So what are we to do? Agyinasare offered guidance that was both practical and deeply human. Before sharing anything, he urged us to pause and ask critical questions. Do I know this claim is true? Have I verified the source? Have I examined the full context, or am I reacting to a fragment? Will sharing this information help correct an injustice, or will it simply spread an accusation without evidence? These questions may seem simple, but they demand a level of discipline that is rare in our meme-driven, outrage-addicted online culture. The Archbishop also warned those who are falsely accused not to respond by spreading more falsehoods. It is tempting, when you are attacked by a lie, to defend yourself by exaggerating the faults of your accuser. But doing so only perpetuates the cycle of poison. The goal is not to become a better liar than your opponent. The goal is to remain truthful, even under pressure. This is a radical idea. It says that the victim of a lie still has a responsibility not to create new victims. It asks us to be morally consistent, even when we are angry and hurt. Agyinasare’s advice reflects a deep understanding of human behavior: we often justify our own wrong actions by pointing to the wrong actions of others. He called the congregation to a higher standard, one in which defending the truth does not require us to abandon it. That means speaking carefully, verifying facts, and trusting that the truth, while slower than a viral rumor, is ultimately more durable.
In the end, this sermon was about much more than social media etiquette. It was about character. Archbishop Agyinasare called on Ghanaians to embrace greater honesty and accountability in every aspect of their lives, from personal relationships to public discourse. He emphasized that our responsibility to the truth does not end when we avoid telling lies; it extends to correcting the harm that lies cause when they spread. This is not an easy message to hear. It asks us to be humble enough to say, “I was wrong,” and courageous enough to face the people we have misled. It asks us to care more about the damage done to others than about saving face ourselves. But this is what makes trust possible. Every family, every community, every nation is built on some degree of trust, and trust is destroyed when lies are allowed to circulate unchecked. The Archbishop’s words were a call to build a culture where truthfulness is not just an abstract ideal but a daily practice. Imagine what would happen if each of us took one small step: pause before sharing, reflect after sharing, and take action when we discover we have helped spread falsehood. That would not only reduce the venom in our public conversations; it would transform the way we relate to one another. We would become people who use words to heal rather than to harm, people who value truth over being right, people who understand that the fight against misinformation begins in our own hearts. That is the human response to the age of falsehood. That is the only way forward.