Some of the kidnapped Catholic priests
Fr. OKHUELEIGBE OSEMHANTIE Ã.
“When the centre cannot hold, mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.” These words, immortalized by W. B. Yeats, echo hauntingly in the present reality of Nigeria’s Catholic Church. With unabating kidnappings, the Catholic Church in Nigeria has now unveiled a harrowing dossier – a carefully compiled list of priests and seminarians abducted over the past decade (2015-2025).This is no ordinary ledger; it is a deficit report card, stained with the tears of a betrayed motherland, an indictment against a nation for which she has ceaselessly interceded, nurtured, and served, only to be repaid with blood and agony.
For a nation reeling under the weight of insecurity, the Catholic Church in Nigeria has found itself in the eye of the storm. The past decade, 2015 to 2025, has seen an alarming wave of abductions targeting its priests, seminarians, and religious personnel. From the northern fringes of Maiduguri to the creeks of the Niger Delta, the statistics paint a grim picture of a Church under siege. Across Nigeria’s six geopolitical zones, no region has been spared, yet some have borne the brunt of this terror more than others.
The numbers speak with chilling clarity. In the past ten years, over 200 Catholic priests and seminarians have been kidnapped across 26 dioceses and archdioceses. Some returned, forever scarred by the trauma of captivity; others were not as fortunate. The specter of death has loomed large – at least 20 priests and seminarians have been killed in the hands of abductors. The Church, often perceived as a beacon of hope and stability, has now become a prime target in a nation grappling with lawlessness.
A closer examination of the data by geopolitical zones reveals distressing trends. The Northwest and North Central regions – Kaduna, Minna, Kafanchan, and Sokoto – stand out as the most volatile, with over 50 cases of priestly abductions recorded. Kaduna Archdiocese alone has suffered the brutal killing of four priests in recent years. The Southeast, with dioceses like Okigwe and Ekwulobia, has recorded a staggering number of kidnappings, with some priests abducted multiple times – one as many as three times. The South-South is not far behind, with Edo, Delta, and Rivers States reporting frequent cases, even within metropolitan dioceses such as Benin and Port Harcourt.
Beyond the statistics lies a tragedy deeper than numbers can tell. The loss of priests strikes at the very heart of communities that depend on them for spiritual and social stability. Many of those who return from captivity are broken men – shadows of their former selves. Their sermons, once filled with conviction, now bear the undertones of fear. Some live the priesthood entirely, unable to reconcile their trauma with their vocation. Others persist but live under constant dread, their pastoral work now a gamble with death.
This crisis is not just the Church’s burden – it is a national disgrace. The failure of security agencies to stem the tide of kidnappings underscores a systemic collapse. The brazenness of these attacks, often carried out with military precision, raises troubling questions: Who arms these criminals? Who funds them? Why does justice remain elusive for the victims? While priests are not the only victims of Nigeria’s kidnap-for-ransom industry, their targeting carries a symbolic weight – one that underscores a deep-seated animosity toward Christian leadership in certain regions.
The Church’s predicament in Nigeria stands in sharp contrast to its experience in other parts of the world. Even in countries where Christianity is a minority faith – such as Saudi Arabia, Iran, or the UAE – Catholic priests do not live in the constant fear of abduction and execution. Yet, in Nigeria, a nation that prides itself on religious plurality, the clergy have become prime prey. What does this say about Nigeria’s moral fabric? How did a country that once revered its men of God descend into this abyss of sacrilege?
The Church is not silent in the face of this terror. Across dioceses, bishops have called for greater security measures. Some dioceses now impose curfews on their priests, forbidding them from traveling at night. Others advocate for self-defense training – a controversial yet increasingly necessary conversation. But security is not the Church’s primary mission. It is not meant to be an institution of armored cars and private militias. Its power lies in its moral authority, an authority that is being undermined by a government that has failed to protect its citizens.
The kidnapping crisis is a crisis of faith, justice, and national identity. Every priest abducted is a wound in the soul of the nation. Every seminarian killed is a future lost. The Catholic Church in Nigeria has tallied its numbers, but these are not just statistics. They are cries for justice, echoes of suffering, and a call to conscience for a nation that must decide: Will it continue to allow its clergy to be hunted, or will it rise to reclaim its moral and security landscape?
Fr. Okhueleigbe Osemhantie Ã. Writes from Port Harcourt.
