A church that won't flatter kings is finally doing its job speaking truth

The State is sending mixed signals about its relationship with the Church. On one hand, it publicly laments that the Church has “abandoned” it, accusing clergy of siding with the opposition and turning their backs on the government. On the other hand, it parades a curated band of compliant clergy at a public function. So, which is it? Has the Church abandoned the State? If some pastors are still marching in the State’s parade, which part of the Church has supposedly walked away?

This contradiction reveals something deeper. The State is simply unsettled—unsettled by a Church that is slowly rediscovering its prophetic voice. And in that rediscovery lies the danger, not to the Church, but to systems of power long accustomed to religious endorsement.

When true prophets awaken, they don’t join partisan politics; they return to their Sender. Their task is not to flatter kings, but to confront kingdoms. Prophets are appointed to uproot and tear down, to destroy and overthrow, to build and to plant. Their mission is pain with a purpose: to birth freedom, not fear.

A Church that no longer charms Caesar is not backsliding—it is waking up. And for once, it is being seen where it always should have been: among the people, not beside the throne.

The State admits that the Church now appears to be “on the side of the youth.” This was not meant as a compliment—but it should be received as one. For the first time, coming from the Broadbase’s mouth, the Church is being accused of what Jesus was often accused of—aligning with the margins.

This is not a betrayal of duty. It is a recovery of identity. The Church does not exist to offer spiritual air freshener to political rot. It exists to bear witness to the Kingdom of God—a kingdom of justice, mercy and truth. And if that means the palaces of this world feel a little colder without clerical flattery, so be it.

Still, this prophetic moment must be stewarded wisely. The Church cannot simply echo protest. Now more than ever, we must move from presence to strategy, from symbols to substance. Prophets don’t just speak—they build.

The Church must chart pathways of non-violent resistance. Silence is not an option, but chaos is not a solution. The Church must teach the power of principled protest—a prophetic stand that resists evil without replicating it. It must advocate for justice with clarity and courage. The God we preach is not neutral about oppression. Righteousness must roll down like a river, not trickle down like a policy memo. The Church must seek restoration for victims of violence. Prophets do not only confront Pharaoh; they also bandage the wounds of the broken. Healing is holy work.

The church has made serious missteps in recent times, but it stands a chance of redeeming its worth by not reselling its soul for proximity to power, not spectating while a nation bleeds. Let it be remembered as a Church that came to its senses and walked with the wounded, challenged the unjust and helped build a new Kenya—not with stones thrown in anger, but with truth spoken in love.

Despite all their posturing, governments eventually look for pastors. In moments of shaking, when systems falter and optics fail, even kings reach for something eternal. They hunt for spiritual voices—not out of devotion, but desperation. Because when all else fails, kings want to borrow the voice of God.

Faithful priests are “Nathanites.” When the king finishes his chest-thumping speech, they wait for the Spirit’s cue and declare: “You are the guilty man!” These priests stand beside power only to remind it of the higher power. Their loyalty is not to titles, but to truth.

A king and his aura may have the power to demagnetise shaky convictions. “Judasites” are on the Lord’s side until the Pharisees dangle some shekels. Their message depends on the menu. They lose signal when truth calls. Unless anchored in conviction, a prophet’s compass will spin. Their once-bold “Thus saith the Lord” morphs into a careful whisper: “With due respect, Your Excellency…”

But a priest who has truly beheld his Lord knows no greater impression. The glory of the Lord imprints deeply and eternally. Such a priest sees the trappings of the king for what they are—mere trappings, dull and dim beside the Divine. The pastor who trembles before God will not fumble before kings. What resists this magnetic pull? Self-control that turns down the king’s table: “I’m not hungry, thank you.”

Power knows who’s real. And power knows who can be bought. The collar-coded soloists belt out the king’s praise. The king applauds—but only because he knows they’re no threat. Some pastors mistake the king’s applause for heaven’s approval. When the pastors leave, the king turns to his advisors and says, “Easy prey.”

Going to the State House

There’s nothing inherently wrong with going to the State House. Joseph did. Daniel did. Esther did. The issue is not where you go, but who you remain when you get there. The food at the king’s table is a test. Daniel saw it early. Today’s delicacies are not just cuisine—they are contracts, proximity, flattery, soft power. They fill your stomach and empty your spine.

Strangely, a king may complain when a prophet rebukes him—but he will never say, “You’ve praised me enough.” Power never tires of applause. But even kings know where to go when truth becomes scarce. Like Nicodemus, they will bypass the choir and go to Jesus by night, quietly searching for a voice not on the payroll.

So, to the Church and its ministers: go to the palace if you must. But remember who sent you—and to whom you must report after dinner. Refuse the robe. Decline the delicacies. Resist the choir. And if they never invite you back, count it joy. Prophets were never meant to live on Caesar’s budget.

A church with a pro-people pulpit in the public square is likely to miss out on State House invites. But that is not irrelevance. It is relevance of the highest order. A Church that is absent from royal feasts, but present in the nation’s pain, is precisely where God wants it to be.