YVONNE'S TAKE: Praying for prayers

This past week, the country marked a 22-year-old tradition — the National Prayer Breakfast.

Its stated pillars are noble: unity, reflection, and purpose. A moment, at least in theory, for leaders to step away from the political fray and look inward, together. To take stock of the state of the nation with humility, with grace, and with sincerity.

But this year, I found myself struggling — not just to find the meaning of it all, but to locate where, if anywhere, the honesty lies in it anymore.

Because what we witnessed wasn’t unity. It wasn’t a reflection. It certainly didn’t feel purposeful. It felt more like ritual than repentance. A carefully choreographed pause between insults. A brief interlude of scripture and song, quickly forgotten in the return to politics as usual.

You cannot trade blistering attacks on your opponents one day and bow your head in solemnity the next, and expect a country to believe it’s anything more than a show. You cannot gather under the banner of prayer and then resume hostilities — louder, sharper — as if nothing ever happened.

At its inception, the National Prayer Breakfast was a bold idea. That at least once a year, leaders of all stripes would come together, break bread, and acknowledge something larger than themselves — the weight of their office, the power of collective responsibility, and the sacred duty of public trust.

But what is sacred about performance?
What is sincere about prayer when it’s not followed by change?

Last year, Kenya’s young people — Gen Z in particular — took to the streets. Not because they hate leadership, but because they no longer believe in its promises. I suspect that this year’s prayer breakfast did little to win back their trust. If anything, it may have widened the chasm. A nation in crisis doesn’t need another stage-managed photo-op. It needs action, change and honesty.

The youth are watching. They are not just counting the speeches. They are measuring consistency. Looking for courage. For leaders whose actions match their prayers — not just for one morning, but for the long road ahead.

Because prayer, when it is real, calls us to transformation, not performance. Because prayer should never be a prop. And unity must be more than a photo-op.

If we are not willing to be changed by the words we utter — if these breakfasts are not followed by a breaking of political pride, a softening of hearts, a recommitment to serve without insult or ego — then maybe it is time to reconsider them altogether.

There is something sacred about silence, too, perhaps that’s what this country needs — not another carefully choreographed morning of verses and virtue, but a quiet season of listening. Of service and of repentance without microphones.

We do not need perfect leaders. We need honest ones. Perhaps it’s time to pause — not for breakfast, but for honesty.

So next year, or even the year after that, if we must gather to pray, let it be different. Let it be uncomfortable. Let it be true. Let us first come with honesty, not polished speeches. If we cannot do that, perhaps silence would serve us better than ceremony.

Because the true test of prayer is what we do after we say “Amen.”