Voters must see beyond religious rhetoric that hides political tricks

The first recorded words of God in Scripture are deceptively simple: “Let there be light.” They are more than the opening line of creation. They are the mission statement of God — and the standing vocation of every human being made in his image.

The earth was formless: God brought order. It was empty: God brought fullness. It was dark: God brought light. From that founding act, the entire arc of Scripture unfolds as one grand movement — God turning chaos into coherence, emptiness into abundance and death into life. He calls Abraham out of obscurity. He liberates slaves and makes them a nation. He draws water from rock, bread from heaven, beauty from ashes, and resurrection from the grave.

God does not merely manage what exists. He transforms it. This is why light is not simply a feature of creation. It is the language of divine activity.

A liar is uncomfortable among truth-tellers. A thief feels diminished in the presence of the honest. And darkness, whether moral, political, or institutional, instinctively fears the light. But here is what we often miss: darkness does not always attack light. Often, it does something far more effective. It persuades light to dim.

Full light becomes “too harsh.” Conviction becomes “too extreme.” Truth-telling becomes “too political.” Accountability becomes “too divisive.” And so, by degrees, light is reduced — not removed, but softened — while darkness, which never softens itself, quietly expands. Every corrupt system that has survived on religious territory has used this method. It cannot extinguish light. So it domesticates it. It gives light a seat at the table, a title, and a microphone — and in return, asks only that it not shine too directly.

In many African contexts, religious language has become a form of social currency. A public figure invokes the name of God, quotes Scripture at a press conference, or opens a meeting with prayer and citizens interpret this as a signal of moral accountability. Trust is extended. Questions are suspended. Scrutiny is offered a seat at the back. This is not incidental. It is strategic.

Over time, those who do not embody transformation have learned to access the language of transformation. The vocabulary of covenant is used without the reality of covenant. The rhetoric of servanthood is deployed to consolidate power. The church’s most sacred expressions are borrowed to sanitize what should be exposed. Confession is performed where conversion is absent. The name is invoked, but the character is never formed.

The burden of this confusion falls hardest not on the powerful, but on ordinary citizens who trusted that a leader who prayed publicly would also serve honestly. That trust has been weaponised. And the church, which ought to have been the sharpest voice of moral clarity, has in many cases become an unwilling accomplice through silence, softness and the desire to remain socially acceptable.

But to be made in the image of God is not a theological decoration. It is a calling — active, demanding and public. We are called to bring order where confusion has been enthroned. To speak meaning where propaganda has filled the void. To bring healing where brokenness has been normalised and to name corruption where it has been dressed in the language of development.

This is what it means to walk in light. Not light as a mood or a religious aesthetic. Light as a confronting, clarifying, transforming force that refuses to negotiate with the darkness it enters. Jesus did not say the church is near the light, or inspired by the light, or supportive of the light. He said: You are the light of the world. This is not a compliment. It is a commission.

Shiners at the ballot

Kenya is approaching a moment of consequence. An election is not merely a logistical exercise. It is a moral referendum — a collective declaration about what kind of people we are and what kind of future we are willing to demand.

For too long, citizens have been guilted into silence by leaders who claim divine mandate. “God is the one who appoints leaders” has been weaponised not to protect genuine servants, but to insulate plunderers from accountability. The language of “We will build churches” has been used to extract loyalty. The language of “We report to God not to the opposition” has been invoked to conceal theft. When a people can no longer distinguish between genuine anointing and borrowed vocabulary, darkness has already won the first battle. It is time to name this for what it is: the use of religion as a tool of political darkness. Not faith. Not anointing. Camouflage.

They are not ashamed. That is what you must understand. They do not lie awake. They do not hesitate. They have calculated the cost of your silence and found it acceptable. They have weighed your patience and called it permission. They have read your theology and concluded it will not inconvenience them. The first act of liberation is not a vote. It is a decision that you will no longer be useful to your own oppression.

The children of light have a responsibility to dismantle it with clarity. To vote not out of tribal reflex or manufactured fear, but out of the deep moral intelligence that comes from a conscience shaped by truth. To choose leaders not because they speak the church’s language fluently, but because their track record demonstrates what light actually does: it brings more life, not less.

Kenya does not suffer primarily from a shortage of voices that identify darkness. It suffers from a shortage of people willing to shine. People who bring truth where deception has been normalised.

When leaders — or their agents — come to you in the season of elections armed with religious vocabulary, do not yield to the pressure of guilt or the fog of manufactured sentiment. See clearly. Say plainly: You have deceived us enough. Then act accordingly.

The ballot is not merely a paper. In the hands of a citizen who has come to their senses, it is light. Darkness is not finally defeated by noise, by protest, or even by prayer alone. It is defeated by brightness — truth spoken, integrity lived, justice pursued and courage held steadily through an entire electoral season and beyond. In a country crowded with shadows, convenient silences, and religious theatre performed for political gain, the ancient call goes out again. Shiners wanted!

@Rev. E. Buri