No mercy, no shame: Unrepentant thieves keep crucifying the country

Youths during anti-government protests along Moi Avenue in Nairobi, on July 23, 2024. [File, Standard]

Three men hung on crosses that Friday afternoon. One was innocent. Two were guilty. Of the guilty, only one found mercy. The other mocked, scorned, and died as he lived—without remorse, without repentance.

In many ways, Kenya is a country crucified by thieves—led and pierced by unrepentant looters who, like the criminals at Golgotha, have no remorse. But the deeper tragedy? Kenya has become a playground for these stubborn thieves.

We are a country led by unrepentant thieves — people who steal with swagger, loot without shame, and plunder the future while singing hymns and quoting Scripture. Worse still, we have elevated these thieves: elected them, baptised them, and asked them to pray for us. This thieving mindset has seeped into the citizenry. Many now say, “If those at the top are stealing, why should we be different? They’ve shown us that eating is fine—until the day they say otherwise, it’s our time to eat.”

Tragic. But a generation—and a new kind of citizenry—is rising, pushing back. They refuse to live under the rule of robbers. This generation is demanding repentance from thieves. And even for those who repent, they insist on a Zacchaeus-style refund—a practical restoration that makes a little heaven down here before they talk of paradise. Gen Z understands that reverence for God must be expressed in love and respect for fellow citizens. You cannot claim to love God while robbing His people!

There exists a breed of stubborn thieves who have made a life covenant with destruction. They are determined to go to their graves with their hands still in the national till. These are the ones hell-bent on crucifying the country. They feel nothing—only the insatiable urge to steal more. Restoration will take more than policy tweaks—it demands resurrection power. Power that opens new frontiers and activates agents animated by life and love.

While Golgotha had one mocker and one penitent, Kenya suffers a skewed thief population. The scales tilt heavily toward the unrepentant. If these kinds of thieves could be exported like tea or coffee, Kenya would be a first-world country by now.

There is a paradox: these thieves are not pagans. They constantly remind us they are Christians—just in case we forget! They are Christians with a stealing weakness. This “Christian” nation has become fertile ground for unrepentant thieves. The soil is rich with impunity, the climate favourable with silence, and the irrigation system is taxpayer-funded.

They thieves attend church, quote Psalms, and fund sanctuaries. But they do not look to the cross to learn how to live—they study it to learn how to kill. They gaze not at Jesus with conviction, but at the Roman soldiers. They admire their precision, cold execution, and efficiency in delivering death. They don’t see the love of the lamb—they study the accuracy of the hammer. For them, this is governance. And they follow a manual titled How to Crucify a Country.

Sadly, there is a widespread admiration—and even reward—for the thief who “makes it.” In this country, if you steal enough and smile wide enough, you get hired.

If you rob the poor, you receive a standing ovation. If you plunder skillfully, you land a consultancy contract. From suspect to senator. From looter to legislator. From criminal docks to cathedral front rows.

Go ahead — blind the people by gifting them a church building. In the name of gratitude, the worshippers fall under a spell that silences their prophetic sense. Such churches become a choir for the unrepentant.  A squad of blinded bishops and pastors not only tolerate the thieves—they have robes tailored for gang rituals. They host national prayer breakfasts for looters. They anoint with oil hands already stained with public blood. They don’t just hand them microphones—they become the microphones. Echoing what they’ve been told. Performing what they’ve been coached.

At the cross, Jesus was offered vinegar on a sponge—a bitter drink mocking His thirst. Today, those same spirits storm sanctuaries, demanding to give millions—not out of reverence, but ritual. Not to repent, but to launder. Their “faith” is forced and tactical. Their “giving” is transactional.

Their presence in sanctuaries is strategic. They’ve learned from the cross not how to be saved—but how to mock both Christ and His church. To them, Christ does not disturb. They are not struck down at the altar. They get away with everything—even murder.

Kenya desperately needs a cure for the hardened thief.

Hardened thieves freeze the nation’s conscience. We need a conscience that is alive—one that feels the pain of the people. The generation that pushes back is crying out: How long, O Lord, shall we whimper under the weight of thieves? Just as you saved the repentant thief, deal with the mocking one too. He has made a sport out of our hopes!

A Christian leadership that does not know repentance is a contradiction. It is either alarmingly low on biblical understanding—or dangerously high on religious manipulation.

Not even Bible-toting and Scripture-quoting can conceal the heartlessness anymore. If the thieves remain unrepentant, it will not be long before victims stop believing in the law altogether. Kenya’s younger generation is seeing through the theft—a theft of their future. They are so committed to silencing the mocking thieves, they already bear scars and graves as proof.

Corruption has crucified this country. And the beneficiaries of the mess—though they hide behind development tours and patriotic pretences—resist any change that might threaten their grip on power. Those who feed on carcasses prefer a lifeless Kenya.

But there is a greater power—an Easter power—that makes death-agents shudder: the power of the resurrection. This is the wellspring for revolutionaries, the force to investigate, the energy to tap. Paul considered everything else worthless compared to knowing this power.

When Gen Z and their allies have the resurrection power as their pivot, the agents of death will be left with only two options: repent, or retreat — retreat into the shadows, into their hollow pride wrapped in shame.

But the beauty of the Calvary Gospel is this: even thieves can be saved. The cross does not discriminate. One simple plea—“Remember me”—shifted a man’s eternity, despite a résumé full of wrongs.

Kenya’s leadership suffers from a drought of remorse. But if we are serious about building a loving and restored community, repentance is the bridge we must cross.