When the editor asked me to join Kenya Imagine, and to submit a piece
on the Church in Kenya and the post-election violence of 2007, I was at
a loss as to how best to respond.
The brief loss of internet access in my house allowed me the luxury of sifting through the varied strands of Christianity I had witnessed in my own failed attempt at elective politics in an area that was a flash-point during the violence: Cherangany constituency.
I was also reminded of the checkered, belated attempts by such clergymen as my own dad to develop and advance a theology of peace and justice in a Church that still represents the hopes and fears of a nation.
My thoughts and resolutions, however, found clarification in a reflection Carl Wilkens gave, at the Church I attend in Washington, DC., this evening. Wilkens is your typical last-man-standing, having remained in Rwanda when most Westerners were fleeing to safety. He released his wife and kids, but remained to test the edges of law and morality in saving over 500 lives during the genocide, and over 12,000 in humanitarian service at its end.
As a former head of the Adventist Development and Relief Agency International in Rwanda, Wilkens knows something about faith in the public square in the context of violence. "People, as was the case with the Holocaust, often ask where God had been. The question we ought to ask is where God's people were," he told the congregation, in a tenor reminiscent of the Underground Church in Nazi Germany.
He continued to argue that people need to sort out the labeling of each other, for violence is often preceded by a systematic dehumanization that makes genocide near-normal. "Germans," he argues for effect, "did not kill Jews: Nazi Germans did." Wilkens then calls for political awareness on the part of believers and their leaders, and a departure from a Christianity that is oblivious of vital developments in wider society.
His thesis, however, lies in his submission that Christians ought to rediscover God's gift of freewill, and both the beauty and horror presented by a people who do not appreciate the gravity of their choices. The American government at the time, he argues, cared; but its idea and choice of the important was negated by its sense of the tyranny of the urgent. He counsels against contemporary Christians making similar choices.
I could not think of a better way to begin my journey with KenyaImagine.
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We're very pleased to announce that Jesse Masai has agreed to write a regular piece for KI.
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Take a look at Father Athanase Seromba of the Parish of Nyange in Kibuye and how he treated the people who came to his church seeking protection (African Rights. Seromba Charge Sheet No. 2, p. 6):
'Someone asked him: “Father, can’t you pray for us?” He replied: “Is the God of the Tutsis still alive?” Someone else said to him: “Aren’t you concerned about these children soiling the altar…?” He answered: “You can go and shit on the altar if you want to, because I won’t be celebrating mass on it ever again.”'
Then the massacre started.
It is all very well to celebrate the Christian message of forgiveness and to remind people of free will but the loud silence on the institutional complicities and the impact of Christian symbolism and narrative in the genocide and in the politics that led to it suggests either total ignorance or complicity with evil.