By VALENTINE OBIENYEM

The news of Fr. Anthony Okoye’s passing brought with it a peculiar mixture of grief and reflection. Mr. Peter Obi had intended to travel to Anambra to attend the burial personally, a gesture that would have been in keeping with his habitual consideration for those he respects. Yet, on Tuesday evening, the plan was quietly abandoned. Let me disclose a subtle truth: the moment I mentioned that Prof. Charles Soludo would be presented with his Certificate of Return, he cancelled his journey. “It is his day,” he remarked. “Let him have the field all to himself.” Such magnanimity, such regard for the proper moment of recognition, defines the man: a mind unsullied by envy, a heart sensitive to propriety and the dignity of others.

Instead, he entrusted the representation to Prof. Patrick Obi and myself. “Val,” he said, “there are issues concerning the support of education that I had hoped to discuss with Fr. Basil Ekwunife. I intended to see him at the requiem mass. Kindly ask him to call me.” His concern was always practical, earnest, and matter of fact.

I questioned him, as any curious mind might: was there anything uniquely compelling about Fr. Anthony that warranted this attention? Mr. Obi’s response was simple yet profound: “Fr. Anthony was engaged in the school apostolate. He devoted his life to education, shaping minds and nurturing spirits. It is the work of such men that sustains a nation.”

As usual, on the day of the burial, Tuesday, he called me at 3 a.m. to remind me of the event. Well, I have known him for ages; such a call is when he wants to “kwugharia onu.” After the long call, I wooed sleep by listening to Smokie.

It was after I had examined the funeral card that I noticed Father had died at forty-one years. A life so brief, yet so consequential. As my friend might observe, he died at the amplitude of his curve, that fulcrum of existence where vigour, purpose, and potential converge—a life at its most intense, its most luminous. One cannot help but reflect on the irony of human existence: how greatness, so often, is measured not by duration but by depth, intensity, and the reach of one’s influence.

At Holy Trinity Cathedral, Onitsha, we attended the requiem Mass. The homilist’s words painted the contours of Fr. Anthony’s life with clarity and compassion. There was an unmistakable sense of evident goodness. He recounted, with gentle awe, that whenever a fellow priest visited, Fr. Anthony would request confession by saying: Fr. “tichaa mu.” Between him and Ebuka obi, who learnt from another? Here was faith lived deliberately, conscientiously, and beautifully.

During announcements shortly before commendations, the character of Fr. Anthony was further illuminated. The priest spoke of the virtues he embodied: humility, diligence, and a profound commitment to education and spiritual guidance. While I might have regarded these words as formalities, the women beside me nodded in sincere accord. The homilist spoke of Archbishop Valerian’s regard for Fr. Anthony, noting the plans he had for the young priest, recognizing him as a vessel worthy of significant responsibility within the Church. “Our Father,” he concluded, “the Archbishop loved him, but God loves him more.” These words struck a chord, resonating as both tribute and moral reflection.

At one moment, my attention wandered to the basilica itself. I reflected upon its enduring architecture: expanded yet preserving the solemn dignity of Romanesque design. I am grateful to the Archbishop and those who guided the Church that they resisted the allure of grandeur that often leads to the demolition of heritage. The basilica, in its measured magnificence, stands as a monument to history, faith, and the enduring human desire to create spaces worthy of divine presence. Already, one can imagine it becoming a site of pilgrimage not only for the faithful but for those drawn by historical curiosity. As with St. Peter’s Basilica and other venerable structures, it is the passage of time that lends weight to its significance; it is the witness of years, of generations, that transforms stone and timber into sacred history. Let no reckless priest spring up tomorrow and dream of demolishing that emblem of history.

After the Mass, private conversations revealed further facets of Fr. Anthony’s devotion. Two friends, pallid and subdued, shared the ways in which he nurtured other’s children alongside his priestly duties, guiding them through education to the university level, and preparing others to live with him in mentorship and care. These acts reveal a life committed to the cultivation of intellect, the shaping of character, and the nurturing of potential.

In contemplating Fr. Anthony Okoye, one sees a life that, though brief in years, attained remarkable amplitude in virtue and influence. His work in education, his pastoral vigilance, and his moral integrity form a legacy that transcends temporal measurement. There is a lesson in his curve of life: that intensity and purpose can outweigh mere longevity; that devotion, discipline, and love for the growth of others define the measure of a life.

Thus, concerning Fr. Anthony, we leave with reflection. Fr. Anthony’s life calls us to examine our own: to ask whether we live with attentiveness, whether we cultivate knowledge and virtue, and whether we acknowledge, as he did, the fleeting but luminous nature of human existence. His life, lived in the service of others, reminds us that the amplitude of our days is counted in the depth of our impact, the sincerity of our labours, and the constancy of our devotion.