By Valentine Obienyem
During a recent sermon, Rev. Fr. Maximus Okonkwo reminded us of a truth too easily forgotten: every Christian must understand his or her roots and identity in the Church through Baptism. It is Baptism that unites us to Christ and commissions us to carry the Gospel to the world. He described baptism as the “hook” that binds us to Christ and warned against deliberately unhooking ourselves from that bond. It was in this context that he spoke of what has come to be known as “Akachaamism.” A person firmly rooted in Christ and conscious of his Christian identity should not be easily swept into it.
From this foundation flows the meaning of “Akachaamism” itself. It is a philosophy of separation – a deliberate alienation from one’s spiritual roots for reasons that are often trivial, emotional, or unreasonable. It ties one’s relationship with God to the behaviour of human beings rather than to Christ Himself.
It manifests when people withdraw from the Church, not because they doubt the faith, but because they feel offended, embarrassed, or insufficiently recognized by priests, leaders, or fellow parishioners. In such cases, personal grievance replaces spiritual responsibility and, in extreme situations, even suggests unbelief.
This mindset rarely begins dramatically; it usually grows quietly. A choir member stops attending because of a misunderstood remark. A youth leader withdraws because he feels sidelined. A committed volunteer becomes distant because her contribution was not publicly acknowledged.
These are ordinary human experiences, yet when faith is measured by human conduct rather than by Christ’s call, they become excuses for separation. What should have been addressed with patience and dialogue is transformed into a mischievous drama in hyperbole and paradox.
It is against this background that the case of James Okoye (Akachaam) must be understood. He brought this philosophy into sharp relief when he chose to leave the Church because Bishop Jonas Benson was erroneously thought not to have acknowledged Senator Ifeanyi Uba’s role in building the Cathedral at Nnewi. That such an unmannerly flay of resentment should come from a knight of the Church is perplexing, for a knight ought to embody loyalty, patience, and a deep understanding of the Church’s mission.
When it later became evident that recognition had indeed been accorded and fully documented, some of us sheathed our swords, but rather than apologize for the misinformation, Mr. Okoye shifted the argument from whether recognition existed to how well it was given.
This shift reveals that the issue was never really about truth or justice, but about wounded pride. Even after the incident, his continued public statements suggest that deeper personal grievances are at play. Like many anticlerical voices, he seized the opportunity to attack the Church, turning private dissatisfaction into public display.
Those who know Bishop Jonas Benson understand his temperament: he is a bulldozer in work, focused and unsentimental, often unaware of whose toes he steps on because he does not set out to step on toes. Those who carry grudges against him may not even realize that he himself is unaware of them. His openness does not create resentment, but it often becomes fertile soil for others to cultivate it. As history repeatedly shows, all the groups whose greed had been clipped by his reforms united to plot his fall, using this incident as pretext.
From personal grievance, the matter quickly expanded into something broader. Most of those attacking him are, in truth, attacking the Church itself. This feeds a growing spirit of anticlericalism, where hostility toward priests and Church authority is mistaken for enlightenment or emancipation. On social media especially, some are so recklessly aggressive, so outspoken and exuberant, that one wonders whether truth or justice motivates them at all.
Because some of them are men of letters who know how to make thoughts shine through words, they now serve the tale of James Okoye against the Church and Bishop Okoye in a peppered sauce, dressing personal grievance in elaborate language and presenting resentment as reason.
This pattern is not new. History confirms that whenever organized movements set out to weaken “the Church,” they almost always target the Catholic Church. From France and Mexico to communist regimes, attacks were directed at Catholic clergy, institutions, and properties because weakening the Catholic Church is tantamount to weakening a powerful moral and cultural force.
In such moments, scandals and inconsistencies weaken the persuasiveness of Christian preaching and precipitate the passionate anticlericalism of those already disposed to hostility. Even misdirected individuals often join in this aggression, motivated by emotion, pride, or the desire to appear enlightened rather than faithful.
Within this atmosphere, I understand that Mathias Ezeaku is preparing a reception for Akachaam. People like him often seize on such incidents to justify extreme positions and harsh views about the Church. Yet this episode also offers a moral lesson, especially on the nature of giving.
True generosity is best exercised with humility and discretion. Gifts or services rendered inconspicuously honour God rather than self, while the hunger for public acknowledgment distorts motives and turns acts of charity into instruments of pride. Those who quietly build schools, hospitals, or parish projects without demanding applause leave a legacy that endures precisely because it serves God, not vanity.
Still, while rejecting “Akachaamism”, the Church must not ignore her own shortcomings. Scandals and hypocrisy weaken her witness and obscure the face of Christ. Mahatma Gandhi expressed this painful truth when he said, “I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians.
Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.” He admired the beauty and power of Christ’s message but was disheartened by those who claimed to follow Him without reflecting His humility, compassion, and integrity. His words remind Christians that their lives, more than their speeches, either draw people to Christ or push them away.
Yet Gandhi’s rebuke must be balanced with St. Augustine’s wisdom. Augustine warned believers not to abandon the Church because of the sins and failures of her members. For him, the Church is holy not because her children are flawless, but because Christ is her foundation. Human weakness is inevitable, but faith is not a response to human perfection; it is a commitment to God. To leave the Church because of men is to mistake the vessel for its treasure and to turn away from Christ because of those who imperfectly represent Him.
Val Obienyem writes from Awka, Anambra State, Nigeria.
