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From Chris Uchenna Agbedo
Public Forum
I was deeply engrossed in crafting an article on a subject that captured my interest when my friend and Super Lion, Dr. Chido Nwangwu, threw in a video clip that jolted me out of my concentration. It was not a typical distraction but rather a scene so surreal that I could not help but watch it over and over again, each time shaking my head in disbelief. In a rather striking and somewhat embarrassing scene that unfolded in a Nigerian church, a state governor’s decision to sit among the ordinary congregants spiraled into a moment of chaos, culminating in an act that can only be described as a classic case of farcical kneeling challenge. What followed was a display of deference so extreme that it bordered on the ridiculous or what the former Governor of Imo State, Owelle Rochas Okorocha, would relish to refer to as ‘Iberiberism.’ I will return to Owelle’s special term shortly. Meanwhile, follow me as I relive the video clip.
The video was of a Nigerian State Governor attending a church service, an event that should have been ordinary but quickly spiraled into something far more absurd. The scene played out like a tragicomedy, with the lead pastor throwing himself at the mercy of the governor, begging him to abandon his chosen place among the commoners for the exalted front row. The act was so absurdly over the top that it left onlookers in stunned silence, and many could only shake their heads in disbelief. The governor, in what seemed to be an attempt at humility, chose to sit among the regular congregants instead of taking the prominent front seat reserved for dignitaries. The pastors, upon sighting the governor in his self-chosen humble position, rushed to plead with him to move to the front.
It was not just a simple request. It was as though their world had been turned upside down by this breach of protocol. How an earth can an Executive Governor be allowed to sit among the common congregants? Apostasy! Who did this to the Church Ushers Corps? Heads must roll! But the scene took a truly bizarre turn when the lead pastor, desperate to restore what he perceived as the proper order, knelt down before the governor in the middle of the church, begging him to move.
Quite uncharacteristically, the governor earnestly pleaded with the Lord’s Shepherd to allow him be where he had opted by wilful choice. But the lead pastor made it clear to the humble Servant Leader that he wouldn’t take it one bit. In an unexpected twist, the governor, perhaps to emphasize his point or to diffuse the awkwardness, knelt down in return, insisting that he could not and would not move to the front seat against his will.
That kneeling ‘challenge,’ like Brain Jotter’s trendy ‘gwo gwo gwo ngwo’ skit, might have been amusing if it weren’t so painfully embarrassing to watch. Surely, the spectacle was not lost on the other pastors, who quickly recognized the absurdity of the situation. And realizing the embarrassment it was causing, they quickly moved to salvage what was left of their dignity. They had to pull their condescending leader up from his shameless kneeling act, but by then, it was too little, too late. The damage was done – too late to cry when the head was already off.
This episode is a glaring example of what happens when power and piety collide in the most undignified of ways. The pastor’s kneeling act, intended perhaps as a gesture of respect, instead became a symbol of sycophancy and misplaced reverence. It exposed the uncomfortable truth about the relationship between religious leaders and political figures in Nigeria – a relationship that often veers into the territory of worship rather than mere respect. This desperate act of deference, which was clearly an attempt to preserve the church’s relationship with a powerful political figure, backfired spectacularly. It exemplified the very essence of ‘iberiberism’ – a foolish, spineless act that not only undermined the dignity of the church but also exposed the clergyman to ridicule.
By the way, the term, ‘iberiberism’ coined by former Imo State Governor, Rochas Okorocha, is rooted in the Igbo concept of ‘iberibe,’ which refers to a compound buffoon, whose ridiculous behaviour brings shame and embarrassment to those around them. The lead pastor’s desperate kneeling before the governor in a bid to persuade him to move to a more ‘appropriate’ seat is a glaring example of this concept in action. This curious episode raises significant questions about the intersection of power, humility, and the role of religious institutions in Nigerian society.
On the surface, it might seem like a simple act of humility on the part of the governor. But the symbolism and the reactions it provoked reveal much deeper social dynamics at play. In many parts of the world, particularly in societies where democracy and social equality are deeply ingrained, such an act by a public official might be seen as commendable and even expected. Leaders are often encouraged to blend with the people they serve, to avoid unnecessary pomp and to display a sense of humility. However, in the Nigerian context, where power and status are frequently paraded with great fanfare, the governor’s actions were seen as refreshingly shocking. The pastors’ urgent entreaties for the governor to move to the front are no less telling. It reflects a societal expectation that power must always be visibly acknowledged and celebrated. The front seat, in this case, is not only a place of honour but equally a symbolic throne where authority must be recognized and revered even if ‘by fire, by force’. The pastors, perhaps unconsciously, reinforced this expectation by their actions.
The governor’s refusal to move, though, could be interpreted in multiple ways. Was it a genuine act of humility, a demonstration that he does not see himself as above the common people? Or was it a calculated move, a political strategy designed to win favour with the electorate by appearing down-to-earth and approachable? Well, it would have been less tenuous to connect the dots if it were an election season. But that was hardly the case. The electioneering was over and the governor has settled down for the serious business of governance. In a political landscape where image often overshadows substance, one cannot help but wonder if this act was as much about optics as it was about humility.
Religious institutions in Nigeria wield significant influence over their congregations, and by extension, over the larger society. The reaction of the pastors, who seemed almost desperate to maintain the status quo of deference to power, speaks to a broader issue. It highlights how religious leaders can, knowingly or unknowingly, perpetuate systems of inequality by emphasizing the distinctions between the powerful and the ordinary. One cannot help but wonder what motivated the pastor to behave in such a manner. Was it fear of losing favour with a notable politician? Was it a misguided sense of duty to show respect to authority, even at the cost of his own dignity? Or was it simply a lack of understanding of the principles of humility and equality that the church is supposed to uphold?
Whatever the reason, the incident serves as a sobering reminder of the perils of ‘iberiberism.’ When leaders, whether in the church or the state, allow themselves to be driven by fear, sycophancy, or a desire for approval, they risk not only their own reputations but also the integrity of the institutions they represent. The lead pastor’s kneeling act, far from being a display of respect, became a spectacle of foolhardiness that will be remembered for all the wrong reasons. In a society where power is often wielded with impunity, and where those in authority are frequently placed on pedestals, it is crucial for religious leaders to remain steadfast in their principles. The church, as a moral compass, must resist the temptation to bow to worldly power, especially when it leads to actions that contradict its core values. The pastor’s colleagues were right to intervene, but the incident had already sent a clear message: ‘iberiberism’ has no place in the house of God.
The phrase “too late to cry when the head is already off” aptly describes the aftermath. No amount of damage control could erase the image of the lead pastor groveling at the feet of a politician in the house of God. The video, now likely making rounds on social media, serves as a reminder of how easily respect can be twisted into something unrecognizable when it is driven by fear or the desire to curry favour. For the governor, what might have started as a simple act of humility turned into an enervating miasma of public ridicule.
For the church, it was a moment that highlighted the dangers of conflating spiritual leadership with political patronage. And for all who watched, it was a cautionary tale about the perils of forgetting where true respect should lie – not in the position or power of a person, but in the integrity and dignity of our actions. In the end, this farcical display of kneeling did more harm than good, leaving everyone involved looking awkward and the church’s reputation tarnished. It is a lesson for religious leaders to stand firm in their principles, resisting the urge to bend to worldly power, lest they find themselves kneeling in shame rather than in reverence.
This episode should serve as a lesson to all leaders – religious and otherwise. True respect is earned, not demanded, and it certainly cannot be bought with condescending acts of a courtier. If the church is to maintain its role as a sanctuary of integrity and moral authority, it must avoid the pitfalls of ‘iberiberism’ and remain true to its calling. This event serves as a reminder of the need for both religious and political leaders to critically examine their roles in society. It raises the question: should a church, a place where all are supposed to be equal before God, be reinforcing societal hierarchies? And should a public servant, who is meant to serve the people, be placed on a pedestal above them? In the end, the governor’s kneeling act, whether genuine or politically motivated, has sparked a necessary conversation about the roles of humility, power, and the expectations of leadership in Nigeria.
It is a call for introspection for both the leaders who hold power and the institutions that shape societal norms. If true humility is to be valued, it must be consistent and sincere, and it must challenge the very structures that demand deference to power, rather than reinforcing them.
Our esteemed clergies, pillars of spiritual guidance and moral leadership, often find themselves in the delicate position of hosting political figures within the sacred walls of their churches. The presence of these power-wielding individuals can turn a regular service into a spectacle, where the lines between spiritual reverence and political patronage blur in uncomfortable ways. The video clip has underscored the need for our clergy to exercise wisdom and discernment when interacting with political heavyweights during church services. The episode of a governor choosing to sit among ordinary congregants, only to be met with a desperate and ultimately embarrassing plea from a pastor to move to the front, speaks to the potential pitfalls of doting too eagerly on those in power.
When next our revered clergy are faced with the task of welcoming a political figure into their congregation, they would do well to first gauge the demeanor of their guest. Not all governors, senators, or ministers will readily embrace the pomp and deference that some might expect. As was made painfully clear in the footage, a straight-faced, hard-nosed leader may not play along with the usual expectations of honour and reverence that are typically accorded to such figures in the church setting.
The knee-jerk reaction of rushing to appease these leaders, even to the point of embarrassing oneself and the church, should be tempered with the understanding that not all political figures seek or appreciate such gestures. Instead of immediately bending to perceived protocol, clergy should take a moment to observe and respond appropriately, ensuring that their actions align with the values of humility, respect, and integrity that the church is meant to uphold. The drubbing that the pastor received – metaphorically, of course – by a governor who refused to play along with the expected script, should serve as a lesson.
It is a reminder that true respect and dignity in the house of God are not dictated by the whims of political power but by the steadfast adherence to the principles of faith and moral leadership. Our clergy must remember that their primary role is to lead their flock in spiritual matters, not to curry favour with those who hold temporal power. The church should be a sanctuary where all, regardless of status, are equal before God. When political figures enter this sacred space, they should be treated with the same respect as any other member of the congregation – nothing more, nothing less. In this way, our clergy can avoid the pitfalls of sycophancy and maintain the dignity of their office. They can ensure that their actions do not inadvertently bring ridicule or embarrassment to themselves or their church. And most importantly, they can uphold the sanctity of their role as spiritual leaders, guiding their congregations with wisdom and grace, even in the presence of those who wield earthly power.
A governor who chooses to shed the trappings of officialdom and quietly slip into a church service is making a profound statement – one that transcends the pomp and ceremony typically associated with political power. In that moment, he is not a governor seeking public recognition or respect, but a sinner seeking redemption, a soul in search of salvation. His act of humility, of choosing to sit among the ordinary congregants rather than in a place of honour, speaks to a deeper, personal encounter with faith—a desire to come face-to-face with Christ and atone for the sins that weigh heavily on his conscience.
Unfortunately, this critical message seemed lost on the overzealous lead pastor who, in his frantic attempt to show respect and honour to the state’s number one citizen, abandoned all ecclesiastical protocol. By stampeding the governor out of his chosen low-profile position and railroading him into a more prominent front-seat spot, the pastor not only disrupted the governor’s personal moment of penitence but also misinterpreted the essence of his presence in the church. In the rush to accord the governor his “due honour and respect,” the pastor overlooked the fact that true repentance requires a stripping away of worldly titles and positions. It is about humility, about standing naked before God, unburdened by the weight of power and privilege. For the governor, this act of entering the church quietly and sitting among the people was likely a deliberate choice, a symbolic gesture of contrition. It was a personal, spiritual act, not a public, political one.
The pastor’s frenetic efforts to elevate the governor to a more prominent position did nothing to lessen the gravity of the sins the governor came to atone for. If anything, it detracted from the solemnity of the moment, turning what should have been an intimate encounter with the divine into a spectacle of misplaced reverence. The act of repentance is deeply personal, and it requires a space where the penitent can seek forgiveness without the distractions of public adulation.
In this case, the pastor’s actions, though perhaps well-intentioned, missed the mark. The church is a place where all are equal before God, where the powerful and the powerless stand on the same ground, seeking the same grace. By insisting on elevating the governor to a position of honour, the pastor inadvertently reinforced the very barriers that the governor was attempting to break down. For clergy, this incident serves as a reminder to be attuned to the spiritual needs of their congregants, regardless of their social or political status. It is a call to prioritize the sacred over the ceremonial, the spiritual over the social.
When a leader, or any individual, enters the church seeking solace and redemption, they should be met with understanding, not with a rigid adherence to the hierarchy that exists outside the church’s walls. In the end, the true measure of respect is not found in the seats of honour or in public displays of deference, but in the quiet, unassuming space where a soul can connect with the divine. Our clergy must remember that their role is to facilitate this connection, not to disrupt it with unnecessary gestures of reverence. In doing so, they will ensure that the church remains a sanctuary for all who seek redemption, regardless of their rank or title.
If peradventure, the repentant soul fails in the end to make Heaven, despite all his heavenly race endeavours, such characters as the worldly pastor that represented land mines and needless distractions, should be held responsible! Can I hear a thunderous ‘God forbid’.
• Prof Agbedo writes from the University of Nigeria, Nsukka.
