Todos, Todos, Todos!
"That is the church, the mother of all; there is room for all."
I almost had a terrible experience at Mass.
What a comeback, right? I underestimated how much my academics and work would take a toll on me, alongside several other not-so-good experiences in between. I’ve been eavesdropping a lot—from Ibeju-Lekki to Ikeja, to Braamfontein, down to Soweto, Pretoria, back to Jos, and everywhere else I’ve been since I last wrote to you.
I’ve learnt so much from the people, sounds, and sights. Hopefully, I will gradually share these as I slow down to reflect and take responsibility for some of the lessons.
I think I’ll start with what happened at Mass—it’s burning in my heart, and I’d love to share it.
I fell ill after returning to Nigeria from my study trip, and it’s been one doctor’s appointment after another. I almost changed hospitals after trying two because it felt like the healing wasn’t coming quickly enough.
The other night, I had this really deep craving for the Eucharist. It felt like my healing was wrapped up in it, and all I needed was to say “Amen” to the priest’s “Body of Christ.” The prayer after Communion, which says, “destroy everything in me that’s against Your holy will,” felt like the way out of this ailment.
So, with my dimming, dizzy eyes, I left my house for Mass that evening. I would have attended morning Mass at a nearby church, but I overslept after staying up too late.
At Mass, I could barely stand or kneel. The only posture I could manage was to sit, and that’s fine. Having served as a liturgist for at least four years, I know there’s nothing wrong with sitting throughout the Mass if you’re unable to participate in the physical gestures.
When it was time for the offering, I stood and walked to drop mine. I wasn’t far from the box, so I could hold onto the pews for support. When the Communion rites started, I wanted to participate physically—let’s say the spirit was willing, but the body was weak. I knelt at one point but couldn’t continue and sat back down.
When it was time to receive Communion—the very reason I came to Mass—my body wasn’t going to hold me back. I didn’t sit far from the altar, so I figured I could walk there as I had done during the offering.
The moment I stood up, dizziness enveloped me like darkness. I staggered but held myself steady and continued my walk to the altar. I knelt at the rail closest to me.
Then, I saw the catechist approaching. I wasn’t concerned until I heard him ask, “Are you Catholic?” His tone was quite confrontational. For context, only Catholics in a state of grace receive Communion at Mass. He followed up with, “You didn’t participate in the Mass,” he told me. What an assumption! By that logic, we could say Pope Francis doesn’t participate in Mass because he sits the whole time due to his health.
I was destabilised. I almost shrugged him off and fixed my eyes on the crucifix. At some point, I felt I should have just believed in the words we say after the Communion rites: “I am not worthy that you should come under my roof; only say the word and my soul shall be healed.” From a distance, the priest said, “Leave him.”
When he reached me, the priest asked what was wrong. I explained that I had participated in the Mass but was too sick to stand or kneel. He administered the Communion, and I returned to my seat. But the catechist’s confrontation reminded me of a viral video of a priest hitting a Mass server for not holding the mic properly. It also left me with several questions:
If he had been watching me throughout Mass, why didn’t he stop me from giving my offering? Why was he trying to deny me the essence of the Mass? Why didn’t he approach me earlier to find out if I was Catholic? Why was he confrontational? Did something about me—my black hoodie or my stagger—make him think I wasn’t “one of them”? Did he think I was drunk?
I say it was “almost a terrible experience” because, if the priest hadn’t intervened, it would have been.
“Todos, Todos, Todos!”
This was the phrase Pope Francis repeated throughout World Youth Day in Lisbon. The Portuguese words mean: “Everyone, everyone, everyone.” “There is space for everyone in the Church,” he continued.
Each of us is named and called by God to know and love Him—todos. This calling is a testament to God’s love for each one of us—todos. Since we are cherished by God, we are driven to share the truth of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection with all nations—todos.
The incident reminded me to bear witness with kindness to everyone, everywhere.
Until you draw closer, you might not know what is wrong with your neighbour. From a distance, you can sit and make assumptions that have nothing to do with their reality. Sadly, we often judge and treat people that way.
I could have used this one experience to throw away over two decades of being Catholic. But does this catechist represent the entire Church or discredit the kindness and the community that I have enjoyed? No! He is probably not a bad person guy—he was just doing his job. Could he have done it better? Absolutely.
This is also a message to anyone who has felt hurt by the Church: don’t walk away. The Church is where both the sick and the healthy come together. Just a few days ago, the Pope, alongside members of the ongoing Synod, gathered for a penitential service to seek forgiveness from God and survivors for the wrongs the Church has committed through its priests, religious members, and laity. I participated in the service, and it was a deeply powerful moment.I pray that he reflects and learns from this experience. It’s better to approach someone quietly and correct them than to make a public scene—it can be embarrassing.
This also speaks to how we correct one another. Do we wait until someone errs publicly before saying something?
As I reflected on this, I had a heartwarming moment on my way back from what could have been my most embarrassing experience. I sat next to a baby in a tricycle, and she tried to roar at me, attempting to scare me. I roared back, and we kept at it until I got off. That moment left me smiling. As roarers that we became during the few minutes’ trip, I paid for her fare.
No matter how overwhelming previous moments may feel, there’s always joy at the end.
Let’s be kind, one to another!
Oh, I forgot to add that after the Communion, just before the end of Mass, an elderly woman sitting in the pew across from me walked over and asked, “Are you doing fine?” We had a short but soothing conversation.
📖 Current Read: Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell
🍿 Two other things that I have enjoyed recently:
An exclusive interview where Gladwell talks about a wide range of issues; “from receiving an endorsement from his mother to cut class, to attending a Mennonite barn-raising with his mathematician father, to spending three days a week in Freudian therapy as a young adult - all of which help explain how he became the wildly curious and unpinnable person that he is, bent on getting to the bottom of things.”
Then, this interesting conversation between Trevor Noah and Simon Sinek on the role of friendships in mental health, success, and happiness.
P.S. Apologies if you spotted any typos—My sick eyes have been reading and editing repeatedly, and I’ll keep at it until I’ve covered every gap.
I’d love to hear what you’ve been learning, whether from the ordinary moments of daily life, a book, a film—anything. Feel free to share in the comments or reply to the email.
I’m looking forward to hearing from you!