A long way from home: Rediscovering myself during Black Catholic History Month

Some days ago, a very good friend—currently in formation to become an Anglican priest—wished me a happy Black Catholic History Month. Her message awoke an uncomfortable truth in me: It took an Anglican to remind me, a Black Catholic priest, that this month belongs to my people and my history.

In that moment, I realized something I had long avoided confronting: My diasporic experience in North America is not only social—it is also religious.

How could I celebrate Black History Month each February, yet overlook Black Catholic History Month each November? How could I forget that these two identities—Black and Catholic—live inside me, securely interwoven?

In three months, I will mark 12 years as a Catholic priest, 11 of which I have spent here in Canada. And yet only now am I awakening to the fact that my Blackness is not something separate from my priesthood—nor is it merely an “ethnic detail” to be tucked away for multicultural celebrations. It is part of what I bring to the Eucharistic table.

So, I asked myself: Does my Black identity disappear when I enter religious spaces in the Church, does my Blackness stop existing when I put on my liturgical vestments, or have I unconsciously assimilated to the point of forgetting myself?

Neither answer is comforting, but both reveal a deeper wound.

Why This Month Matters

Black Catholic History Month, established in 1990 by the National Black Catholic Clergy Caucus, is celebrated every November to honor Black Catholic contributions in North America and the African roots of Christianity.

Its timing is not in any way accidental. These are but a few of the commemorations in November:

Nov 1: All Saints’ Day
Nov 2: All Souls’ Day
Nov 3: Feast of St. Martin de Porres
Nov 13: Birthday of St. Augustine

It is a month that insists our stories belong in the communion of Saints and in the history of the Church. We remind the world that African Christianity is not a footnote in Christian history—it is a foundation. Before Europe’s missionaries, before colonialism, Africa already breathed Christianity: Ethiopia, Alexandria, Augustine, Perpetua and Felicity, Anthony of Egypt.

Despite this richness, so many Black Catholic narratives remain forgotten, omitted, or trivialized.

But Where Are the Africans?

Here is my struggle: Growing up in Nigeria, I knew I was Catholic, but it never occurred to me that I was a Black Catholic. The Jesus I encountered in books and stories was a blond-haired, blue-eyed man. Mary was beautiful but looked nothing like the mothers and aunties who raised me. The saints did not wear my skin, and the angels did not wear my hair—but the devils often did.

And I never questioned it.

This brings me to a painful observation: Many African Catholic communities in North America—Igbos, Yorubas, Congolese, Rwandese, Ghanaians, Kenyans, Cameroonians—do not celebrate Black Catholic History Month. Why?

Perhaps it is because they feel the same estrangement I feel. They do not see themselves in this story. They have been taught—implicitly—that their Blackness is “cultural.” At the same time, their Catholicity must be “universal,” which often means “European.” But integration that requires erasure is not integration; it is exile.

The Pain of Sr. Thea Bowman

No one understood this better than our great prophet, Servant of God Thea Bowman. She described this painful reality decades ago:

“Some have told us our Black religious expression is not properly Catholic. They say we are loud… irresponsible… that we lower the standards. The European way is assumed to be the better way.”

And she warned of the deeper spiritual danger:

“Black people have developed a mission mentality—‘Let Father do it, let the sisters do it…’ It kills us, and it kills our churches.”

Sr. Thea called the Church to examine itself: Who is missing? Whose voice is silenced? Whose gifts are ignored? And then she sang the truth so many of us still carry:

“Sometimes I feel like a motherless child, a long way from home…”

That line pierces me because even as a priest—celebrating Mass, preaching the Gospel, administering sacraments—I often feel like a pilgrim searching for a home within my own Church.

The Anxiety of Belonging

I love the Church. I have given my life to it. But I also feel the spiritual dissonance that so many Black Catholics live with:

My language rarely echoes in the theology I study.
My spirituality is often treated as “cultural” rather than theological.
My music is deemed profane and folkloric, and its rhythms are too simple.
My ancestors are never revered, their wisdom banalized.
My people’s suffering is often unnamed, our gifts unnoticed.
My Blackness sometimes feels like something I must manage rather than something I can offer.

And that is why this month matters: Black Catholic History Month tells us that we are not guests in the Church. We are part of the foundation. Our story belongs here. We belong here.

To all my Black Catholic brothers and sisters—descendants of enslaved Africans, new immigrants from the motherland, Afro-Caribbeans, and Afro-Latinos—this month invites us to claim our whole identity. Our faith does neither erase our Blackness, nor does our Blackness dilute our faith.

In the Church, we are not strangers, we are not visitors, and we are not problems to be tolerated. We are family, Church, and home. To reinterpret an expression from “What We Have Seen and Heard,” the 1984 pastoral letter from the African-American bishops of the United States: We are authentically Black and truly Catholic.

And so, I end with Sr Thea’s plea to the Church—a plea that still echoes today:

“Can you hear me, Church? Will you help me get home?”

A long way from home, yes, but still walking, still hoping, and still believing that the home Jesus promised is also a home where Blackness is honored, embraced, and redeemed.

Fr Nnaemeka Ali, OMI was born and raised in Eastern Nigeria and is a doctoral student at Saint Paul University in Ottawa. He has over seven years of missionary experience with the Innu in Quebec. His research focuses on postcolonial identity, Indigenous spirituality, and decolonial theology. He also teaches part-time and works as a research assistant at the university’s Centre on Churches and Truth and Reconciliation with Indigenous Peoples.