By Dr. Mary Kabithe | The Diaspora Times Spiritual Corner | July 2025

There are moments in a nation’s life when a prayer is no longer just a spiritual utterance but a direct confrontation with power, privilege, and the rot beneath public ceremony. Bishop David Oginde’s recent invocation at State House Nairobi was such a momentum occasion. Before an audience glittering with power, President William Ruto, Prime Cabinet Secretary Musalia Mudavadi, Cabinet Secretaries, and senior political operatives—the Chairman of the Ethics and Anti-Corruption Commission did not offer the usual ceremonial platitudes. Instead, he summoned the Holy Spirit and God into the hallowed halls of political opulence and, with piercing clarity, evoked the chilling biblical tale of Ananias and Sapphira.

For those with ears to hear and hearts not too hardened by politics, this was no ordinary prayer. In Acts chapter 5, Ananias and Sapphira were struck dead after lying about money they had withheld from God—a divine judgment not just for theft, but for deceit and the desecration of a sacred trust. When Bishop Oginde raised this passage in front of those who preside over budgets, contracts, appointments, and national coffers, he wasn’t merely reminding the room of scripture. He was pointing, in spiritual terms, at the high seats of Kenya’s government, and inviting the conscience of the Republic to examine itself.

The silence that followed was telling. The camera panned across faces stiff with forced smiles and twitching discomfort. Many who later watched the clip online described the moment as tense, unlike the usual hollow religious rituals at government events. This prayer was not designed to bless those in power, but to warn them. In invoking Ananias and Sapphira, Bishop Oginde did what many clerics have failed to do—he held a mirror before the State and asked, “Are your hands clean? Have you, like them, withheld what is not yours? And if so, should you expect mercy without repentance?”

To the ordinary Kenyan—long betrayed by the machinery of corruption, where tenders are awarded to spouses and siblings, and where public funds disappear faster than rainfall on a dusty road—the biblical story lands too close to home. The tragic end of Ananias and Sapphira is not just a Sunday School tale; it is the fate many believe Kenyan officials would face if divine justice replaced the inertia of the country’s judicial system.

The imagery was both theological and political. If, as the story goes, Sapphira walked in hours later—unaware that her husband had been buried—and lied to the apostles, then who among the powerful men in the room at State House thought of their own wives and partners as the Bishop spoke? Who among them recognized in the tale the echo of their own domestic dealings, shell companies, and joint ventures that have siphoned public funds under the illusion of legal impunity?

That Bishop Oginde—a man now institutionally entangled in the nation’s anti-corruption machinery—would choose such a moment to deliver a message of moral consequence speaks to both his courage and the hunger for integrity in the public square. This was not a prayer for convenience. It was a challenge, perhaps even a rebuke. In a country where sacred texts are often weaponized for political theater, here was a clergyman reversing the script, using scripture to unsettle rather than sanctify power.

Kenya’s political class is not unused to prayers. Churches and bishops have become frequent fixtures at State events, where the pulpit often fawns over leaders in exchange for handouts and proximity to influence. But this time, the Word was wielded not as a cloak but as a sword. And it cut deep. You could see it in the body language, in the shifting glances, in the silence that followed. Bishop Oginde reminded the State that God is not mocked—that in the presence of the Holy, even the high and mighty must tremble.

It is not known whether the Bishop’s office was raided thereafter—a rumor that spread quickly and widely—but if true, it would not be surprising. For in a country where truth is dangerous and conviction inconvenient, even prayers can provoke vengeance. But history has a way of immortalizing such moments. Years from now, the country may look back at that solemn invocation not as a footnote, but as a spiritual call to national repentance—a time when a man of God stood at the gates of Caesar and spoke not in fear, but in fire.

And if judgment must come, as it did to Ananias and Sapphira, then perhaps this time it shall not be deferred. Perhaps the Holy Spirit has already begun to stir.

Disclaimer:
The views expressed in this article are those of the writer, Dr. Mary Kabithe, and do not necessarily reflect the official editorial stance of The Diaspora Times. The article is intended for public discourse and reflection on matters of national ethics, governance, and spiritual responsibility. Any resemblance to actual individuals or events is coincidental and used purely for illustrative and critical analysis. Readers are encouraged to engage with the content with discernment and in the spirit of constructive dialogue.