why infant baptism?

Born into a Catholic home, my only proof of my baptism is in the pictures (my baptismal card too)  I was shown as a little child. The pictures were in my parents' famous wooden albums and I absolutely loved looking through them whenever the opportunity (namely an ‘August’ visitor) presented itself.

On occasion though, either by questioning or story-telling moments that were part of my childhood, the stories behind the pictures were told. That is most probably how I discovered I was the beautiful baby (touché) quietly receiving her stamp of being a Christian by baptism of water. The picture is probably cliché – my sisters all had similar ones too – of a non-pregnant looking mom holding out my head to receive the water being poured from the bowl and a fuller-haired dad smiling at the camera during the infant baptism mass celebration.

At the time, we’d have gone back home either to a mini-celebration or just receiving felicitations of friends in church after the baptism mass. It officially signaled that my mom was ‘fit’ enough to get back into church activities after birthing. My parents did this for all 5 of their children by the way.

While growing up, I realized that infant baptism was not the norm across Christendom. Maybe because I was pre-conditioned as a Catholic, I didn’t give it much thought often and when I did, I couldn’t fathom for the life of me, what was so wrong with baptizing your baby versus letting them grow up and choosing their religious path. Honestly, I disliked small talk pretty early in life and my impatience extended to all the bickering across Christendom where accusations and counter accusations were always thrown in order to justify why people decided to do things differently. I avoid Religious arguments for only one reason, I think it is personal and I am making my journey for myself. I don’t expect to discover my truth for someone else and I certainly don’t expect anyone to do me that favour – we all have to make that discovery ourselves.

But I digress. Recently, I realized that asides from being commonsensical, infant baptism is an offshoot of the wisdom of the Church. The question shouldn’t be ‘why do you baptize an infant without their consent?’ but ‘why not?’ Do you go about naming your child only after they have come of age and agreed to go by the name ‘Bob Joe’ or ‘Anne Smith?’ (probably before then you’d call them ‘baby1’)? Do you wait for their consent before you take them for the ‘mandatory’ immunizations as prescribed by your doctor especially because they cry when receiving the many injections and meds? Do you wait till they are fully grown and ask them to pick what nationality they want to identify with?– and truly the list goes on!

So when is the right time to baptize your child? To me the answer lies in this question – when is the right time to claim your child for God? What is their identity between the time they are born until they decide who they want to pledge allegiance to?

In all honesty, there are so many decisions parents have to take on behalf of their children – some have little impact and others have a lifetime effect. Most of these decisions are taken by human beings who don’t know it all but who definitely should know better than anybody else – including the child at this stage. It is a foregone conclusion that most parents have the best interest of their children at heart which include spiritual, physical, emotional, social aspects of their well being. For African Christians, we like to emphasize the spiritual even if it means garnishing it over any or all of the others mentioned earlier. So I have no doubt in my mind that baptizing an infant was anything but the best thing to do. I bet you that more often than not, the celebration of the first year birthday of the child would trump any baptism celebration and if you have attended any one of these type of celebration, you know it is less for the child who barely can stand on their feet!

Having said that, I would add it is not enough to go through the motion of infant baptism. And it does not absolve the parents from doing the needful work of ‘train(ing) a child in the way that they ought to go’, rather, it should set the foundation for the child to discover himself/herself completely as fore mostly a spiritual being – belonging to the family of the Most High God - and secondly as belonging to this earthly community of believers (and unbelievers). Exactly as explained on Sunday by Fr. Afam Ikeh – we are embodied spirits and not spiritualized bodies.

I have taken care not to quote the Catholic doctrine here as part of my reasons in the bid to have meaningful conversation with people not versed in the Catholic doctrine.

My mother, my rock

I am usually overwhelmed with emotions many times I think of my mom - like when I think seriously about her. This doesn't take any effort because a lot of things remind me of her.


I feel safe in her company. She is the one person that when I hug I feel safe. Even if she is the one that is ill. If someone ever told me my mom would poison me, my first inclination would be to agree with my mom because I think she is the one person that has my best interest at heart all the time.

Enough about me.

So I was thinking about some random stuff this early saturday morning and I remembered some of the songs my mom taught us as kids. Given that she is not pushy, we must have been more impressionable.


Wide, wide as the ocean
High as the heavens above
Deep, deep as the deepest sea
Is my saviour's love (saviour's love for me)

Why? I'm so unworthy
Still I'm a child of his care
For his love teaches me
That his love reaches me
E-very-where!

Full with demonstrations o!

What occurred to me is that my mom is one person I know that loves the Lord. If she doesn't make heaven then I am not sure I want to be there. She holds no grudge and you can't use her name and anger in the same sentence. She epitomizes long suffering and consistency. She is not judgmental and is ever the pacifist. She is the only person I have literally cried out my hurting heart to 3 of the 4 times I was in that 'condition'. She is unassuming, caring without being nosy, absolutely without drama, easily lovable, not vengeful or shrewd but the best confidante anyone could ask for, wise in a quiet way in the things that matter and a mentor/mother to so many people.

She is the only person I know that loves like a child - who wakes up every morning to speak to her Maker before she wakes all the agbayas in the house for Family devotion. She has always, always done this and it got so bad that if we don't get the 'wake-up call' then it means she is either ill or unavoidably absent.

And that, my friends is truly and unarguably the best person you want to be your mother in your next life! If you are nice enough, I'd be your big sister ...LOL.

Chukwu gozierem Nnem, ezigbo nnem!

Matthew 20:1-16 - the parable of the vineyard workers

A burning question on what side of the fence we belong to.


We all have received grace, some apparently more than others but nonetheless grace (unmerited favor) received at the direst of moments cannot be quantified as big or small. Case in point : if I was on the verge of jumping off the cliff to my death, and I get some form of intervention that gets me off that cliff before I clicked "THE END" of my story a second before the designated END, can I actually say I received any less grace than a cultist who has so much blood on his hands and whose success is based on blood money but who stumbled upon Christ in the most unlikely of circumstances - reading bed time stories to his grand daughter? In context, the obvious answer is NO!

But we don't always put things in context do we?

All the comparisons.
The dissatisfaction that is borne from these comparisons.
The jealousy and envy that is inevitable as a result.
The strife to be better, to do better because we are in competition with someone else (that doesn't matter) other than self.


Back to the matter at hand: the parable...

I understand both the anger of the workers that worked a full day for a full day's wage against the owner of the vineyard and the seeming unfairness of getting paid a full day's wage for working for only 1 hour! (Lazy me thinks, I'd like to be in that group!). A few things though help me to agree completely with the owner of the vineyard:

• There was a deal - you work, I pay you what you need to survive for the day (Give us this day our daily bread. A denarius was a day's wage - any less and the latecomers might not have been able to feed their families)

• It is the owner's prerogative to give what he wants and to whom he chooses - the owner went out searching and found all the workers. Easily, if he had taken a different route, the latecomers might have been found first.

• Having said the above, if I was among the first people to be called and a loved one was among the latecomers, would I still grumble if I knew his/her life depended on receiving the said wage?

• It would seem the fair thing for the owner of the vineyard to have done was pay according to how long people worked but is it God's business to give us more than we need or to give us all that we need? The discontentment on the part of the first workers stems from greed. They had what they bargained for when they were called upon to work - and at the time of 'employment' they thought it was a fair deal. So what changed?

• The vineyard owner is a business man - in the business of getting his vineyard to be productive. None of the workers empathized with his point of view namely that the earlier he got his vineyard into production, the earlier he gets to make money. If for instance it takes 1 man 10 days to work on the vineyard, if I was the owner I'd look for 9 more men to make the work completion date 1 day! One worker is as good as another in my business of owning a vineyard.

The above is a reminder to self:

• Compete only with yourself as this is the only meaningful competition - in the sense that you try to be better than the who you are today. Everyone receives the grace they need and from the outside, no matter how 'lucky' they seem, (if it helps) think that they have received the grace they need to make it through the day/life.

• The sense of entitlement we feel - whether as Christians or as whatever (insert title) is misplaced! Period. We are blessed because of His grace and should strive to be blessings.

• Grudgingly doing anything kinda nullifies it. Work is hard, life can be hard but it pays to go through life with a smile and a sense of privilege for even being here. 

• Anxiety for tomorrow can be veiled selfishness. Maybe the first workers were thinking "if there is only a few of us then we know we have a source of income for a while". At the detriment of 9 other workers having food on the table today? 

As always, many things are easier said than done - that doesn't mean we should stop saying even as we strive to keep doing. I'd like to hear from you what your thoughts are on this subject.

Too much care

Is there such a thing as caring too much?

I guess if the question isn't rhetorical, the answer is an obvious Yes! also because the opposite is true.

Little things that matter

I felt very pleased with the feedback received after I gave a presentation to undergraduate students of my alma mater. True, it would seem the presentation was a kind of alter ego campaign. That is not what I set out for it to be, but I guess I put in all the feel-good, positive side of my 'side of the story' into the presentation such that for someone who had no idea of the 'whole story' I may come off the hero. So, little wonder that I received pleasant feedback?

To think I almost passed up on the opportunity because I imagined I was running late!

I actually enjoyed giving the presentation and I felt 'good' after doing it and every other time I thought about it. Maybe,  just maybe I'd do it more often.

More importantly, I hope it had a positive impact on someone.

Things I learned from my Dad: Financial Responsibility

It is common knowledge that children learn, more from what they see people do than from what they are told to do. Having said that, my financial responsibility instruction did not come to me verbally, at least not as a formal verbal instruction.

I took for granted the modus operandi: As far back as when I was in primary school, my dad usually had a list of sorts detailing his expected expenses and income. It wasn't uncommon to run into these lists, say while sweeping the parlor. I guess this could especially be necessary for planning purposes for steady low-to-medium income earners. Having said that, I know many an income earner that fall within this category that don't plan for their expected income and as such make little or no deliberate provision for savings.

It was easily a topic for after meals discussion between mom and dad where we were welcome to listen and contribute on occasion. I can't help but wonder if my dad would have been so open about his finances if he was rolling in money. Don't get me wrong, both my parents were civil servants for the better part of their working lives and at the time they constituted part of Nigeria's middle classers. So as far as things went, they were doing well for themselves at the time - looking back I'd say they did well period.

My siblings and I were all sent away to boarding house for secondary school education - all of us got a taste of living off pocket money and provisions before we clocked thirteen. Going hand in hand with taking provisions to school was making lists - items needed and in what quantity. Of course some items always got dropped depending on the available income at the time but it never stopped anyone  of us from pushing their luck.

I vaguely remember having a piggy bank which we broke far too early. It's contents were usually monetary gifts from visitors and it was better to have it in the piggy bank than with mom (who could spend it without a second thought with the intention of 'replacing' it). We were expected to save from our pocket money, which was hardly ever enough in our opinions,  and to that end, my mom opened an account for each of us when I was a young teenager. I remember how excited I was when I received my booklet - how I made plans to save up money just because I had a savings account.

So growing up, I got into the habit of making lists and trying to ensure my pocket money/provisions lasted through the term. It's easy to see how I took that with me into University. I place 'saving' high on my list of things to keep doing and these days I try to make my savings work for me. All else I can hope for is that I can teach same to the young ones around me and my kids.

Things I learned from my Dad: Language is interesting

I didn't realize how fascinating language could be until I listened to my dad explain the meaning of words - things I had taken for granted as is. I didn't even realize how much I looked forward to learn new words and their meanings...until I did.

My first real English teacher was my dad - and my mom by association. At home, for reasons best known to my parents, we spoke English. My dad is very good with words - and not just using them in context, but explaining in some depth (that still awes me till today) their meanings. I took my classes for granted as they were not scheduled and usually informal, even sometimes inconvenient timings. But I remember having a feeling of relish for each new word I learned - from him or other media. I remember as a young teenager, keeping a journal of words and their meanings - my personal dictionary; subscribing to a mailing list (A Word A Day); reading books and stopping smack in the middle of a sentence, reaching for a dictionary to either confirm my suspicion or stand corrected on the meaning of the word. I didn't see it as a big deal, just a little girl trying her hands out on something that she felt compatible with.

Predictably, my best subject in school was language and I even chose french language over music during the final exams. My best teachers were my English teachers and I dare say both of them were similar in more ways than the subject they chose to teach - they were prim, proper and commanding respect from one and all. I liked English a lot as I understood the principles it worked on. Compared to mathematics, these principles seemed pretty straightforward and the most similarity I could was make out between both subjects was when I had to solve 'from first principles' (o how I loved to QED!).

I grew up in Lagos and around Yorubas. Like many Lagos-born-other-tribe-children, i learned Yoruba. First the basics and then a little more. I was particularly interested in knowing the meaning of words, as this meant my chances of correctly decoding a new word was higher but more importantly because I felt more intimate with the language and its people. My language was a different matter in a slightly different way: I took it for granted mostly that I would always understand as I was 'nwa afo' but to my shame, my dad never stops pulling out new and intimidating words from his vocabulary.

Maybe my interest in learning about words (which translated to my love on a play of words) lent me the guts to write (and hence my blogging, a weak attempt at writing a novel at 12, keeping countless diaries/journals), sometimes I think it is an illusion but yet still my love for these words and learning, have anything but diminished. So imagine why I will brag about things I learned from my dad when he still has more to teach me about language - english, igbo...- even now! He is a good teacher, and the one with the longest tenure in my life.