By Valentine Obienyem
The story of the woman caught in adultery has always fascinated me. It is a narrative that powerfully illustrates the influence of sacred tradition. Tradition, which knows everything, tells us the names of the thieves crucified alongside Christ – one of whom, we are told, entered Paradise.
It recounts the names of the three wise men who visited the infant Christ. And today, tradition even dares to tell us what Christ was writing on the ground during the accusation against the woman caught in the very act of adultery.
I first heard this explanation from Msgr. Michael Omissesan, who was my parish priest at St. Paul’s Catholic Church, Ebute-Metta, Lagos. Today, our chaplain, Fr. Chigozie Jidere, revisited the same story, but with even greater depth and clarity. It is characteristic of Catholic priests, deeply learned in the Scriptures – they study Latin, Greek, and Hebrew to enrich their understanding of the sacred texts. Fr. Jidere explained that in the Greek version of the text, the word used for “writing” is grapho; however, the Gospel employs the term katagrapho, which means not merely to write, but to write against – to record accusations.
Fr. Jidere suggested that Christ was writing the sins of the accusers beside their names. One by one, as they saw their transgressions laid bare, they quietly departed, since none of them could in good conscience cast the first stone.
The significance of this act is profound. It was not merely about what Christ wrote, nor the fact that no one dared to throw the first stone, but rather the deeper meaning of His action. It conveys, according to Fr. Jidere, the boundless mercy of God, who tempers justice with compassion.
It reminds us that none is without sin and that the path of righteousness demands humility before we presume to judge others. In exposing their hypocrisy without uttering a word of condemnation, Christ not only spared the woman but taught her accusers – and indeed all of us – the enduring lesson of mercy over condemnation, self-reflection over self-righteousness.
I was deeply thrilled during the Mass at the rendition of the offertory hymn composed by Fr. Anthony Umeh, “Beatius est Magis Dare.” The beauty of the composition and the reverence of its delivery stirred something profound within me. Fr. Umeh belongs to the set that followed immediately after ours in the seminary, a set remarkably blessed with musical virtuosos. Among them, three names stand out vividly in my memory: Fr. Anthony Umeh himself, Fr. Luke Okoye, and Mr. Anthony Ezenwaka.
Fr. Umeh, even in his seminary days, displayed an exceptional gift for sacred music, seamlessly blending theological depth with melodic grace. His compositions, like “Beatius est Magis Dare,” reflect not only his musical talent but also his profound understanding of the liturgy and Scripture.
Today, I am proud to note that, having inherited the musical gifts of his father, Fr. Umeh continues to enrich the Church with compositions for every liturgical occasion, lifting hearts and minds to God. His elder brother, Mr. Bede Umeh, was in my set and played the organ expertly.
Fr. Luke Okoye, with his tenor voice that could effortlessly ascend to celestial heights, brought an almost angelic quality to every piece he rendered. His singing, filled with clarity and devotion, always seemed to lift the congregation closer to the divine.
Then there was Mr. Anthony Ezenwaka, whom we affectionately called “Crescendo.” He possessed a rare ability to modulate his voice to suit any part of the harmony, excelling particularly in the bass. His nickname was well earned, for he mastered the art of gradually building his voice with such finesse that even his everyday speech carried a musical quality, always symmetrically modulated and pleasing to the ears.
Together, these men enriched our seminary days with their passion for sacred music, and it gladdens my heart to see that they continue to bless the Church with their gifts. Their music does more than beautify the liturgy, it elevates the spirit, drawing the faithful into deeper communion with God.
It is a testament to the enduring power of sacred music as a bridge between heaven and earth, between human longing and divine grace. They remind us of St. Cecilia and the saying of St. Augustine, “Qui bene cantat, bis orat” – indeed, he who sings well prays twice.
Val Obienyem writes from Awka
