CHURCH AND POLITICS: AN ANCIENT ALLIANCE IN MODERN CRISIS
Commentary By Isaac Kirigwi
It has often been said, especially
by politicians, that church and politics should remain separate. Yet history
paints a very different picture. From the coronation of Roman emperors to
present-day Kenyan campaign trails, the relationship between religious
institutions and political power has always been deeply intertwined. The
question is not whether church and state are connected; it’s how they choose to
navigate that connection, and at what cost.
The union of church and state can
be traced back to the Roman Empire. When Emperor Constantine, the first
Christian ruler of Rome, ascended to power, he declared Christianity the official
religion of the empire. This declaration ended decades of persecution against
Christians and brought religious freedom to the followers of Christ.
But it did not end there. Under
Constantine’s rule, religious leaders were granted political power and
prestige. They participated in state functions such as the investiture; a
ceremonial act of crowning a new emperor. Bishops, once solely spiritual
leaders, became key players in governance. Christianity, once a persecuted
minority faith, became the dominant, and eventually, the only recognized
religion, in the empire.
This marked the beginning of a
longstanding partnership: one where the church and state did not merely coexist
but collaborated and influenced one another.
As the Roman Empire eventually
split into Eastern and Western territories, so too did the church. The Western
Empire came to embrace the Roman Catholic Church, headed by the Pope in Rome.
The Eastern region, centered in Constantinople, rejected papal authority and
distanced itself from Roman influence.
This division was not merely
theological. It was also deeply political. Until then, the Pope and the Emperor
operated under a shared framework, with the emperor subject to the Church that
crowned him. The split signaled the first major institutional challenge to a
unified church, as ecclesiastical authority began to mirror political
boundaries.
Subsequent centuries saw even
greater fragmentation of the Church, much of it sparked by disputes over
doctrine and authority. Reformers like Martin Luther initiated breakaways that
not only reshaped Christian theology but also disrupted political power structures.
In England, the Church–State
relationship took a particularly unique turn. King Henry VIII, unable to secure
a church-sanctioned divorce, broke away from the Roman Catholic Church and
established the Church of England. With the support of his bishops, he
legitimized his new marriage and solidified his own spiritual authority. This
was not just a theological move; it was a political revolution, making Henry
both king and head of the Church of England.
Fast-forward to modern times, and
the connection between the monarchy and the church remains. During the
coronation of King Charles III, the King of the United Kingdom, on September 8,
2022, wore an oath to defend the faith and the churches of England and
Scotland, reinforcing his position as a religious as well as political figure.
Where did the Kenyan church come
from?
The truth is that Christianity,
as organized religion, was introduced to Kenya through colonization. The
British brought with them the Anglican Church, which, as previously
established, originated from a monarchial and politically-motivated split.
Similarly, the Roman Catholic Church, which also set roots in Kenya, has always
been politically structured. Its leader, the Pope, is not only a religious head
but also a head of state, the Vatican, which covers an area of just 0.44 square
kilometres, is the smallest state in the world, complete with diplomatic
recognition, ambassadors, and political punch. When the Pope visits other
countries, he is received with full state honours. This is not just symbolic;
it underscores the political weight that religious leadership can carry.
In modern Kenya, the age-old
marriage between church and politics is alive and well.
During the 2022 general
elections, churches became active campaign venues. Politicians, including
now-President William Ruto, frequently appeared at religious events. Many
religious leaders publicly endorsed him, citing his open Christianity. Some did
so out of conviction, while others may have been motivated by material gain.
After the elections, this
church–state relationship became even more evident, and more controversial.
President Ruto has continued to attend church services across the country,
often accompanied by large donations.
On Sunday, November 17, 2024, he
donated Ksh 2 million to a Parish Church in Kayole, intended for building a
rectory and supporting the church choir. However, this generous donation drew
institutional pushback. On November 18, 2024, Archbishop Philip Anyolo of
Nairobi ordered the donation to be refunded, citing a violation of church
protocols and national fundraising laws, which require formal permits. His
stand was clear: political donations must be both legal and ethical.
Similarly, on December 3, 2024,
Archbishop Ole Sapit of the Anglican Church of Kenya made headlines. During a
press conference, he announced the return of Ksh 5 million, which had been
donated to a church in Bungoma by Governor Kenneth Lusaka on behalf of the
President. Sapit viewed the donation as an attempt to shame the church and
reaffirmed that political contributions were no longer welcome in Anglican
sanctuaries.
Sapit urged faithful Kenyans to
reject any donation that cannot be transparently sourced. He emphasized a
simple yet powerful rule: politicians are welcome to give offerings, but they
must not announce the amount publicly. If the giving is truly for God, it
should be done in humility, just as ordinary worshippers do.
Despite bold steps by mainstream
churches, some Evangelical churches have taken a different path. The Jesus
Winner Ministry in Roysambu, for instance, accepted Ksh 20 million from
President Ruto even after widespread public criticism. Many Kenyans viewed this
as a political drawback. In a country where millions lack access to food,
education, healthcare, and decent housing, such huge donations sparked anger
and confusion. Why, they ask, should the church be seen as a beneficiary of
wealth when the flock is starving?
These developments have left many
Kenyans spiritually and ethically conflicted. On one hand, churches are
expected to guide with moral clarity. On the other, some appear compromised by
wealth and power.
The bold decisions by Archbishops
Anyolo and Sapit mark a critical turning point. Their stance challenges the
normalization of church-funded politics and opens a national conversation on
the ethical use of religious platforms. Yet the actions of other churches,
which continue to receive massive public donations, raise questions about unity
within the body of Christ and whether all churches are guided by the same
spiritual compass.
The fusion of church and politics
is not new but the stakes today are higher. As Kenya faces economic hardship,
corruption scandals, and social inequality, the church must reclaim its
prophetic voice. This means calling out injustice, standing with the poor, and
resisting manipulation from political actors.
If the church is to be a beacon
of truth, it must resist the temptation of wealth that comes with strings
attached. The future of faith in Kenya will depend not only on its spiritual
doctrines but on its moral courage to speak truth to power, no matter who is in
the pews.
