Introduction
Why does an all-good, all-powerful God allow evil to scar our world? This timeless problem of evil haunts believers and skeptics alike, and it takes on urgent poignancy in Kenya’s current political unrest. In recent months, fear has gripped Kenyan communities amid abductions and killings of youth activists and protesters, often carried out by shadowy agents whom rights groups identify as state security forces. Since mid-2024, at least 82 people have been abducted, with dozens still missing, and many victims turning up dead. The Kenya Conference of Catholic Bishops, alarmed by these “blatant recurring incidents” of disappearances and murders, pointedly asks: “Who is abducting these people, and is the Government unable to stop these abductions and killings?”. Such events highlight a bitter irony: Kenya’s political leadership routinely professes public piety; Kenya is often hailed as a “God-fearing nation,” yet some of the very officials invoking God’s name stand accused of enabling atrocities against their citizens. This tension between outward religiosity and the reality of state enabled violence forms a dark backdrop for examining the problem of evil in a Catholic context, with a subtle satirical eye toward hypocrisy.
This paper addresses the question of why God allows evil, using the Kenyan crisis as a case study. The discussion is structured through a Catholic philosophical and theological lens, engaging classic arguments on the problem of evil and connecting them to lived experience. First, we will outline key philosophical perspectives: from St. Augustine’s and St. Thomas Aquinas’ theodicies to Gottfried Leibniz’s optimism and Alvin Plantinga’s free will defense, to frame how evil and suffering have been understood in Christian thought. Next, we turn to Catholic theological responses, which draw on teachings from Scripture and the Magisterium (including Vatican II documents and the Catechism of the Catholic Church) regarding divine providence, human freedom, and the mystery of suffering, as well as insights from modern Catholic figures such as Pope Benedict XVI and Pope Francis. Against this foundation, we will analyze the Kenyan situation in depth: how Catholic social teaching and political theology might interpret the “state violence” afflicting Kenya’s youth, and how the Church in Kenya is responding with a call for justice, integrity, and hope. Throughout, a subtly satirical tone will surface to underscore the tragic incongruity of leaders who ostentatiously pray and quote scripture while their policies and security apparatus inflict suffering, an echo of Jesus’s woe to “whitewashed tombs” (cf. Matthew 23:27). Ultimately, this multidimensional inquiry seeks to offer not only an academic exploration of God and evil, but also a message of hope and practical Catholic teaching for the Kenyan people amid their crisis.
The Problem of Evil: Philosophical Perspectives
The problem of evil in classical philosophy is often posed as a logical dilemma: if God is omnipotent (all-powerful), omniscient (all-knowing), and omnibenevolent (all-good), how can evil exist? Either God is unwilling or unable to prevent evil, which seemingly contradicts His goodness or power. This section examines how prominent Christian philosophers have addressed this puzzle. Their answers, a mix of metaphysics, free will, and moral reasoning, form a backdrop for any Catholic response to evil.
St. Augustine (354 – 430) offered one of the earliest and most influential Christian theodicies. Augustine argued that evil is not a substantive “thing” created by God, but rather a privation of good; a lack or corruption of goodness in something that God made good. In his view, everything God created is inherently good in its being; evil occurs when a will turns away from the supreme Good (God) and thus loses some goodness. “Where there is no privation of the good, there is no evil,” Augustine wrote; conversely, every evil is a diminution of good. Moral evil, for Augustine, stems from the misuse of creaturely free will, a gift which allows the possibility of sin. In an illuminating analogy, Augustine compared a sinful free creature to a runaway horse and a sinless inanimate object: “As a runaway horse is better than a stone which does not run away because it lacks self-movement… so the creature is more excellent which sins by free will than that which does not sin only because it has no free will.”. In other words, a world with free beings (even if they sometimes choose evil) is better than a world of automata incapable of moral choice. God, in His generosity, created beings knowing some would sin, because freedom is a greater good that justifies the risk of evil.
Furthermore, Augustine believed in divine providence bringing good out of evil. Famously, he stated: “God judged it better to bring good out of evil than to permit no evil to exist.”. Thus, even the fall of humanity and all its woes are, in Augustine’s perspective, permitted by God as part of a greater plan wherein redemption and grace abundantly overcome the damage of sin. (Indeed, Augustine would point to the felix culpa, the “happy fault” of Adam, which led to the coming of Christ, a greater good.) Augustine’s insights lay the groundwork for later Catholic thought: evil arises from creatures’ free turning away from God, and God in His omnipotence can write straight with crooked lines, ultimately integrating evil episodes into a higher good.
St. Thomas Aquinas (1225 – 1274), building on Augustine, likewise affirmed that God is not the direct cause of evil, yet He allows evil to exist to fulfill His greater purposes. Aquinas’s subtle approach in the Summa Theologiae maintains that evil has no independent existence, it is always a parasite on the good. He addresses the obvious objection: if God is the universal first cause, does that not make God the cause of evil, too? Aquinas answers that God causes the act of a sinner (insofar as it has being), but not the privation or disorder in it: the evil, which comes from the creature’s defective will. Moreover, Aquinas repeats Augustine’s confidence in God’s providential plan: “God permits evil in order to draw forth some greater good”, as the Catechism summarizes his teaching. Echoing St. Paul, Aquinas notes that where sin increased, grace abounded even more (cf. Rom 5:20). The ultimate example in Christian faith is the Passion of Christ: God allowed the heinous evil of the crucifixion, and from it achieved the salvation of the world, an infinitely greater good. In Aquinas’s synthesis, then, there is nothing contradictory about an all-good God allowing evil, because His permission is ordered to a greater good that finite minds may not immediately grasp. Every apparent evil that God permits will be outweighed by the goods it makes possible. This conviction, shared by Augustine and Aquinas, would become a staple of Catholic theodicy.
Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz (1646–1716) took the “greater good” idea to its limit with his notorious assertion that the actual world is “the best of all possible worlds.” In his Essays on Theodicy (1710), Leibniz argued that an omniscient and benevolent God, in creating the world, considered all possible universes and chose to create this one. Therefore, it must be the optimal balance of good, even if it contains some evils. For Leibniz, God “does not underachieve” in creation because any world with less evil would entail a greater loss of outweighing goods; conversely, any world with more good than this one was not a feasible reality. He introduces the Principle of Sufficient Reason: there has to be a reason why this world exists instead of another. The presence of some suffering or wickedness is not evidence of God’s failure, but rather a piece of a grand puzzle where, from God’s exhaustive perspective, every allowance of evil contributes to the overall optimum. Critics have lampooned Leibniz’s optimism (Voltaire’s satire Candide famously mocks the blithe response “all is for the best”), pointing out that it can seem callous or counter intuitive in the face of horrendous evils. However, Leibniz’s approach underscores a theological truth the Church also holds: God’s providence is ultimately inscrutable but trustworthy, and what we perceive as gratuitous evil might have a rationale hidden in the depths of God’s wisdom. A subtle satirical aside might observe that Leibniz would have us imagine even a crisis like Kenya’s, with abducted youths and grieving families, as somehow woven into the “best possible” tapestry. It is a hard saying; indeed, many theodicies risk sounding glib in the valley of tears. Still, the hope that a greater good enfolds present evils is foundational to Christian thought, however delicately it must be articulated to suffering people.
Alvin Plantinga (1932), a contemporary Christian philosopher, reframed the free will defense in analytic terms to address the logical problem of evil. Writing in the 1970s, Plantinga responded to atheists like J. L. Mackie who argued that God and evil are logically incompatible. Plantinga’s Free Will Defense posits that while God is omnipotent, even He cannot do what is logically impossible, such as create genuinely free creatures who are forced always to do good. If humans (or angels) have free will, the possibility of moral evil is inseparable from that freedom. “God could not… create beings with free will that would never choose evil,” Plantinga argues, and the moral value of free will is a sufficiently great good to justify the risk of evil. In other words, God’s allowing of evil may be the price of creating a world containing the higher goods of love, virtue, and meaningful choice. Plantinga is careful to term his argument a “defense” rather than a complete theodicy: he does not claim to know God’s actual reasons, only to show that no logical contradiction arises from supposing God has a good reason to permit evil. Notably, Plantinga’s work succeeded in rebuffing the strict logical version of the problem: philosophers largely concede that God and evil may coexist if free will is involved. Of course, this does not fully dissolve the emotional or probabilistic challenge of evil (why so much horrific evil? why specific instances?). But within a Catholic framework, Plantinga’s insights reinforce the tradition: human freedom is central to why evil exists, and the fact that evils happen does not mean God lacks power or goodness. It may mean that God values creatures’ freedom and the authentic good that can come from it (such as freely chosen love or courage) so much that He permits the corresponding evils as a regrettable but necessary corollary.
In summary, philosophical perspectives from Augustine to Plantinga collectively suggest that God’s allowance of evil can be understood in terms of greater goods (such as free will, moral growth, and the eventual overriding of evil by good). Evil is a deprivation or corruption caused by creatures, not an independent force or a direct creation of God. And crucially, the Christian philosophical stance is nearly always that evil is permitted by God, not desired: God tolerates evil to respect human freedom and to bring about outcomes that somehow redound to good, even if we mortals only glimpse a part of that picture. These views set the stage for a more explicitly theological response; one that incorporates divine revelation, Church teaching, and the lived faith of the Christian community.
Catholic Theological Responses: Divine Providence, Suffering, and Hope
Philosophy alone cannot fully answer “why does God allow evil?” For Catholics, the answer is ultimately entwined with the mystery of God’s will and the revelation of His love in Jesus Christ. Theology takes us further, asserting truths illumined by Scripture and the Church. In Catholic thought, the problem of evil is not solved by a tidy formula; it remains, to some extent, a “mystery of iniquity” (cf. 2 Thess 2:7) that tests faith. Yet, the Church provides guidance on how to approach this mystery: affirming God’s sovereignty and goodness, human responsibility for sin, Christ’s victory over evil, and the promise of ultimate justice. This section explores key Catholic teachings on evil, suffering, and divine providence, drawing on magisterial documents and papal insights. It also highlights the tension between the Church’s hope-filled message and the sometimes scandalous behavior of those who claim to follow God but perpetrate evil, a dynamic at play in Kenya’s crisis.
God’s Goodness and Permission of Evil
The Catechism of the Catholic Church directly addresses the question, “If God the Father almighty, creator of the ordered and good world, cares for all His creatures, why does evil exist?” (CCC 309). It admits no simple answer can fully satisfy, since evil is real and dreadful. However, the Catechism echoes Augustine and Aquinas: “Faith gives us the certainty that God would not permit evil if He did not cause a good to come from that very evil.”. This remarkable claim encapsulates Catholic trust in providence: for every evil allowed, God, in His omnipotent love, has a greater good or a plan to bring good out of it. The Compendium of the Catechism (a concise Q&A format issued in 2005) succinctly answers: Why does God permit evil? “God is not the cause of evil, but He permits it to respect the freedom of His creatures and, mysteriously, knows how to derive good from it…”. The paradigm case given is the Passion of Christ: from the greatest moral evil ever: humanity killing its incarnate God, came the greatest good of redemption and eternal life. If that paradox stands at the heart of Christianity, believers have reason to hope that God’s redemptive power might also transform lesser evils in our lives.
Crucially, Catholic theology insists that God’s permission of evil never undermines human free will and moral responsibility. The Catechism teaches that God providentially guides creation while respecting the freedom of His creatures, even when they cause suffering (CCC 311). God can bring good from the consequences of evil acts, but the evil itself stems from the creature’s abuse of freedom, not from God’s will. This avoids the trap of blaming God for evil or portraying Him as a puppet-master of sin. Instead, the Church espouses a cooperation of divine and human freedom: God sustains the world, and even when creatures choose evil, He can “write straight” with those crooked lines, but the crookedness belongs to the creature. For example, when a government official in Kenya orders an extrajudicial killing, Catholic teaching would say God permits this foul act for now, perhaps to preserve human freedom and the order of nature, but God neither approves of it nor will let it have the final word. In fact, such an act is a sin that God’s justice will address (if not halted by human authorities, then by divine judgment), and God’s mercy and providence will seek to heal and redeem the harm done.
The Second Vatican Council (1962 – 65), in its Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World (Gaudium et Spes), spoke boldly about evils that degrade human dignity. Every form of murder, torture, oppression, and injustice is denounced as contrary to God’s will. “Whatever is opposed to life itself, such as any type of murder, genocide… whatever violates the integrity of the human person… all these things and others of their like are infamies indeed,” declares Gaudium et Spes 27, adding that such acts “poison human society” and are a “supreme dishonor to the Creator”. This uncompromising language affirms that moral evils are real and abhorrent to God. The Council’s teaching reinforces that when evil occurs, it is not due to God’s negligence but due to human sinfulness, which offends the Creator. For Catholics, then, the existence of grave evil is not evidence of God’s absence but of human departure from God’s law. Yet, even here, the document offers a note of hope: those who perpetrate evil ultimately harm themselves most. Evil is self-corrupting, whereas repentance and righteousness, returning to God, can restore both sinner and society.
The Suffering God: Christ’s Solidarity with the Afflicted
One of Christianity’s most profound answers to the question of why God allows suffering is found in Christ Himself. Rather than a theoretical solution, God provides a person: Jesus, the Son of God, who enters into human suffering and transforms it from within. The Catholic faith proclaims that God is not a distant observer of our pain but has personally “suffered with” us, which is the literal meaning of compassion. Pope Benedict XVI, in his encyclical Spe Salvi (“Saved in Hope”, 2007), reflected on this mystery: “It is not by sidestepping or fleeing from suffering that we are healed, but rather by… accepting it, maturing through it and finding meaning through union with Christ, who suffered with infinite love.”. In other words, Christian hope does not promise a life free of suffering; it promises that our suffering can be given purpose and solidarity because God Himself, out of love, has taken on suffering.
Benedict XVI made it a point that God’s answer to evil is not an abstract explanation but the Cross. In a message for the World Day of the Sick, he wrote: “The Son of God suffered, died, but rose again… those wounds [of Christ] become the sign of our redemption… Suffering is always a mystery, but… only a God who loves us to the extent of taking upon Himself our wounds and our pain… is worthy of faith.”. In Christ crucified, God experienced the worst of human evil: betrayal, torture, unjust execution, yet through the Resurrection, He defeated evil at its root. The Resurrection did not erase suffering from history (as we see in Kenya and everywhere), but it planted a seed of definitive victory: evil and death do not have the final say. Benedict XVI put it this way: “In rising again, the Lord did not remove suffering and evil from the world, but He defeated them at their root. He opposed the arrogance of Evil with the omnipotence of His Love.”. This is a profoundly hopeful statement: love, specifically God’s suffering love, ultimately overcomes evil, even if the battle unfolds across time.
From this angle, the Catholic approach to theodicy is less about explaining evil and more about responding to it with faith and love. We may not know precisely why God allowed a particular tragedy. Still, we believe God is with the victims in their agony (as Jesus was with us on the Cross), and that He calls us to be instruments of compassion and justice to alleviate suffering. The Catechism emphasizes that we imitate Christ by taking up our own cross (cf. Luke 9:23) and by ministering to those who suffer. In doing so, suffering acquires a redemptive quality, not that we glorify pain in itself, but that it is endured in union with Christ, and it can purify and lead to resurrection. Pope John Paul II, in his apostolic letter Salvifici Doloris (1984), taught extensively on the salvific meaning of suffering, emphasizing how the afflicted can unite their pain with Christ’s for the salvation of souls.
The Catholic vision, then, does not solve the intellectual puzzle of evil so much as place it within the story of God’s love: creation, fall, and redemption. Evil originates from the fall, encompassing both human and angelic sin; however, redemption has begun in Christ and will be fully consummated when Christ returns. In the interim, God’s providence is at work in hidden ways, and Christ’s presence abides with those who suffer. “God cannot suffer,” wrote Benedict XVI, “but He can suffer with. He wanted to suffer for us and with us… in all suffering, the consolation of God’s participating love is made present to raise the star of hope.”. This striking idea of “God suffering with us” corrects any notion that God is coldly allowing evil from afar. On the contrary, God absorbs the worst of it into Himself (through Jesus’s passion) and thereby plants the seeds of its reversal.
Political Theology and Social Justice
Catholic theology not only examines evil in the abstract or at the personal level of moral evil; it also addresses social evil, injustices, and abuses perpetrated in the societal and political realms. This is where political theology and Catholic social teaching become relevant. The question moves from “Why does God allow evil?” to “What does God ask of us in the face of evil, especially evils like oppression, corruption, and violence in society?” Here, the Church’s teachings on human dignity, rights, and peace guide a response that is not merely theoretical but practical and ethical.
The Catholic tradition has a rich history of speaking truth to power, from bishops like St. Ambrose chastising emperors in antiquity, to modern popes issuing encyclicals on social justice, to local episcopal conferences denouncing corruption. Political leaders who trumpet their religiosity while doing injustice come under powerful critique in Catholic teaching, which values integrity between faith and action. Jesus himself reserved some of his harshest words for hypocritical leaders: “This people honors me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me” (Mark 7:6). In Kenya, many have noted the dissonance of officials who attend church and invoke God’s blessings on the nation, yet under whose watch (and allegedly, command) youths are being abducted and killed. A subtle satire practically writes itself: the same hands raised in hallelujah at Sunday’s rally might be signing extrajudicial orders on Monday. The Catholic response to such hypocrisy is clear, it must be named and rejected. As Pope Francis quipped in a related context, it is better to be honest about being secular than to feign piety while exploiting others; phony piety is a “whitewashed tomb” situation.
In Kenya’s current turmoil, the Kenya Conference of Catholic Bishops (KCCB) has exemplified the Church’s role as moral conscience. In a November 2024 statement amid protests and crackdowns, the bishops “expressed deep concern” over rampant corruption, political deceit, and specifically “worrying reports of abductions, disappearances, torture and increasing murders” of protesters. They confronted leaders with Kenya’s own constitutional values, urging the government to “protect the life of every human person in Kenya,” as they had sworn to do. Notably, the bishops openly questioned the official narrative, asking whether the government is truly unable, or unwilling, to stop these crimes. This is political theology in action: Church leaders applying principles of faith (the inviolable dignity of life, the duty of authority to serve the common good) to critique and guide the political order. The bishops called for justice, truth, and a return to constitutionalism, implicitly reminding Catholic politicians that one cannot pray Psalm 23 in the morning and authorize violence by the afternoon without grave sin.
The late Pope Francis was also an outspoken voice on such matters. During his 2015 visit to Kenya, Francis addressed a stadium full of young people, tackling issues of tribalism and corruption: two social evils that fuel Kenya’s instability. He warned the youth not to fall prey to corruption, using a vivid metaphor: “Corruption is like sugar: it’s sweet, we like it, it’s easy. But then? We get sick! We end up diabetic, and our country becomes diabetic.”. Each bribe or kickback, he said, “destroys our heart, our personality, and our country”. Francis pleaded, “Please, don’t get used to the taste of that sugar which is called corruption.”. This almost satirical imagery: a nation addicted to sugary corruption, had a serious point: a society that prays on Sunday but routinely engages in graft on Monday is in moral peril. Corruption, abuse of power, and violence are collective sins that require collective conversion. Pope Francis’s message resonates strongly amid Kenya’s crisis: he effectively underlined that invoking God’s name means nothing if one simultaneously tramples God’s law of justice and love. It is a hypocrisy that does not fool God, and ultimately it leads to “death” for society, a prophetic warning that Kenya’s leaders would do well to heed.
Catholic social teaching also emphasizes the preferential option for the poor and oppressed. In situations like Kenya’s, this means the Church is called to stand in solidarity with the victims of injustice: the missing and murdered youth, their families living in fear, and all those deprived of their rights. This solidarity is evident in how Catholic organizations and clergy have been advocating for the disappeared and providing support. For instance, Amnesty International Kenya and other faith-based justice networks (often with Catholic participation) have organized legal aid for victims’ families and publicized their cases. Such actions reflect the Church’s broader mission of social justice, rooted in the teachings of Christ, who identified Himself with the hungry, the prisoner, the stranger (Matthew 25:31-46). The Catechism states that it is part of loving one’s neighbor to work for justice and peace in society (CCC 2442). Thus, confronting evil is not just God’s job; God calls humans, especially people of faith, to combat evil structures and to “overcome evil with good” (Romans 12:21) in the public sphere.
Finally, political theology reminds us of the concept of the “Two Cities” from St. Augustine’s work The City of God. There is the City of God, built on love of God, and the earthly city, built on love of self (even to contempt of God). In any nation, including Kenya, we see these two orientations mixed. Leaders who pursue power at the expense of the weak, cloaking themselves in religiosity only for show, belong to the earthly city. The Church’s role is to nudge the earthly city towards the City of God’s values: truth, charity, and the common good. Sometimes that means prophetic critique (as when bishops decry human rights abuses); other times it means cooperation for positive reform. In Kenya, Catholic bishops have also called for dialogue and reconciliation amid political strife, urging youth to pursue change non-violently and urging the government to heed legitimate grievances. This peacemaking aspect is crucial: God allows human freedom, but He also inspires works of peace and justice in those who listen to His voice. When state violence rages, the Church raises an alternative vision of peace grounded in justice, effectively saying that evil need not have the last word in the political order either.
The Kenyan Crisis in Focus: Faith Confronts State-Enabled Evil
With the philosophical and theological groundwork laid, we return to the concrete context of Kenya’s present crisis, asking: How do these ideas help us understand what is happening, and what guidance can the Catholic faith offer to the people facing this evil? The crisis features a glaring moral evil: the systematic abduction, torture, and killing of citizens (mostly young) by agents linked to the state, targeting those who dared to protest economic hardship and governance failures. That such abuses occur under a government led by officials who publicly profess Christianity (Kenya’s President and many leaders frequently attend church and invoke God’s name) adds a level of bitter irony. It is a test of the authenticity of their faith, and thus far, it appears that many in power have “failed the exam” of living up to the Gospel’s demand for justice and mercy.
From a Catholic perspective, we first reaffirm that these acts are unequivocally evil and sinful. They violate the Fifth Commandment (“Thou shalt not kill”) and the fundamental dignity of the human person made in God’s image. No invocation of God or religion by leaders can justify or excuse such crimes; in fact, using religious rhetoric while doing violence brings to mind the condemnation Jesus gave of those who “devour widows’ houses and for a pretense make long prayers” (Luke 20:47). The Church in Kenya has rightly condemned the violence. We saw how the bishops explicitly called out the discrepancy between the government’s words and deeds. This aligns with the theological principle that “God is light, and in Him is no darkness” (1 John 1:5): one cannot claim to walk with God while walking in the darkness of brutality. The satirical undertone in our analysis may note that some officials seem to think sprinkling a speech with Bible quotes can whitewash policies of bloodshed. But as Catholic teaching would retort, “Not everyone who says ‘Lord, Lord’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father” (Matthew 7:21). Justice and respect for life are paramount in that divine will.
Why would God allow this evil in Kenya to happen? In humility, we must admit we do not fully know. We can, however, apply the earlier discussed principles: God has given human beings freedom, which in Kenya’s case means leaders and security officers have the freedom (tragically) to choose to commit atrocities. God does not rob them of this freedom even when they misuse it, just as He did not stop Judas from betraying Jesus. To stop every instance of evil coercively would be to turn humans into puppets. Thus, God’s respect for human freedom is part of the answer. But where is the greater good that could come from such suffering? Here we tread on delicate ground. It would be pastorally insensitive to glibly pronounce to a mother whose son has disappeared that “greater good will come of it.” And yet, as Christians, we are called to trust that, in ways we cannot fully see, God can bring good even out of this nightmarish situation.
Already, we can discern some potential benefits: the crisis has rallied civil society and the Church to demand reform and uphold human rights with renewed urgency. Young people, though frightened, have shown solidarity with one another (“Gen Z” protesters bonded in common cause). International attention and pressure, driven by a concern for justice, have intensified. These are small consolations compared to the loss of life, but they are rays of light nonetheless. On a spiritual level, such persecutions can purify and strengthen the faith of the community, as Tertullian said, “the blood of martyrs is the seed of Christians.” The Kenyan Church’s bold stance for truth might inspire a renewal of moral conscience in the nation. Victims and their families, clinging to faith amid pain, provide moving testimonies of hope. While none of these “greater goods” justifies the evil (which remains evil), they exemplify how darkness can evoke a response of light in people: courage, compassion, unity, and reliance on God. In Catholic understanding, these virtues that arise in adversity are precisely the kind of greater good God wills, even as He abhors the evil itself.
It is also worth noting the long view: Catholic eschatology promises that ultimate justice is coming. If in this life the perpetrators of Kenya’s abuses escape accountability (as unfortunately many do, amid official denials), the faith teaches that God’s judgment will not be mocked. The unrepentant “hypocrites” will have to answer before God for every secret torture chamber and shallow grave (“Nothing is concealed that will not be revealed,” Luke 12:2). This is not schadenfreude; it is a sober assurance that God cares about justice more than we do. Conversely, the innocent who suffered unite with Christ and will be vindicated, “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:10). This eschatological hope does not remove the duty to seek justice now, but it consoles the faithful that God’s timeline is bigger. Pope Benedict XVI wrote in Spe Salvi that the Day of Judgment is good news for the oppressed: in that moment, all wrongs are righted and “the gravity of suffering and evil becomes evident to us” in the light of divine truth (Spe Salvi, 43-44). Such hope can sustain people who presently see the wicked prosper and the righteous suffer.
Finally, how can Catholic teaching inform a practical response for the people of Kenya amid this crisis? Catholic social teaching emphasizes several key points: (1) Remain hopeful and do not respond to evil with evil. The temptation in the face of protracted injustice is to succumb to despair or resort to violent methods oneself. The Church urges Kenyans to resist this temptation. As Pope Francis told Kenyan youth, problems should be seen as opportunities to do good rather than a cause for surrender. The path of peace and reconciliation, however difficult, must remain the ultimate goal. (2) Engage in dialogue and seek truth. The bishops’ call for integrity and transparency in governance means that all stakeholders, government, opposition, and civil society, should come together to address grievances (such as the controversial finance bill that sparked protests) without resorting to force. A culture of truth-telling (exposing what happened to the disappeared) is essential for healing. The Church can facilitate and mediate, being a trusted voice that transcends partisan politics. (3) Care for the victims. Catholic parishes and organizations should continue offering pastoral care and material support to families of the missing and injured. “Weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15) – the ministry of presence and compassion is invaluable. The Kenyan Church, for instance, has helped organize Masses and prayers for the nation’s healing and the lost, providing a spiritual outlet for collective grief. (4) It educatesconsciences. The faithful must be reminded that religion is not a form of ritual magic, but a call to holiness and justice. Priests should preach that one cannot bribe or harm others Monday through Friday and expect a Sunday offering to wipe it away. The sacraments require sincere repentance and a change of life. If leaders who are Catholic have been complicit in killings, they should be called to conversion and, if obstinate, even face church discipline. This assertive stance may shock some, but it is in line with historic precedent (for example, bishops excommunicating Mafia members or oppressors in Latin America in extreme cases). While excommunication is rare, the point is the Church cannot remain silent or neutral; neutrality in the face of evil favors the evildoer, not the victim.
In weaving together the strands of philosophy, theology, and real-world action, we come to appreciate a multidimensional Catholic response to evil. It is at once intellectual (seeking understanding), spiritual (grounded in faith and prayer), and practical (demanding moral action). Regarding Kenya, the Catholic approach refuses to let God be used as a prop. Instead, it holds up God’s true character: defender of the poor, lover of peace, hater of evil, as a mirror to Kenya’s leadership and people. Those who claim to be “hustlers for God” (to allude to political slogans) must show it by their fruits: by governance that upholds the God-given rights of every person, especially the marginalized youth crying out for a fair chance in life. When a state agency abducts a young man for protesting, that act is not just a crime against the person but a sin against God’s justice. The Church’s role is to name it so, and to rally the collective conscience to say “Never again” to such violations.
Conclusion
The conjunction of “God and evil” will always contain a paradox. For believers, the existence of evil is an anguished mystery, but not an insoluble contradiction. This paper has argued, through a Catholic lens, that God allows evil as a tragic byproduct of the good gift of freedom and as part of a providential plan that can draw good even from horror. The Kenyan crisis, in all its pain, illustrates these themes on a national stage. We have a scenario where public piety coexists with pernicious evil, forcing hard questions about sincerity, repentance, and the true meaning of invoking God’s name. The Catholic response does not shy away from condemning the evil, calling hypocrites to account, and standing with the suffering. At the same time, it offers a message of hope: God has not abandoned Kenya. Every act of courage by a human rights defender, every truthful word spoken by a bishop, every candle lit in prayer for the missing, is a sign that God’s grace is at work amid the darkness.
There is even a subtle satire inherent in Christian hope: it is the ultimate subversion of tyranny and evil. Tyrants believe they hold power over life and death, but Christians worship One who conquered death by enduring it. The resurrection mocks the pretensions of every oppressor; as the Psalm says, “He who sits in the heavens laughs; the Lord has them in derision” (Psalm 2:4). This divine laughter is not mirth at suffering, but the assurance that evil’s days are numbered. Kenya’s leaders who misuse God’s name while spilling innocent blood may enjoy a season of impunity, but they should tremble, for God is not mocked, and he will hear the blood crying from the ground. In a twist of divine irony, the publicly pious oppressor might discover that the youth he ordered disappeared was actually closer to God’s heart (by seeking justice) than a hundred loud prayers in parliament.
For the people of Kenya, especially the faithful, the Catholic Church offers solidarity and practical guidance grounded in its social teaching. Through the principles of human dignity, common good, solidarity, and subsidiarity, Catholics are encouraged to help build a society where such evils cannot flourish. This means fostering a culture of life, truth, and accountability, essentially, nurturing the City of God within the nation. It also implies that forgiveness and reconciliation must eventually temper anger, lest evil spawn new evil in retaliation. Forgiveness is not opposed to justice; rather, it prevents the heart from being overcome by hatred as justice is pursued. The Kenyan people’s understandable outrage can, through grace, be channeled into constructive change rather than destructive vengeance.
In closing, we recall the words of Pope Benedict XVI: “To every human suffering, there has entered One who shares suffering… and from the consolation of God’s love hope rises.”. Amid Kenya’s current Good Friday of violence and fear, the Easter message still rings true: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5). God allows the darkness for a time. Still, He has implanted an unquenchable light, seen in Christ and reflected in all who follow Him. The Catholic answer to evil is ultimately Christological and practical: Christ suffers with us and gives us the strength to fight evil with good. In the Kenyan crisis, this translates into concrete hope that through faith inspired action, healing and justice will dawn.
One day, we trust, Kenyans will look back on this dark chapter and see how it stirred a renaissance of integrity and solidarity. Youth crying “How long, O Lord?” will sing a new song of deliverance. And perhaps even some of the perpetrators, struck by the witness of Christian forgiveness and courage, will undergo conversion like St. Paul did after persecuting the Church. God’s grace can accomplish these miracles. In the meantime, the Church stands as a sign of hope, at times a “satirical” sign, unmasking the false piety of power holders, but always a sacramental sign of God’s real presence with His people in their sorrows and their striving for a more just society.
In sum, God permits evil, but never without offering love and hope greater than the evil. As Kenyan Catholics might say in Swahili, “Mungu yupo,” God is here. Even in the abduction cell, even in the mass grave, God is mysteriously present, and His resurrection power is poised to bring good out of the deepest evil. This is the faith that undergirds a Catholic response to the problem of evil, and it is the faith that inspires the Kenyan Church to keep working and praying for a peaceful, just Kenya where every person can live in dignity as a child of God.
CatholicTheodicy
#JusticeForKenya
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