By Tunde Odesola
By heritage and geography, Ọ̀ra-Ìgbómìnà, a countryside in the Ifedayo Local Government Area of Ọ̀sun State, is a historic, unique and strategic land. Yoruba history says that Ọ̀ra is the cradle of education and Christianity in Ìgbómìnàland, being the first Ìgbómìnà town to receive Christianity through CMS missionaries in the 1890s, while St Stephen’s Anglican Primary School, Ọ̀ra, established in 1912, is reputed to be the first primary school in all of Ìgbómìnàland.
Strategically, Ọ̀ra sits at the northeastern intersection of the Osun-Kwara-Ekiti corridor, providing a gateway to different Yoruba communities and cultures. Also, Ọ̀ra shares in the broader cultural characteristics for which Ìgbómìnà communities are known: farming, hunting, long-distance trading, woodcarving, leatherwork and strong commercial enterprise.
Ọ̀ra is not only reputed for education and Christianity; various Egúngún such as Ladunwo, Aloba, Orimasu, Alagbokun, and Ẹlẹ́wẹ, together with the Aṣá-Ooni—Akesin kingship institution and Isagun tradition, give the town a vibrant cultural architecture.
But one night, an incident rocked Ọ̀ra Christendom, sending the clergy and the laity; men and women, young and old — into fits of laughter that sent hilarious tears cascading down elated faces.
The incident happened exactly 40 years ago. But veteran broadcaster and former Chairman, Nigeria Union of Journalists, Osun State Council, Prince Ayoade Adedayo, told the tale to a bunch of journalists at the council secretariat in Osogbo, about 23 years ago. I was part of the bunch that night when Adedayo’s tale cracked ribs and tipped over some bottles and glass cups, crashing.
Ẹ̀gbọ́n Adedayo, a prince from the Aṣá-Ọọ̀ni Ruling House of Ọ̀ra, is a master storyteller; he wrote the story in my heart that night.
Wanting to savour the comedic tale again, I put a mischievous call to my friend and colleague, Femi Adefila, PhD, another illustrious son of Ọ̀ra.
“Hey! Femoo, how you dey? Gbogbo ile n kọ?”
“Tunde, mo wa, family n ko?”
“Femi, do you remember that Jesus resurrection story that found its way into Ọ̀ra-Ìgbómìnà folklore?”
Femi burst out laughing. “Ha! Tunde, you’re a clown!”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha!”
Adefila, a prince of the Akesin Ruling House of Ọ̀ra, retold the story on a more elaborate and refreshing scale, adding pọ̀nmọ́, panla and oríṣiríṣi.
He began in his broadcast voice, “It was Easter Sunday, 1986. In Ọ̀ra, people are known more by their aliases than their real names. There was a woman popularly known in Ọ̀ra as Ìyá Akéde Ìgbàlà. She was the town crier of St Stephen’s Anglican Church, Ọ̀ra. “Ìyá Akéde Ìgbàlà” is an alias that means “Salvation-preaching Woman”.
“It was her divine duty to announce the resurrection of Jesus Christ on the night of Easter Sunday. Between 11 pm and 12 am, Ìyá Akéde Ìgbàlà, armed with her big bell, would walk the neighbourhood and announce: “Jesu jinde ooo!!!” “Jesu jinde ooo!!!” “O jinde ooo!!!”, ringing her bell, gb-a-g-a-n! gb-a-g-a-n! gb-a-g-a-n! (Jesu jinde ooo!!! means Jesus has risen!!!) The townspeople would respond, “O jinde looto! (He has truly risen!)
“As soon as she rang her bell and announced the resurrection, Christians would troop out of their homes en masse and begin an all-night celebration into Easter Monday morning, when everyone would go to Galilee. It was always a joyous and unifying moment to behold in Ọ̀ra. Muslims and traditional religionists also participate in the festival. At every Easter, everyone waited for Ìyá Akéde Ìgbàlà to announce the resurrection of Jesus Christ.”
In 1986, however, Ìyá Akéde Ìgbàlà did not see the risen Christ. Instead, she saw stars induced by alcohol buzzing in her head.
Ha! How did alcohol ambush Ìyá Akéde Ìgbàlà?
Adefila, the CEO of Rave FM, Osogbo, and Western Spring Television, Osogbo, continued, “Ìyá Akéde Ìgbàlà had gone to a family meeting (ìpàdé ọmọlé) in the afternoon of Easter Sunday. There, she immersed herself in the mood of the season, washing down her food with some frothing palm wine. After eating and drinking, Ìyá Akéde Ìgbàlà returned home to catch some sleep, pending midnight when she would announce the resurrection of Christ, ringing her bell.”
Shayo no bi pap. Alcohol has a three-in-one aftereffect. In one gulp, alcohol can act as a sedative and a central nervous system depressant, just as it can function like a stimulant at the initial stage. For Ìyá Akéde Ìgbàlà, I do not know the order in which the palm wine she took worked. Maybe it initially started as a stimulant, then became a depressant, before taking over as a sedative; I do not know. But Adedayo and Adefila, in their separate accounts, said that by 8 pm, Ìyá Akéde Ìgbàlà stirred awake, groggy, grabbed her bell, staggered out, and rang it a couple of times, announcing, “Jesu jinde ooo!!! “Jesu jinde ooo!!! “Jesu jinde ooo!!! (Jesus has risen!!!)”
Bewildered by the sacrilege, neighbours peeped from their windows and doors; some came out of their houses, mouths aghast, and shouted her down in one voice, “Nihin kọ!!! Ko i jinde!!! Lo re sun!!!” (Not in this land!!! He’s not risen yet!!! Go back to sleep!!!)”
It’s exactly 40 years ago that Ìyá Akéde Ìgbàlà of the illustrious St Stephen’s Anglican Church, Ọ̀ra, woke up, stretched, yawned, wobbled and attempted to rewrite the legend of Jesus’ resurrection. Or maybe she was trying to give Ọ̀ra their own Ìgbómìnà Bible.
Ọ̀ra town drowned Ìyá Akéde Ìgbàlà’s blasphemy in a unified shout and instructed her deputy to announce the resurrection of Jesus for that year. Ọ̀ra did not cast Ìyá Akéde Ìgbàlà out. They allowed her to continue in her role the following year, showing that forgiveness was a condition of salvation.
Like Ìyá Akéde Ìgbàlà, many Nigerian pastors and imams have been making the wrong announcements to both Christendom and Islam by exhibiting an obsession with preaching sex, without the Christian Association of Nigeria or national Islamic bodies cautioning them.
Highly respected elders of both religions, who themselves are not guilty of jumping on this bandwagon, have, however, not frowned on the growing practice.
It is reassuring that prominent leaders of Christian faith such as the General Overseer, The Redeemed Christian Church of God, Pastor Adejare Adeboye; Presiding Bishop, The Redeemed Evangelical Mission, Dr Mike Okwonkwo; General Overseer, Living Faith Church, Bishop David Oyedepo; General Overseer of Mountain of Fire and Miracles Ministries, Pastor Daniel Olukoya; Founder, Citadel Global Community Church, Pastor Tunde Bakare; Senior Pastor, Daystar Christian Centre, Pastor Sam Adeyemi, etc, have shunned the growing trend of sex sermons among Christian clerics.
Similarly, some Muslim clerics such as the National Missioner of Ansar-Ud-Deen Society of Nigeria, Sheikh Abdurrahman Olanrewaju Ahmad; and the 4th Grand Mufti of Ilorin Emirate, Sheikh Sulaiman Faruq Onikijipa, among others, have not been involved in sex sermons preaching.
Apart from the maddening preponderance of sex and sex-related preaching by many Nigerian pastors and imams, the brazenness of the sermons is most infuriating, just as their potential to mislead millions is most frightening.
I am not against preaching sex on the altar if the sermon is backed up Biblically or Qur’anically. A young Nigerian cleric, the founder and lead Pastor of The Transforming Church Worldwide, Sam Oye, whose few sermons I have watched, matches his sermons with biblical examples. The tone of his teachings also shows a shepherd sincerely wishing to impart tips for successful relationships to his flock.
Oye is not frivolous, talkative, nor heat-driven like most female and male clerics who preach sex on the altar of God.
Another cleric I have watched in close quarters over the years is the Head, Redeemed Christian Church of God, Jesus House Parish, Huntsville, Alabama, Pastor Peter Oyediran, who preaches from the heart. When Oyediran discusses relationship matters, he does not do it for the cameras or clicks.
There is yet another cleric whose activities I follow online. He is Apostle Bolaji Akinyemi, the convener of The Apostolic Round Table. Akinyemi teaches sex and relationship matters without dying to show his audience how good he is in the other room, like a popular Yoruba female cleric whose first name starts with the letter F.
In her bid to appear yuppie to her audience, Madam F, a married woman whom I think should be a grandmother, always abandons the kennel of her message and embarks on an exhibition in carnality, without backing up her teachings with the Bible.
There are many scandal-ridden male pastors and imams whose names I won’t besmear my hands with, but I single out Madam F because of her spousal pedigree and the rate at which her inadvertent sermons travel. Be you in Akure, Owerri, Port Harcourt or Katsina, Madam F leaves your mouth AGAPE with her forced teachings on sex and relationships. Yes, agape is the word.
But Madam F is far better than many Muslim clerics whose irritable sermons I have listened to in the course of interrogating the sex-sermon trend. Far more than their Christian counterparts, a lot of Muslim clerics who preach sex are out of their minds. Imagine a supposed imam saying, “Sleep with them all! Marry them all! The more you sleep with women, the more your rewards are in heaven.”
But why has sex become such a hot sermon topic? I don’t need to go to bible school or Quranic school to answer the question. It is because sex sits at the intersection of desire, morality, immorality, secrecy, curiosity, intimacy, shame and vulnerability. Few subjects can guarantee attention in the way sex can. A sermon about integrity may educate. But a sermon about sex will most likely electrify. The Sunday-School traditional sermon was designed primarily for the then-chaste congregation. But today’s sermon is increasingly designed for today’s wanton congregation and the camera.
It goes without saying that a provocative statement about sex can be clipped into a 45-second video, posted online and circulated thousands of times. For example, the statement, “Holiness exalts a nation,” will struggle to go viral, but when a cleric says, “Seduce your husband. Lay ambush for your wife…,” you can predict the reaction.
Therefore, the preacher can gradually become not merely a shepherd of souls but a producer of religious content, with sex being perfect content.
I must say oversexualising sermons without Biblical or Quranic references is dangerous. It is like a keg of gunpowder. A major implication is that the moral imagination of the congregation can become narrowed, like an ailing pulmonary artery suffering a blockage, and a heart attack knocks on the door.
Obviously, Christianity and Islam have enormous moral universes that include justice, compassion, poverty, corruption, oppression, honesty, stewardship, forgiveness, violence, greed, leadership, responsibility, family, death, eternity and the dignity of the human person. If the pulpit repeatedly returns to sex, the congregation may unconsciously conclude that sexual morality is the supreme measure of righteousness. And that would be a profound distortion.
It therefore must be clearly said that a man who does not commit adultery but steals public money is not necessarily a moral hero. A woman who dresses modestly but participates in corruption is not necessarily a moral heroine. A politician who avoids extramarital affairs but impoverishes millions has not solved the moral problem of his life. The danger, therefore, is not to fall into moral reductionism. This is the picture many clerics hawking sex on the altar fail to see.
For a moment, imagine your reaction if you went to a hospital and saw Mr Macaroni or Broda Shaggi or Aki or Pawpaw at the doctor’s office, ready to attend to you. You can never imagine any of them being a doctor in real life. This is what excessive sexual preaching does; it sexualises the religious environment. It puts the preacher in a straitjacket. It stereotypes a preacher.
When every other sermon is about sex, the church or mosque can paradoxically become more preoccupied with the very subject it claims to be helping people transcend or regulate.
As I said early on, I am not averse to sex sermons, but I am critical of the tone, texture, and message they bear. There are, of course, advantages in responsible preaching of sex on the altar. Sexuality is part of human existence. Religion cannot responsibly pretend that it does not exist.
Good religious teaching can help people understand fidelity, marriage, consent, sexual responsibility, pornography, adultery, premarital relationships, sexual abuse, the dignity of the body, etc. In fact, silence can be dangerous because young people need credible moral and practical guidance.
But there is a difference between addressing sex responsibly and making sex religious entertainment. The disadvantages begin when sexuality becomes sensationalised. This is when you get virality instead of spirituality.
Verily, verily, I say unto you, there is a growing band of attention-seeking clerics in Nigeria, where pastors and imams are fast becoming content creators. The secondary reason for this is that the smartphone has changed the pulpit, moving it away from church or mosque into cameras, YouTube, TikTok, Instagram, Facebook, podcasts, livestreams, etc. The primary reason is that most sex-preaching clerics are bereft of deep understanding of the scriptures.
The Bible and the Quran do not lack sexual narratives. Far from it. There is David and Bathsheba, but their story is not simply about adultery. It is also about power, abuse of authority, manipulation, murder and political impunity. There is also the story of Samson and Delilah, which involves desire, betrayal, vulnerability, power and destruction.
I won’t forget the seducer, Potiphar’s wife, and the Dreamer, Joseph, whose joint story raises questions about sexual pressure, refusal, integrity and false accusation. What of Solomon, the mighty man whose enormous sexual appetite becomes part of a much larger narrative about power, wealth, idolatry and the corruption of wisdom? I can go on and on.
In passages 11:77–79 and 15:67–71 of the Holy Quran, the story of the angels’ visit to Lot (Lut) teaches sexual violence, mob mentality, abuse of strangers, along with the theme of homosexuality. When the angels visit Lut, his people come to his house demanding access to his male guests.
For the deep priest or imam, the scriptures are replete with many stories that enrich the moral vocabulary needed for teaching sex and sexuality on the altar. So, clerics should not turn themselves into jesters or sex symbols to attract membership or go viral.
Strongly, I hold the opinion that at this juncture, the Nigerian clergy should stop, take a breath, and ask the question: What happens to a society when its religious institutions become excellent at attracting attention but increasingly poor at challenging the conscience?
What?
ENDS————————————ENDS
Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com
Facebook: @Tunde Odesola
X: @Tunde_Odesola
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