30/03/2026
There are places we come from that never quite leave us. Not because of the roads, the houses, or even the landscapes—but because of the spirit that once lived there. Gesure village, nestled between Kisii town and the rolling hills near Itumbe, is one of those places. A place where faith was not an activity, but a way of life.
I remember a time when the church was not just a building—it was the heartbeat of the community.
Seventh-day Adventist Church was more than the dominant faith; it shaped identity, discipline, and purpose. Yes, the PAG and Catholic believers had their space, and we respected that diversity. But in Gesure, the Adventist rhythm defined the week—especially as Sabbath approached. You could feel it in the air.
By Friday evening, everything slowed down. Homes became sanctuaries. Hearts became reflective. And by Sabbath morning, the village transformed into a procession of quiet dignity—families walking to church, Bibles in hand, children neatly dressed, minds prepared.
Gesure SDA Church was not just my home church—it was a training ground for life.
Deaconesses were not just appointed—they were called. They carried themselves with grace, humility, and quiet authority. Their presence alone commanded reverence. Deacons were pillars—men of integrity who understood that service to God required order, discipline, and sacrifice. Church elders? They were shepherds in the truest sense. Not administrators, but spiritual fathers who knew the flock, guided it, and protected it.
And then there was Boronyi.
Boronyi Camp Meeting was not just a camp meeting—it was a spiritual landmark. A district-defining moment each year where heaven seemed closer, where sermons were not just heard but felt, where decisions were made, and lives were changed. People walked long distances just to be there. Not out of obligation—but out of hunger.
The choirs… ah, the choirs.
They did not sing for performance. They sang from conviction. Every note carried scripture. Every harmony carried meaning. The songs were not rushed; they were lived. When a choir stood to sing, the entire congregation leaned in—not for entertainment, but for edification. You didn’t just hear the music—you felt it in your spirit.
The youth were present. Pathfinders were visible. Order was natural. Reverence was not enforced—it was understood.
So what changed?
This is not a question of blame, but of reflection.
Time has moved. The world has shifted. The church, like every institution, has had to navigate modernity—technology, urbanization, changing values, and a faster pace of life. In many places, including our own, something subtle has been diluted. Not necessarily lost—but softened.
Today, we still have deacons and deaconesses—but do they carry the same weight of calling?
We still have elders—but are they as deeply rooted in the spiritual lives of their members?
We still have choirs—but are they ministering or performing?
We still have youth—but are they anchored or drifting?
It is easy to romanticize the past. But it is also important to recognize that what we miss is not just “time”—it is intentionality.
The old church was built on commitment. People did not serve because it was convenient. They served because it was necessary. Faith was not negotiated with comfort. It demanded something.
Today’s church is not empty—it is evolving. But evolution must not come at the cost of essence.
What made Gesure special was not just doctrine. It was depth.
Depth in worship.
Depth in leadership.
Depth in community.
Depth in conviction.
Perhaps the question is not “Where are they?”
Perhaps the deeper question is:
“Where are we now, and what are we willing to rebuild?”
Because the truth is this—those deacons, deaconesses, elders, and choir members did not fall from heaven. They were raised. Mentored. Modeled. Expected.
And that means it can happen again.
Not by going backward—but by going deeper.
Gesure still exists. The church still stands. The faith is still alive.
Maybe what we are feeling is not just nostalgia.
Maybe it is a calling.
A quiet reminder that the fire we miss is the same fire we are now entrusted to carry.
