By Dan Okoth

A recent opinion poll indicated that Kenyans had lost faith in politicians and put their trust in the media. Some 22 per cent of those sampled said they trusted Parliament, while 88 per cent trusted the media, according to the Steadman poll.

Lest the media be accused of blowing their trumpet too loudly, I’ll look at a different group that the poll did not mention.

Although not usually polled, religious leaders are a respected lot in Kenya. In times of crisis, religious leaders have spoken up in an attempt to guide nations, even if with dismal results. When they stand up to condemn official corruption, it makes the headlines and, sometimes, leaders respond.

By their endorsement, prayers, encouragement or stoic silence, nations have been led or misled. Some Kenyans leaders owe their positions to simply associating with a religious group.

Why pollsters do not rank Kenyan religious leaders in their surveys — despite their obvious influence — is beyond me.

Regarded as icons of society, their disunity during the December 2007 general elections or the referendum in November 2005 did not sully their divine reputation.

The Kenyan presidency has always been occupied — as professed and in practice — by "men of God" who regularly attend church and bow before the Almighty at official functions.

Prayers open Cabinet meetings, and few are the Kenyans unmoved by the ‘Maasai’ elder who chants to open parliamentary sessions. MPs boast of a vibrant Christian Union.

The 2003 Demographic Health Survey indicates that about 88.5 per cent of Kenyans are Christian. In a sample of women between 15 and 49, and men between 15 and 54, some 25.9 per cent were Catholic and 62.6 per cent were Protestant (taken to mean non-Catholic Christians).

An additional 7 per cent of the population was Muslim. Less than 5 per cent professed no religion. Down to the village, mosques, churches and temples dot the landscape. A visiting American journalist once wrote that on a visit to western Kenya, she had counted more churches than schools.

So with such an abundant profession of faith, how does the Kenyan reality compare?

Does religion reflect in politicians caught in maize export scandal while the country starves, a police officer shooting a man at a bar, a teacher denies marrying a teenage pupil, villagers fighting at a watering hole, or Central Bank officials of dishonesty? (Those are all from this week’s newspaper headlines.)

Where was the ‘88 per cent of Christian population’ during the post-election violence in January/February 2008? Will I help feed those going hungry in Kenya today? Will Christian MPs and their religious colleagues pay taxes? Will the President stop corruption in high places? Will you refuse to pay a bribe?

Is religion relevant in these matters?

Whenever I walk the city streets, I hear ‘normal’ Kenyan youth plotting to ‘murder’ near-lethal concoctions of various concentrations. I read about politicians oiling the words with which they want to make a kill, belching as they go to the feet of hungry voters dazzled by shiny contraptions.

Wealth of dubious acquisition is admired and the person flaunting it respectfully addressed as ‘mzee’ from his youth. They could be pushed through the biblical ‘eye of a needle’ should the need arise.

Are sermons, drums, chants, hymns and scriptures that quickly forgotten? Are Christian leaders simply people who quit church services in a hurry to don the whitest sheepskins that hide their profession of faithlessness?

Kenya has teeming numbers attending church, wearing crosses and offering prayers enough to be known as predominantly Christian. On the other hand, it has enough scandals, crime and decadence that nearly obliterate the other side.

Then there are enough in-betweens watching in silence, neither commending virtue nor condemning vice. Worshipping neither Mammon nor the Almighty; they are not infidels, zealots or hypocrites.

But why do the lifestyles of Kenyans and their professed faith stand so far apart? Should Kenyans match their lives to their professed religion?