Ozubulu Church Massacre & Celebration of Wealth

(By Roz Ben-Okagbue) - Ozubulu...death of the innocent 

Yesterday gunmen stormed into a Catholic church in Ozubulu and gunned down members of the congregation who were attending Sunday mass. As the drama unfolded and social media was agog with gory pictures, the rumour mills started grinding and the blame was immediately directed at all sorts of terrorist groups. As the day progressed, however, the truth filtered through and it was revealed that the source of this massacre was an enemy within otherwise known as Greed.

It is said that innocent people lost their lives in the incident but let us ask ourselves, is anyone really innocent in this? Can any of us claim to be innocent? Are we really surprised that this incident occurred? Have we not been courting this enemy for several years now in Igboland? Is it something that started today?

According to reports corroborated by the governor of Anambra state, the incident was the outcome of a drugs war between two drug barons from Ozubulu who were fighting over a debt arising from a drugs deal. Having gone to the house of one of the barons known as “Bishop” and not finding him home, the gunmen proceeded to the church to seek him out and kill him. They marched into the church, saw his father and opened fire killing everyone who was in the way. What gave them the impetus to march into the church premises with their guns and open fire on ‘holy grounds’, committing an act that is a total abomination? They clearly did not recognize the holiness of the premises after all they were aware that the church was built from the proceeds of crime and drug sales. As far as they were concerned, they were home!

Nigerian Catholic Church, Project Sundays, and Second Collections

(By Uzoamaka Doris Aniunoh) - I went to church today. The Catholic Church of Assumption, Umuoji. For our family thanksgiving, post funeral mass.

I came late, thankfully. All is well. Never mind the many 'second collections' that happen. At the end of mass, Father tells us about a project they are working on and how they need people to contribute. He calls on one man like that, the one who has the convincing voice. The man kneels down, Father blesses and hands him the microphone.

He prays and sings and tells us how he was speaking to Jesus before he came to mass that day. About how brethren of the church would give mightily. Amen.

He says that Jesus told him that four people will give 50k each. He begs for these three people to obey god. He sings and prays and sings some more. My father turns to me and says he is tired of this wahala. So he gives 50k, in the hopes that we'd move on. Nope.

He continues to beg the remaining three people. He tells them that they may not have the money at this time, but that it would come. They just need to pledge. He tells them that by giving this money, God would give them every single thing they ever asked of him in this life.

Nigerian Catholic Church and N20,000 Blessing

(By Lucia Edafioka – Sabinews) - Catholic Church, when did all this nonsense start? 

I attend a small military catholic church close to Yaba. Last Sunday I bowed my head out of church before church closed, I felt ashamed. As a Catholic I was raised to sit my butt down no matter what, until the priest gives the final blessing.

Missing ‘the mass is ended let us go in peace’ is akin to not attending church at all but I left way before that. I left after offertory. We had not even done communion. Catholics understand this.

We started at about 7am, the mass was scheduled to close by 9am, but it was 9am and we were still sitting, clapping hands over ‘chief ABC’s, Ten Thousand Naira’. This was the unveiling of the harvest theme for the year.  I understand that the church has to raise funds but why are we staying 3-4 hours in church because of funds? Did they extend time for mass because of praise worship or because of the sermon? No. It’s always because of some other frivolities.

That is still not why I left though; I left because of the announcers and the priest. I couldn’t even believe what my ears heard.

‘N20,000! From N20,000 and above, come out here. If you know the lord has blessed you, come and give back to him, Chief this, Daddy that, come out, the lord knows your income. Are you going to give to God what has cost you nothing?’

Finally Done With The Church

Aniunoh

(By Uzoamaka Doris Aniunoh) - I knew I was finally done with the church when the Catholic Church refused to bury my best friend's mother because she had owed some money at the women's meeting (she missed many meetings as well) and my friend did not have money to pay the debt.

Prior to this one, when my friend learned about her mum's death, she went straight to Christ Embassy, where she was a member, and asked to see a pastor. She was broken and confused and desperate, and needed to speak to a pastor urgently. She had even considered suicide.

They posted her up and down till she gave up.

She did not have an appointment to see the pastor. Pastor was not available. Pastor was in a meeting. Pastor was praying. Pastor was busy. Sit at the reception. Wait. Come back later.

My mother just died. I need to speak to the pastor, please.

Nope. She didn't speak to anyone. She left there more broken.

You know, if I had an envelope and I was there to sow seed or pay my tithe, the pastor would have been available, she said.

My friend had to find a pastor somewhere in her village, paid him money (money is the operative word here), so he could pray and have her mum buried.

The Catholic Church refused to bury her because money, Christ Embassy refused to see and counsel my friend because no money. The church? Lmao! Stay very far away from me, please.

Raised Catholic, Inspired by Pope Francis

Holy Trinity Cathedral, Onitsha, Nigeria; source: Reuters

(Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie)--As a child, I loved Mass, its swirl of music and rituals. My family went every Sunday to St. Peter’s, the Catholic chapel at the University of Nigeria in Nsukka. It was full of perfumed people: gold pendants at women’s throats, their headscarves flared out like the wings of giant butterflies; men’s caftans crisply starched; children in frilly socks and uncomfortable clothes. Mass was as much social as spiritual—an occasion to greet and gossip, to see and be seen, and to leave consoled. I loved watching the priests sweep past, all certainty and majestic robes, behind the sober Mass-servers holding candles. The choir sang in Igbo and English, each song a little plot of joy. I loved the smoky smells, the standing and sitting and kneeling, the shiny metal chalice raised high in air charged with magic and ringing bells. The words of the liturgy were poetry.