By all accounts, churchgoers in parts of Rwanda are going to extraordinary lengths to practice their faith. Every Sabbath, members of the Seventh-day Adventist Church trek across hills and valleys—from Masagara to Nkomane, up to Gasave—because their home church in Kabirizi remains closed.
In Kaduha, where nearby churches are non-existent, the faithful must travel to Gasave, unless they are elderly, unwell, or simply too burdened by the journey. These, out of necessity, pray from home—or as some put it, “in their hearts.”
But the prize for endurance might belong to members of EAR Masizi, who must journey to Nkomero, well past Gitega in Kaduha. If they miss that connection, they head even further—to Rukamira, beyond Manwari.
In Musange, Catholic worshippers remain unaffected. Parishes such as Masagara, Jenda, and Nkore are fully operational, allowing spiritual routines to continue uninterrupted.
Meanwhile, in Kigali and secondary cities, those with means ride buses, motorcycles, or bicycles to find an open house of worship. Others, more devout to their denominational identity, insist they will not “feed on strange altars,” and instead worship in solitude.
This situation has reignited a familiar debate: “Aren’t you all worshiping the same God? Why not pray nearby?” While that argument has surface appeal, its simplicity glosses over deep-rooted beliefs and spiritual traditions. It’s akin to expecting chefs from Thailand and Pakistan to use identical recipes for a single dish, even if all ingredients were harvested from the same field.
Still, one fact stands tall—many are enduring great hardship, and others are spiritually stranded—because their churches are closed. And while the Constitution grants freedom of religion and worship, it does not mandate proximity to a place of worship. The cost of non-compliance is paid in foot blisters, fatigue, and silent prayers.
To be fair, some churches were closed not because they lacked land or money, but due to mismanagement. Others failed to meet infrastructure or governance standards. Still, it would be unfair to generalize. Many churches are made up of everyday Rwandans who shop at the same markets, send their children to the same schools, and contribute faithfully to their churches through tithes and offerings—funding not only church operations, but broader development and social support systems.
Yes, there are those who claim that such contributions only fill a pastor’s belly. This isn’t about them. This is about institutions that guide believers with purpose and accountability.
One core issue, often overlooked, is the reluctance among some church leaders to pursue formal training in theology or leadership. Many assume the Holy Spirit alone will teach and lead. However, modern governance requires structured knowledge. There are laws today requiring theological training for religious leaders, yet many pastors dismiss this, believing divine inspiration is enough.
More troubling is the rise of false prophets—those who claim divine visions of disaster, promise visas to America, or demand offerings in exchange for “breakthroughs.” This religious gambling preys on the desperate and uninformed. But as any seasoned farmer knows, weeds grow even in fertile soil. It’s the farmer’s duty to distinguish them from the crop.
True prophets still exist. The Bible tells us of Daniel and Jonah, who delivered divine warnings. But they also delivered paths to redemption. False prophets, by contrast, spread fear without hope. Genuine messengers of God offer solutions, not just condemnations.
This growing spiritual vacuum has made church closures even more painful. While the government is right to enforce standards, there must also be avenues for redemption. Perhaps it’s time for local authorities, especially the Rwanda Governance Board (RGB), to meet with leaders of closed churches and ask:
- “Who among you still doesn’t understand the requirements for reopening? Raise your hand.”
It’s likely not a single hand would rise—unless someone accidentally raised theirs in a nap.
Next question:
- “Who has already started working to resolve the issues that led to closure? Raise your hand.”
Hands would rise across the room—so many, perhaps a tally would be needed. And that’s where progress begins. If a church is on the right path, the government could consider reopening it under observation, with clear deadlines. If it fails to comply, closure resumes.
This would bring relief to Christians from Nyakabanda in Kigali to Runyombyi in Nyaruguru, from Masizi in Nyamagabe to Gahunduguru in Karongi.
Because in the end, faith is not only about kneeling in prayer—it’s also about rising to responsibility.
