The Church in Kenya: A Voice Regained or an Act of Convenience?

From the outset, let me state that I am a Christian—Catholic, to be precise—born and brought up in Kenya. Growing up under Moi's soft-to-hard dictatorship, three institutions stood out in their defiance of the regime: university students and dons, the opposition, and the clergy. It wasn’t easy. Many paid the ultimate price for what we now call the second liberation. Among these were firebrand clergymen like Bishop Ndingi Mwana’a Nzeki, Rev. Timothy Njoya, and others whose courage became the soul of the nation. Their fearless stand against tyranny gave hope to a struggling populace.

But over time, things changed. The church, once a bastion of integrity, began to lose its moral standing. Slowly at first—from the 2007 elections—and then deeper, during the 2013, 2017, and 2022 election cycles. The church became increasingly materialistic, aligning itself with political interests. It wasn’t just about prayers anymore; it was about harambees (fundraisers), building mega-churches, and courting influence. Politicians, ever the opportunists, saw value in the church’s crowds, while the church seemed to welcome their money—no questions asked.

It became commonplace to witness politicians donating sums during church fundraisers that exceeded their five-year salaries, sometimes attending multiple harambees in a single weekend. These leaders were prayed for and proclaimed as “God-ordained,” while the origins of their wealth were conveniently ignored. Many Christians, unfortunately, believed without question. For those of us who dared to question, faith in the institution began to waver. To me, the church became the salt that had lost its taste—an institution that no longer led us to God but seemed preoccupied with worldly gain.

The last two decades under leaders the church told us were God-given have been anything but divine. The results of their leadership are visible in the pain and struggles of ordinary Kenyans. Did the church speak up? No, it did not. Instead, it graced statehouses, filled stadiums to "pray for the country," and remained conveniently silent. Over the last two years, Kenya’s economy has been in HDU, headed to ICU, and yet the church stayed quiet.

Then, last week, something changed. The Catholic bishops came out in force to condemn the government. On the surface, it seems like the church is regaining its voice, and we should celebrate that. I celebrate them. They are now on the side of the people, speaking our language, and their voice is welcome. But, truth be told, I question their sincerity.

The timing is revealing. The church has raised its voice now, not necessarily for the plight of the common Kenyan, but seemingly because the government has swindled mission hospitals by failing to pay the billions owed to them by the defunct NHIF. Mission hospitals have threatened to withdraw their services unless this debt is settled, as their operations are unsustainable without these funds. (Source: Catholic Health Commission Statement).

We welcome the church’s renewed voice, but for it to regain its true place in society, it must go beyond this singular issue. The church must consistently and sincerely articulate the pains its congregants are going through and fearlessly point out the government’s failings. Only then can it regain its saltiness and, perhaps, win back people like me who lost faith in its leadership. The church must once again become the soul of the nation—not for convenience, but for truth and justice.

#ChurchAndState #Kenya #FaithAndLeadership #MissionHospitals #NHIFCrisis