The phone rang.
“Hello, Kibisu? We have the hearing on Thursday from 2 to 4 p.m. It will be online, but kindly let us have it in my office so that I can guide you. Eeeh, before I forget, carry your Bible. I do not have one.”
It was the company lawyer calling about a case in which I was a witness.
Forget the case for a moment.
It was that last sentence that stayed with me.
“Carry your Bible. I do not have one.”
It made me pause.
I realised that, despite growing up in church, I have only attended a handful of services this year. Yet I still have a Bible.
So why the distance?
And perhaps more importantly, why are so many young people increasingly distant from the church?
I grew up in Western Kenya in the Friends Church, commonly known as the Quakers. I am a Quaker myself. My childhood memories of church are remarkably different from what we often see today.
Worship was quiet. There were few distractions. Sometimes there was no music at all.
We simply sat in silence.
And somehow, silence was enough.
There was something powerful about it. You had time to think. Time to listen. Time to examine yourself.
Today, many churches have changed. There are lights, instruments, giant screens, energetic worship and increasingly elaborate productions.
There is nothing inherently wrong with making worship engaging. But sometimes I wonder whether, in making church more entertaining, we have forgotten that faith also needs room for silence.
The Kenyan church itself has evolved considerably. The mission churches that once anchored communities through education, healthcare and social service have increasingly been joined by personality-driven ministries.
The preacher has become a celebrity.
The sermon has become content.
The pulpit has become a platform.
And social media has created a new competition: who can attract the biggest crowd, produce the most dramatic testimony or generate the next viral clip?
That is where the problem begins.
Because young people are watching.
They see stories of financial scandals, fake miracles, abuse of power and religious leaders who appear more interested in wealth and influence than service.
They hear about people exploiting faith for money.
They see religious personalities living lifestyles that seem completely disconnected from the people they preach to.
And then we wonder why they ask questions.
Some eventually walk away.
But I am not convinced that all of them are walking away from God.
Many are walking away from the performance.
That distinction matters.
A young person can believe in God and still distrust the institution representing Him.
They can pray and still question the preacher.
They can have faith and still refuse to participate in what feels like religious theatre.
Perhaps that is why the church has a credibility problem.
And it is not unique to Kenya. Across the world, religious institutions have struggled when power, money and personality become more important than humility, accountability and service.
The problem is not faith.
The problem is what human beings sometimes do in the name of faith.
Yet I remain hopeful.
Because beyond the noise, there are people quietly living their faith.
People visiting the sick.
Feeding hungry families.
Paying school fees for children who are not theirs.
Mentoring young people.
Standing beside grieving families.
Serving their communities without cameras following them.
They may never trend on social media.
But perhaps that is precisely the point.
Real faith does not always need an audience.
Maybe this is where the church needs to look again.
Not at how many people are in the building, but at how many lives are being changed outside it.
Not at the size of the offering, but at the depth of the service.
Not at the volume of the music, but at the sincerity of the message.
And perhaps those of us who have become distant from church also need to look inward.
It is easy to complain about the church while doing nothing about our own faith.
That phone call from the lawyer reminded me of something uncomfortable.
I have a Bible.
But do I read it?
And more importantly, do I live by it?
Maybe that is where the conversation should begin.
Perhaps faith was never meant to be a performance.
It was meant to change how we live when nobody is watching.
And maybe the church does not need more spotlights.
Maybe it needs more light.
The kind that does not demand attention, but simply helps people find their way.
