In Druski’s latest social media parody, the comedian portrays a caricature of a modern mega pastor, delivering a spectacle that feels exaggerated — until it begins to mirror real-life controversies. The video opens with Druski suspended high above a packed congregation, surrounded by bursts of air as Kirk Franklin’s “Revolution” plays. Hundreds of congregants fill the sanctuary, hands raised, as the scene unfolds like a high-budget revival service.
From there, the satire escalates. Druski storms the pulpit, hooting and hollering, wiping sweat from his brow in front of a massive LED screen that reads “Collect & Pray.” He calls an elderly couple forward, announcing the wife is struggling to get pregnant before joking that he impregnated her himself and will impregnate the entire congregation “with the Word.” The crowd erupts.
The skit then turns its focus to wealth and image. Druski proudly catalogs his designer wardrobe — a Dior blazer, tailored pants — before being lifted into the air again to reveal red-bottom shoes. “People ask me why I’m wearing Christian Dior and Christian Louboutin,” he says. “It’s because I’m a Christian.” He flips his foot to show the sole. “And I walk in the blood of Jesus.”
An offering scene sharpens the critique. Druski demands the congregation raise $4 million for members in Zimbabwe — that same day — declaring no one can leave until the goal is met. A parishioner is publicly praised for donating his “life savings.” This, just after Druski quotes rapper Real Boston Richey, calling him an apostle. Moments later, the skit cuts to the pastor backstage, casually counting stacks of cash, kissing the stack, and smiling up to the heavens.
The final moment lands with a sting: a congregant approaches the pastor’s Bentley asking for prayer for his wife. When asked whether he tithed, the man admits he didn’t. “Man, get off my car,” the pastor snaps.
The skit arrives amid heightened scrutiny of Black church leadership. In recent months, pastors have gone viral for everything from fashion debates involving Jamal Bryant, to awkward offering moments tied to Marvin Sapp, to sermons that borrow lyrics from contemporary rap — including GloRilla and Jay-Z — in attempts to connect with younger congregations.
Online reactions to Druski’s parody were deeply divided. One user wrote, “He’s not mocking God. He’s mocking your pastors.” Others felt the skit crossed a spiritual line. “I just had to unfollow Druski,” one commenter shared. “Poking fun at mega churches is common, but this didn’t sit right with my spirit. I know for sure he wouldn’t create the same content toward any other religion.”
That sentiment was quickly challenged. Another user replied, “He literally joked about false prophets though. He didn’t tell any lies neither.”
Some viewers said the humor gave way to sadness. One commenter described laughing at first, then realizing the joke only worked because the church’s current state made it believable. Another recalled attending a service years ago where a pastor — dressed head to toe in designer — loudly insisted congregants’ tithes didn’t pay for his luxury cars parked outside.
That tension between satire and sacrilege is precisely why the skit struck a nerve. For some, it felt like a mockery of faith. For others, it was a mirror held up to leadership that has blurred the line between ministry, performance, and profit.
Whether viewers laughed, recoiled, or reflected, Druski’s clip forced a conversation many churches have been avoiding. And in that sense, the joke may have landed harder than the punchline.
