When a country loses sense of the sacred, it begins to lose everything

President William Ruto, Akorino Church National Coordinator Bishop Isaac Kariuki (left) Runyenjes MP Eric Muchangi Karemba (2nd right) and the Akorino Church Youth Cordinator Amos Karau during a meeting with the church's leadership at State House, Nairobi. [PCS]

There comes a time in a nation’s life when the signs of moral collapse are no longer hidden in shadows or whispered in corners — they march boldly in daylight. Kenya is living in such a time.

The Church’s mission is rooted in the sacred and anchored in the moral.  But a thriving market for the sacred is now in place. Church seizers do not need bullets, just bundles of cash. Among all the “assets”   a Kenyan politician can buy today, the Church has become one of the cheapest. 

While we sing hymns in the morning and quote Scripture at State functions, we lie, steal, oppress, and kill with alarming ease. We have become experts at wearing religious language like a cloak, even as we trample the very values that once gave us a soul. Kenya is not merely drifting from the sense of the sacred—it is drifting dangerously away from it.

When a community loses its sense of the sacred, it begins to lose everything else that truly matters. The sacred is not for show, it is the very soul that holds a people together. It reminds us that we are not the ultimate authority. It checks power, restrains greed, and awakens compassion.

But when the sacred is silenced whether by ridicule, neglect, or strategic repression, something tragic happens: the moral sense is muted.

Political lords

In such a society, what is right is no longer determined by conscience or covenant, but by the convenience of the powerful. Political lords —not moral laws — dictate what is just. Truth becomes elastic, love becomes selective, and justice becomes transactional. Love of neighbour gives way to love of money. The great commandment is quietly rewritten: “You shall love wealth with all your heart, and your tribe as yourself.”

The fear of God is replaced by fear of the oppressor. Reverence is replaced by the struggle to survive. In Kenya today, a significant section of the Church — supposed to be a prophetic thorn in the side of Pharaoh — now negotiates with Pharaoh for visibility, security, and relevance. Instead of speaking truth to power, it now murmurs approval just to remain near the throne.

And character? Character becomes the perfection of obedience, not to God, but to the one who pays. The question is no longer, “What does the Lord require of me?” but “What will secure my seat, my tender, or my influence?”

Baptism, once a sign of dying and rising with Christ, is reduced to a branding ritual. It’s less about repentance and more about belonging to the right church, the right network, or the right political tribe.

The Eucharist, intended to unite believers around the broken body of Christ, is now a photo-op with the powerful — blessings conferred in exchange for patronage.
The pulpit, once the sacred desk from which God’s Word thundered like Amos or Isaiah, is now a platform for political speeches, endorsements, and campaign ads.

Prophets are replaced by performers always proclaiming good news to the kings. Truth is seasoned to taste.

Fasting? It’s already happening, not as a spiritual discipline, but as the real-life hunger of Kenyans crushed by oppressive policies. The poor are fasting involuntarily, pinched by inflated prices and stolen futures. Prayer? It becomes behaviour management, being “nice” in hopes of being listed for bursaries, tenders, or government appointments.

Worship, once the highest form of surrender, is reduced to performance and to impress the merchants of mammon. A really good dance, a loud enough shout, and maybe the money holders will drop some millions for the church to “eat.” And the Cross? Once a scandalous symbol of sacrifice, it is now a polished decoration, stripped of its demand to die daily, to love radically, and to suffer redemptively. It no longer convicts. We have tamed it, dulled its edges, and hung it like jewelry, safely distant from our lifestyles.

In this rebranded Christianity, the sacred is redefined. It becomes manageable and marketable. Not holiness, but hype. Not discipleship, but visibility.

And society pays the price. Without the sacred, justice is no longer rooted in divine law, but in popular opinion—or worse, political expedience. Morality ceases to be a compass and becomes a mirror.

Corruption is normalised. Violence is rationalised. Hypocrisy is institutionalized. Even the most outrageous acts of injustice — extrajudicial killings, theft of public funds, police brutality — are met with shrugs, hashtags, and moments of silence until the next distraction comes along.

This is not a matter of politics alone. It is a spiritual emergency. A country that tames the sacred and muffles its moral sense is choking its spirit. This is how a nation decays, quietly, respectably, religiously. We Kenyans must ask ourselves: What kind of nation are we becoming? If the Church no longer dares to speak, and the people no longer dare to listen, who will rescue us from the death of conscience?

We do not need louder worship or longer services. We need truth in our bones, integrity in our dealings, and reverence in our politics. The sacred must be recovered—not for show, but for survival. Because once a nation loses its sense of the sacred, it loses the very soul that holds it together.

On Sundays

If Kenya is to reclaim her soul, we must recover our sense of the sacred. Not just in sanctuaries, but in boardrooms. Not just on Sundays, but in Parliament. Not just in liturgy, but in life.

We must teach that the fear the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. That love of neighbour is not negotiable. That character is not for sale. That success without integrity is failure in disguise.

Churches must become sanctuaries again. Until we recover the sacred sense, our politics will remain poisonous, our peace will remain fragile, even our future will remain uncertain.

The sacred cannot be subcontracted to religion alone. It must be lived out by all who seek truth, do justice, and walk humbly with their God. So let the sacred be spoken of not with embarrassment but with boldness.

Let the Church be the conscience of the nation, not its chaplain. And let the Cross regain its meaning—not as a symbol of privilege, but as a call to a deeper, costly love.