ISAAC OMOLEHIN BUTCHERS MATTHEW 21

How the Donkey and the Colt Become Victims of Eisegesis

By Akin Ojumu

There is something almost refreshing these days about hearing a preacher actually open the Bible and read the passage before preaching.

The bar has fallen that low.

Many preachers now appear to regard reading the biblical text as an unnecessary preliminary inconvenience—a tedious ritual standing between them and the sermon they had already decided to preach.

So, they paraphrase a few verses, mention the name of a Bible character, seize upon one convenient word, and then disappear into forty-five minutes of theological free association.

Isaac Omolehin, to his credit, actually read Matthew 21:1–11.

He opened the Bible. He read the story. He encountered the donkey. He encountered the colt. He encountered the disciples. He encountered the prophecy. He encountered Jerusalem. He encountered the crowds shouting, “Hosanna!” 

Most importantly, he encountered Jesus Christ, the promised Messianic King.

And after encountering all of that, Isaac Omolehin somehow concluded that the real point of the story was that somebody had wickedly tied down the donkey and the colt.

That is an impressive achievement.

It takes a special kind of interpretive determination to read a passage screaming “MESSIAH!” and walk away shouting “FAMILY BONDAGE!”

Yet here we are.

Matthew 21:1–11 records the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem.

Jesus sends two disciples ahead:

“Go into the village in front of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her. Untie them and bring them to me.”

Matthew then does something very considerate for Bible interpreters. He actually tells us what the event means:

“This took place to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet…”

He proceeds to cite the Messianic prophecy of Zechariah 9:9:

“Behold, your king is coming to you,

humble, and mounted on a donkey,

on a colt, the foal of a beast of burden.”

Matthew could hardly have installed a larger theological signpost.

KING THIS WAY. MESSIAH THIS WAY. ZECHARIAH 9:9 FULFILLED HERE.

But Isaac Omolehin apparently walks past every signpost, crawls underneath the donkey, examines the rope, and announces:

“Aha! Family captivity!”

Matthew sees the Messiah. Omolehin sees family bondage. Matthew sees the fulfillment of prophecy. Omolehin sees generational curses.

Matthew sees the King entering Jerusalem. Omolehin sees household enemies tying down destinies.

Matthew hears: “Hosanna to the Son of David!” Omolehin apparently hears: “Your family shall be untied today!”

One almost wonders what Matthew could possibly have written to prevent this interpretation.

Perhaps:

“Dear reader, please note carefully that this story is about Jesus Christ fulfilling Messianic prophecy and not about your father’s sister’s son’s daughter’s husband in the village tying down your breakthrough.”

Unfortunately, Matthew neglected to include that footnote.

So, the donkey has now been recruited into the African deliverance industry.

What makes this interpretation especially remarkable is how thoroughly Jesus is pushed to the margins of a passage whose entire purpose is to reveal Him.

Christ knows exactly where the animals will be found. Christ directs His disciples. Christ acts in deliberate fulfillment of prophecy. Christ enters Jerusalem as the promised King. Christ is hailed as the Son of David. Christ is the One who comes in the name of the Lord. Christ is moving toward the final events of His earthly ministry—His suffering, crucifixion, and resurrection.

But somehow all of that becomes secondary.

The rope is promoted. The Messiah is demoted. The prophecy becomes scenery. The donkey becomes the star theologian. And the sermon becomes a supernatural veterinary investigation into why two animals happened to be tied.

Matthew sees the Messiah. Omolehin sees family bondage.

Matthew says: “Behold, your King is coming.”

Omolehin replies: “Yes, yes, but who tied the donkey?”

That is eisegesis in full ceremonial dress.

Isaac Omolehin’s interpretation apparently requires us to treat the people who tied the animals as though they were sinister agents of bondage.

But there is one minor difficulty. Matthew never portrays them that way. Not once.

The text never says the donkey was being oppressed. It never says the colt was under captivity. It never says wicked men were preventing the animals from fulfilling their destinies. It never identifies the rope as satanic. It never presents the owner as a household enemy.

Apparently, the unfortunate man’s great theological crime was that he owned livestock and tied it up.

By that logic, every farmer who ties a goat to a post should probably prepare for a deliverance crusade. Every horse stable becomes a bondage center. Every leash becomes an instrument of destiny manipulation. Every cattle ranch becomes a headquarters of generational wickedness.

This is what happens when ordinary narrative details are inflated into spiritual symbols without any warrant from the text.

The donkey was tied because donkeys are sometimes tied. That may not be exciting enough for the deliverance industry, but Scripture is under no obligation to manufacture demons where Matthew supplied only rope.

Observe the interpretive process.

Matthew mentions a donkey. The donkey becomes a family. Matthew mentions a colt. The colt becomes the next generation. Matthew mentions a rope. The rope becomes generational bondage.

Someone tied the animal. That person becomes a wicked family enemy. Jesus says, “Untie them.” That becomes a deliverance declaration.

And suddenly Matthew 21 is no longer about the triumphal entry of Christ. It is now a spiritual warfare seminar.

This is not interpretation. It is theological ventriloquism.

The preacher supplies the doctrine and makes Matthew’s mouth move.

Matthew sees the Messiah. Omolehin sees family bondage.

If this interpretation actually comes from Matthew 21, then one would reasonably expect to find some evidence for it in Matthew 21.

So let us search.

Where does Matthew say the donkey represents your family?

Nowhere.

Where does Matthew say the colt represents your children?

Nowhere.

Where does Matthew say the rope symbolizes ancestral captivity?

Nowhere.

Where does Matthew identify the owners as wicked household powers?

Nowhere.

Where does Matthew mention family sickness?

Nowhere.

Family barrenness?

Nowhere.

Premature death?

Nowhere.

Stagnation?

Nowhere.

Failure?

Nowhere.

Ancestral spirits?

Nowhere.

Destiny manipulation?

Nowhere.

Yet somehow these invisible doctrines emerge from the passage with remarkable confidence.

This is theology by rabbit extraction.

Put Matthew 21 into the hat. Wave the prophetic handkerchief. Shout “Amen!” And pull out generational bondage.

The only problem is that the rabbit was never in Matthew’s hat. The preacher brought it with him.

And that brings us to the real issue.

What Isaac Omolehin is doing is not deriving a worldview from Matthew. He is importing a worldview into Matthew.

Concepts of ancestral affliction, family captivity, invisible household enemies, inherited misfortune, mystical restrictions on progress, and forces supposedly “tying down” destinies have long existed within traditional African religious consciousness.

The preacher does not discover these ideas in Matthew 21. He arrives with them. Then he searches the biblical narrative for convenient hooks upon which to hang them.

Donkey? Good. Rope? Even better. Untie? Excellent.

We have a sermon.

Sprinkle in the name of Jesus. Quote a few verses. Add some prophetic declarations. Raise the volume. And voilà: Yoruba mythology has been baptized and issued a church membership card.

But baptism by Bible verse does not change theological ancestry.

You cannot take ideas imported from a traditional religious worldview, stuff them into passages that never taught them, invoke Jesus over the resulting mixture, and then pretend that Matthew has suddenly become an instructor in Yoruba cosmology.

Putting Scripture around pagan mythology does not make it Christian any more than wrapping a shrine in pages from the King James Bible turns it into a church.

Matthew sees the Messiah. Omolehin sees family bondage.

There is a technical term for this method. Eisegesis.

Exegesis asks: “What does the text mean?”

Eisegesis asks: “What can I make the text mean?”

Exegesis begins with Scripture and derives the doctrine. Eisegesis begins with the doctrine and searches Scripture for decoration.

The exegete approaches the text with questions: What did the author intend? What did these words mean in their historical context? What would the original audience have understood? How does this passage function in the argument of the book? What Old Testament texts are being invoked? How does the immediate context constrain the interpretation?

The eisegete has a much simpler method. He already knows what he wants to preach. He merely needs a verse.

The doctrine is manufactured first. The Bible citation is attached later. Then, after stuffing his private beliefs into the biblical text, the preacher closes the Bible and declares:

“Thus, saith the Lord.”

No.

Thus, saith the preacher.

The distinction matters.

Some Christians have been conditioned to think that once a preacher quotes Scripture, everything that follows automatically becomes biblical.

That is a dangerous superstition.

Satan quoted Scripture. False teachers quote Scripture. Cult leaders quote Scripture. Prosperity preachers quote Scripture. Mystics quote Scripture. Everybody with access to Google can quote Scripture.

The question is not: “Did he quote a Bible verse?”

The question is: “Does the Bible verse actually teach what he says it teaches?”

Where is the doctrine in the text? Where is it in the grammar? Where is it in the historical setting? Where is it in the literary context? Where is it in Matthew’s argument? Where is it in Zechariah 9:9? Would Matthew’s original audience have heard “family bondage” when they read about Jesus entering Jerusalem as Israel’s King?

If not, then Matthew is not the source of the doctrine. Matthew is merely the hostage.

This method of preaching does not allow Scripture to formulate theology. It manufactures theology elsewhere and then raids the Bible for supporting material. 

The preacher already has his doctrine of ancestral bondage. He already has his doctrine of household enemies. He already has his doctrine of family captivity. He already has his doctrine of people “tying down” destinies.

Then he goes shopping through Scripture.

A donkey tied to a post? Perfect. Arrest the donkey. Detain Matthew. Interrogate Zechariah. Hold the verses hostage until they confess: “Yes, Pastor. We were secretly talking about family bondage all along.”

This is not exegesis. This is scriptural hostage-taking.

Matthew Sees Christ. Omolehin Sees Everything Except Christ.

The deepest tragedy is not merely that Isaac Omolehin sees something in the passage that is not there. It is that he overlooks what is plainly there. 

The passage is saturated with Christ.

Christ’s authority. Christ’s foreknowledge. Christ’s kingship. Christ’s humility. Christ’s fulfillment of prophecy. Christ as the Son of David. Christ entering Jerusalem. Christ moving toward the Cross.

Matthew places Jesus in the center of the canvas. Omolehin somehow manages to walk into the gallery, ignore the enormous portrait of Christ hanging on the wall, notice a tiny rope painted in the corner, and deliver a lecture on generational captivity.

Matthew sees the Messiah. Omolehin sees family bondage. Matthew sees the Son of David. Omolehin sees household enemies.

Matthew sees Zechariah fulfilled. Omolehin sees ancestral affliction. Matthew sees Jerusalem’s King. Omolehin sees village people.

Matthew says: “Behold your King!”

Omolehin says: “Behold your rope!”

And therein lies the entire problem.

Matthew 21:1–11 is not fundamentally about the donkey. It is certainly not about the rope. It is not about family captivity. It is not about ancestral curses. It is not about household enemies. It is not about witches tying down your progress.

It is about Jesus Christ. The promised King has come. The prophecy is being fulfilled. The Son of David enters Jerusalem. The crowds cry “Hosanna!” The road to Calvary is unfolding.

And somehow, in the middle of one of Matthew’s clearest Messianic scenes, Isaac Omolehin manages to turn the sermon into another installment of the endless African religious obsession with enemies, bondage, curses, captivity, and invisible forces supposedly sabotaging families.

So, call it what it is.

Not exposition. Not exegesis. Not biblical theology. Yoruba mythology baptized with Bible verses. And however many Bible verses are poured over it, the baptism does not change its ancestry.

Matthew sees the Messiah. Isaac Omolehin sees family bondage. Matthew points to Christ. Isaac Omolehin points to the rope.

My advice is simple:

Stop staring at the rope. Look at the King.