An Empty Tomb

I was a devout Catholic. I learnt how to say the Pieta and all the prayers in the holy prayer book at catechism class. By the time I was ten, I had learnt so many things that I could not help but see the world the catholic way. I could say the Angelus, and I could recite the Art of contrition. Offhand, I knew so many of them. Anima Christi, Come Holy Spirit, Novena to St. Joseph and the Litany of Humility. I also had a rosary around my neck which had soft rubber beads that let turquoise glitters at night. I thought about this rosary as powerful. My father told me that it is a gift I received from Father Irenaeus who dropped it on his palm telling him to take good care of me because I will be a very great man. I looked him in his eyes whenever he said this. He emphasized “great" as though the only thing that mattered was what father Irenaeus said many years ago. As if in this world, people had no part to play in the creation of destiny. I did not blame my father though because he was also Catholic and if a Priest said something to him it meant so much. 

Image source: Avemariaradio

I was comfortable with the word great. It was something to which everyone aspired. I wanted to be a great man myself; now, in the eighteenth year of my sojourn on the surface of the earth, I knew that if I want to be great, I would have to work hard for it. I did not think this way before. By the time I was eight, my teacher thought me how to add fractions, and I understood it. When I got home after school, I tried to solve problems on a different topic myself. I spent hours trying to figure out how it was so: that it was unnecessary to look for the lowest common multiple when you divide fractions. When it was not working, I prayed so hard that I fell asleep. When I woke up, it still wasn’t solved. The problem was stark and neat like the usual scribbles of my Bic pen on paper. I was bemused, but I knew there was something else I could do. I walked up to my father with my book, and in a couple of minutes, I learnt how to substitute denominators to change the division sign to multiplication and I was stunned.

“But Daddy, I told God to help me.”

He looked at me, and as if surprised by what I had just said, he replied dismissively.

“You see Ken; you should not expect God to do this for you. What happens sometimes is that God takes human form to help his children.”

He stood up from the sofa with the cup of freshly crushed pineapple juice in his right hand and looked at me in the eye saying that I would understand some things later in life.

“In this case Daddy, God used you. Thank you so much.”

I knew from the sermons Father George preached that humans were like God in some ways. I also understood that there were ways we could behave that made us, unlike God. I loved my Father even more from that day, but I realized that it was not on every instance that I had to call God. 

What happened that day changed the way I responded to problems. Even now, at eighteen, I had learnt so much that sometimes I felt like stopping my thoughts. I also wished that everybody thought like me and responded to things in the way I did, but whenever I thought this way. My mind wandered elsewhere when I remember how uninteresting the world would be if everyone thought alike and did the same things.

During mass on Ash Wednesday, Father George dipped his hand into the bowl of wet ash and drew the sign of the cross on my head. The ash was the remains of the palm fronds we used for Palm Sunday.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen.”

On Easter day, I slept so much that I woke up very late. My mother had prepared jollof rice and chicken. My father was sitting on the sofa watching television. There were several clips of violence showing on the news. My father said that this was the reason why we had to pray for our country. One headline I peeked before sitting read: 

“Imam killed, robbed four hundred thousand.” 

Another read:

“Gunmen murders two tourists in Kaduna, eleven in Benue.” 

So many bad things were happening in our country. Other headlines were equally shocking. Bad things were happening here and there. I gazed at my father as he spoke.

“Evil is rife in this country. Will things ever get better? Today is Easter and here are the headlines filled with so many terrible things. Why does God not use others as he uses you?”

My father looked at me for a moment and turned his face again towards the television. 

“In life, my son, there are so many things you will not be able to change. The most important thing, however, is to know the truth. I want you to know this. Listen; Muslims are good, do not be surprised if the best people you meet in life are Muslims. Christians are good as well. You will meet many good-natured Christians throughout your life. Respect people for who they are and leave life that way.” He stopped.

Everybody seemed to be good in church, but the other day, Peter told me that Mr. Bassey, the churchwarden, slapped someone somewhere in town for brushing his car mistakenly. He said he was surprised because the man was on his knees apologizing, and the damage to Mr. Bassey’s car was not much. His father was driving at a close range behind Mr. Bassey. Peter’s father kept mute when he saw Mr. Bassey in the act. He told Peter that it was the best way to know the true nature of men. I quivered when I thought about it again, that Mr. Bassey had slapped someone for doing so little a thing. Holy Mr. Bassey. Peter was telling the truth and I could see it in his eyes. He seemed shocked as well. I sighed. 

“He looked too saintly to have done that!”

I knew, however, that people were actors, in this country when I was told again about Mallam Khaled, the holiest Muslim I knew, shot someone for saying something he considered a sacrilege to Islam. My father moved unsteadily on his chair when I told him these stories. 

“Could there be something wrong with everyone in this country at the same time? You see, today is Easter, I do not need to tell you because you know everything about Easter. What I want to say, my son is that the problem with this country and her people is not religion itself, but people make it so. Again, it is not a tribe or ethnicity. Most ethnic groups in our country are peaceful and pursue their daily lives without hurting their brothers or strangers. The problem my son is the lesson of Easter”.

“How do you mean Daddy?” 

“Christ died a selfless death for a selfless course leaving the tomb and all the bad things it signifies. People do not want to sacrifice anything in this country. It does not matter whether a person is a Muslim, a Christian, or an Atheist. In as much as we continue to pursue selfish interests and less noble gains, we will not go anywhere.”

“You mean we have to leave the tomb?”

“Yes, of course, but there is no Christ to make the sacrifice.”