Now me, the Jesus I know is a Jesus that was a firm advocate for treating people with dignity.
This is why he noticed and defended people who were constantly taken advantage of. That's the Jesus me I know.
This is also why when he finished preaching the Sermon on The Mount, he didn't wait for people to come to him and tell him they are hungry - it was simple common sense. People had been there for long, and people were hungry. So he fed them.
Very simple principle.
The job of a leader and a person who's genuinely invested in the well-being of their "flock" will not wait for people to come to them and ask for 'food'.
A person has been using their gifts in your presence. Must you wait for them to tell you to pay them? That's disingenuous.
Personal tangent: Here's a lesson that was underlined to me by @mwarv. (Not intentionally on his part though, but simply by his actions.)
Mwarv was, has been, and continues to be an integral part of my photography path.
Let me tell you: From the very beginning, even when my work was very green and could very evidently do with A LOT of improvement, Mwarv made sure that part of the assignment included payment.
I didn't understand it then, because I didn't believe I was at 'payment level'.
But the man made sure I had payment on every assignment he called me up for. The rest that I volunteered for were exactly that: Voluntary on my part. But when he called me up, he paid without fail.
And that's become a part of my own practice today.
Here's what I didn't understand then: It was a matter of dignity. On several fronts: There's the very urgent reality of food & rent, but there's also the human element of being seen AND valued.
I don't know whether that as his intention, but that's what those actions said to me.
Which brings me back to dignity.
Simple human logic: A person is with you almost every day. They are bringing with them their time AND skill. How is it that you have NO IDEA how they are living? How are you not paying them a decent wage to live life?
I go back to Jesus: He finished preaching the Sermon on The Mount. He didn't wait to be told people are hungry. It was simple common sense.
So he didn't just send them home hungry. He fed them, and only then did he send them home.
Very simple.
Now let me ask you: Which Jesus is this that you're coming to preach to people about on Sunday, when your very team is hungry and worried about rent? What's wrong with you? Which Jesus is this you're claiming to represent?
So this is not simply about "wanting to be paid". This is about dignity & decency.
I want to be very clear about this: It's indecent & utterly immoral to be talking about millions and billions, when the very people whose gifts you use go back home to worry about food and rent.
It's disrespectful. It's immoral. It's indecent.
And deep in your heart, you KNOW it's indecent. And you can't claim hukujua. That's a lie, and you know it. You know it because umenyanyasa watu, which is whu you can buy all those pieces of land.
Hii kanisa yenu where the land and the buildings and the millions are more important than the genuine physical and mental well-being of the people in it si kanisa ya Yesu.
You're preaching on a pulpit of lies, deceit, deception, and abuse. And you know it.
This is the definition of dignity, per Google: "The state or quality of being worthy of honour or respect."
When you have the power to actively make a person's life better, and you choose not to, then you clearly don't deem them worthy of honour or respect.
My Jesus was and is a Jesus of dignity. That Jesus you claim to represent is as real as the palm-coloured Jesus Europeans brought to our land and our people.
And we know how that ended up.
So which Jesus is this then that you're representing?
This is not simply about 'being paid'. Reducing it to that is disingenuous.
This is about dignity.
Surely, that's what christianity and church is supposed to be about, right?
Right?
And yes, this is something that's very close to my heart. Because can we just stop lying to each other.
Kama hakuna pesa, ninaelewa.
But I can see you hoarding money. I see you hoarding those acres of land. I see your nice cars. I see it all.
Tuache kubebana kiNairobi.
If you're a Christian, be a Christian. Otherwise, just declare yourselves motivational speakers, ndio watu wajue Yesu kivyao.
Also, if your pastor is more obsessed with things and numbers than they are about well-being, and if they catch all the feelings about being called out on their bullshit, then they are the exact vipers of the exact same cohort of pharisees that the Jesus I know rebuked.
Anyway, @danaceda, endelea na kazi ya kueneza injili.
Kwani Yesu wa kanisa za Kenya ni Yesu wa unyanyasaji?
Anyway. Nimeenda kulala.
If Jesus could feed a whole 5000 men and their families after they came to [only] listen to a sermon, wewe ni nani kufanya mtu alale njaa when you have millions in your account? You're being a nonsense.
Yes, a nonsense.
Wacheni kunyanyasa watu.
• • •
Missing some Tweet in this thread? You can try to
force a refresh
The latest episode of #LegallyClueless is probably the most candid I've ever been in front of a camera - and the fact that in the final version of the video, they chose to allow even the uncomfortable pauses to percolate, as well as my (rather visible 😅) thought process... [🪡]
[🪡] ...to thread through the different bits in this story... This feels as much a letter to my future self as it is me sharing parts of myself that I otherwise keep very guarded.
I quite like the caption they've used as part of the video's thumbnail: "Falling in love again." In fact, I love it!
The context: Sometime during the conversation, @OfficialJMbugua referred to me as an ally in the path towards gender equality, and I felt a little unsettled. I'll explain why in a bit, but it certainly wasn't the first time.
Last year, @ADELLEO and @TheLanji were putting together "Our Broken Silence", a book with voices of survivors of rape, observers, family members, activists, nurses, lawyers and many others, offering a glimpse of the different perceptions of [sexual] violence.
Beloveds, we need to retire this phrase from our lexicon. Kwanza sisi Wakenya.
"At least you have a job..."
"At least una mshahara..."
"At least una bwana/bibi..."
"At least alikuja..."
Bare minimum tu.
At what point did we agree to give into bare minimum so consistently and absolutely? When? Why?
Yes, I know between a church that weaponised scripture, parents whose responses to every question was "Because I told you so", and 8-4-4 that demanded answers to be presented only the way Malkiat Singh's textbooks dictated, our imaginations was beaten into submission.
So, about this #MoreThanBodies conversation happening on the TL right now: I’d like to talk a slightly different bend to it.
Stay with me for a moment. [This is unfiltered, typing as the thoughts come along.]
It’s very easy to downplay or outright ignore how much upbringing influences our choices as adults. I’d mentioned this at some point before: I genuinely believe we underestimate how powerful the element of nurture is in influencing and moulding human behaviour.
My dad used to cook. He used to clean. He used to do the dishes.
He’d sometimes get home from work earlier than my mom. Many times, actually. And I have no memory of ever staying hungry, my brothers and I, simply because mom wasn’t home yet.
I hate that 1824 clip. Hate it. I've been struggling to figure out why all day, and it's just hit me. And with this dawning realisation, it transformed into a melange of pity and revulsion.
PART 1: THE PITY.
We're about to go into the 3rd month since the first confirmed covid-19 case in Kenya. Almost immediately, the self-isolation and WFH advisories came into play.
It was fine in the beginning. People became chefs, teachers, philosophers, health experts and more, all at once. Remember back when tissue paper was our primary concern? Ah, the good old days.
It's a scary time. And I don't think I'm alone in that sentiment. Not by a long shot.
[This will be one of my more stream-of-consciousness threads, so stay with me.]
I've lived off my writing in one form or the other for a majority of my adult existence. My second love, photography, last year became just as important to my livelihood as my writing. My rent, my food, my health... All tied to these two loves of mine.
I had contingency upon contingency, constantly alert, constantly evolving, constantly adapting to the reality around me.