Detroit, MI – October 28, 2025 – In a bold display of unwavering support amid swirling controversy, entertainment mogul Tyler Perry has donated $100,000 to Bishop Marvin Winans' Perfecting Church, the Detroit-based congregation that has been at the center of a viral firestorm over its fundraising practices. The gift, announced during a Sunday service on October 26, comes just over a week after a clip from the church's "Day of Giving" event on October 19 exploded online, drawing accusations of donor shaming and raising broader questions about transparency in megachurch finances. While Perry's contribution has been hailed by some as a testament to faith-driven generosity, it has also sparked sharp online backlash, with critics accusing the filmmaker of tacitly endorsing what they see as problematic behavior from the pulpit.
The controversy traces its roots to Perfecting Church's annual "Day of Giving," a high-energy service designed to rally the congregation toward completing a long-stalled building project at the corner of 7 Mile and Woodward Avenue. Founded in 1989 by Bishop Winans, a Grammy-winning gospel artist and member of the storied Winans family, the church has grown into a spiritual powerhouse in Detroit's Black community, boasting thousands of members and a legacy of music, ministry, and outreach. The event on October 19 was no exception: With upbeat gospel choirs filling the air and congregants waving offering envelopes like victory flags, Winans exhorted the crowd to give sacrificially. "Touch a neighbor and say, 'This is the Day of Giving,'" he declared, setting the tone for what was meant to be a unified push toward the church's $2,000-per-member goal.
To streamline the process and accommodate elderly attendees, Winans organized donors into "increments" based on pledge amounts, starting with those committing $2,000 or more—framed as "$1,000 plus one," a biblical nod to abundance that some interpreted literally as $1,001, while others understood it as two separate $1,000 gifts. The system aimed to keep lines moving efficiently, but it backfired spectacularly when longtime member Roberta McCoy, a devoted parishioner since 2013, stepped forward with her son in the $2,000 line.
In the now-infamous clip, which has amassed over 7 million views on X (formerly Twitter), McCoy approaches the altar with poise, her voice steady as she announces: "I, Roberta McCoy, give in faith and stand in unity with the vision of Perfecting Church by sowing this seed of $1,000 plus $235 and receiving the blessings to come to all that participate." The $1,235 offering—given "in faith" toward the church's broader vision—seemed a heartfelt gesture, especially from a single mother who has faithfully tithed for over a decade. But Winans interjected immediately: "That's only $1,200. Y'all not listening to what I'm saying. If you have a thousand plus a thousand..."
McCoy, undeterred, replied that she would "work on the other $800" and bring it later. Winans' response—"Well, that ain't what I asked you to do"—hung in the air, met with murmurs from the congregation. To many viewers, the exchange came across as a public dressing-down, with the pastor prioritizing protocol over grace. "Pastors like this are the main reason people are turning away from the church," one X user posted, echoing a sentiment that rippled across platforms. Comparisons flooded in to other high-profile church scandals, like the 2024 incident involving Bishop Marvin Sapp allegedly locking doors until a donation goal was met, fueling debates on the ethics of prosperity gospel tactics.
The video's virality amplified scrutiny of Perfecting Church's ambitious building fund, a project mired in delays since groundbreaking in 2002. What began as a 200,000-square-foot mega-sanctuary stalled amid the 2008 financial crisis, leaving a skeletal structure that drew lawsuits from Detroit city officials in 2023, who decried it as a "public eyesore" blighting the neighborhood. A revised design—now 164,800 square feet with 3,365 seats and 659 parking spaces—was approved, with substantial completion targeted for spring 2025. Yet, with costs ballooning and community programs relying on the space, the "Day of Giving" was positioned as a pivotal moment. Donations that day ranged from $1.62 to well over $2,000, but the McCoy clip overshadowed the collective spirit, prompting questions about financial accountability: Where exactly do offerings go, and should churches provide itemized reports?
Within days, both Winans and McCoy pushed back against the narrative. In separate interviews with WXYZ-TV Detroit on October 21, McCoy described the interaction as a "correction," not a rebuke. "He absolutely did not rebuke me," she emphasized. "There was a correction because pastor gave instruction on the lines to get into." A member since 2013, McCoy expressed no ill will, noting Winans' personal apology afterward and reaffirming her commitment: "I've always given faithfully, and I will continue to do so." Winans echoed this, explaining the organizational intent: "I was calling them by increments... We had someone who had given out of turn, and I corrected it. That's all that was." He attributed the online uproar to the "devil stirring the pot," a phrase that resonated with supporters but irked skeptics.
Gospel artist Fred Hammond, a peer of Winans, waded into the fray on Instagram, sharing the full service video and urging viewers to avoid "clip culture." "Don't let edited snippets rob you of context," he wrote, defending the pastor's leadership. Yet, the damage lingered, with hashtags like #ChurchToo and #DonorShaming trending briefly, highlighting a growing distrust in institutional religion amid economic pressures on working-class families.
Enter Tyler Perry, whose intervention has reframed the story from scandal to redemption arc. During the October 26 service, Winans beamed as he revealed the donation: "One person called and said, 'Tell my name!' He said, 'Because I know God is in this.' Tyler Perry sent $100,000." The announcement ignited cheers, with the bishop declaring it "divine intervention—what the devil meant for evil, God turned it around." According to Winans, the influx—including Perry's gift—has pushed the building fund past $600,000, a milestone that feels like full-circle vindication.
Perry, whose net worth exceeds $1.4 billion in 2025, has long intertwined his empire with faith-based giving. The Atlanta-based producer, director, and actor—creator of the "Madea" franchise and owner of Tyler Perry Studios—has donated millions to HBCUs, COVID relief for Black communities, and churches nationwide. Winans himself has appeared in Perry's "House of Payne," adding a layer of personal connection. Sources close to the mogul describe the gift as a quiet affirmation of loyalty, not a direct response to the backlash, though its timing is undeniable.
Not everyone sees it that way. On X, reactions have been polarized. "Tyler Perry donating to this church after that mess? He's co-signing the shaming," one user vented, while another countered, "Y'all mad at grace in action. Perry's showing real support when it's hard." The Steve Harvey Morning Show amplified the positive spin, framing it as "unity over division," but outlets like The Root highlighted the "dragging" Perry received for seemingly overlooking the optics. Faith leaders, meanwhile, have seized the moment for introspection. Rev. Jamal Bryant tweeted, "This reminds us: Fundraising isn't about pressure; it's about purpose. Transparency builds trust."
For Perfecting Church, the donation is more than monetary—it's a lifeline. With construction deadlines looming and community programs like youth mentorship and food pantries depending on the new facility, Winans views it as momentum. "Adversity inspired generosity," he told the congregation, his voice thick with emotion. McCoy, too, remains steadfast, attending services undeterred. "My faith isn't shaken by a moment," she shared privately with church elders.
Perry, ever the resilient figure, has stayed silent on the criticisms, focusing instead on his upcoming projects, including a faith-themed Netflix series slated for 2026. His gesture underscores a core tenet of his philanthropy: Support institutions that shape souls, even when they're imperfect. As Detroit's skyline edges toward completion—one brick, one donation at a time—the episode serves as a microcosm of larger tensions in American religion: the clash between heartfelt giving and the spectacle of social media judgment.
In the end, whether divine reversal or calculated optics, Perry's $100,000 has injected hope into a narrative of division. For now, the congregation presses on, envelopes in hand, toward a sanctuary that promises not just seats, but space for redemption.
