Faith and conservation, how about that?
Over the years, in writing stories and in countless work-related conversations, one question keeps resurfacing: faith and conservation, how does that work? Over time, I have come to understand conservation as the work in front of us, and faith as the foundation that sustains it.
For a long time, I found it surprisingly difficult to articulate an answer that felt so clear in my own mind. Perhaps because the connection feels intuitive before it becomes articulate. As we begin a new year, that is the question I want to reflect on.
Why conservation?
If you read almost any major environmental report published over the last few decades, a consistent and deeply concerning picture emerges: the world is not as it once was. Soils are degraded, ecosystems fragmented, and many species have already been lost, with many more declining at alarming rates.
While individual studies vary in tone and emphasis, their overall direction is unmistakable. Forests and woodlands are shrinking, marine systems are under strain, and wildlife populations continue to fall. Some projections are debated and should be read carefully, but the underlying reality they point to is widely accepted: human activity has placed unprecedented pressure on the natural world.
This is not an abstract future problem. It is already shaping livelihoods, food systems, water security, and community resilience, particularly in places like Kenya, where people live closely with the land. Responding to this reality cannot be left to a small group of specialists or organisations. It requires collective responsibility and long-term commitment.
These realities explain why conservation matters. They do not, on their own, explain why we keep showing up.
Why faith?
If conservation describes what needs to be done, faith, for us, explains why we do it.
There are many valid motivations for conservation. We conserve because ecosystems are collapsing, because species are disappearing, because pollution threatens human health, and because natural resources are finite. These reasons matter, and they should move us to action.
But fear of consequences alone is rarely a sustainable motivation. When challenges persist, and they always do, fear can easily give way to fatigue, discouragement, or indifference. It becomes tempting to think: the worst impacts won’t happen in my lifetime, so why should I carry the burden?
Faith offers us a deeper and steadier foundation.
We conserve because caring for creation is an instruction we believe God has given us. It is an act of obedience, not driven by panic, guilt, or despair, but by love and responsibility. That conviction sustains us through difficult seasons, when progress feels slow and outcomes uncertain.
This is a well we continue to draw from, one that is deep enough to endure setbacks and strong enough to keep us showing up, year after year. Ultimately, our work is not done for recognition or reassurance, but as service: for people, for creation, and for the glory of God.
So, why faith?
Because faith shapes who we are.
We understand conservation as a form of worship: deliberate, practical, and rooted in obedience. Scripture tells us that love for God is expressed through obedience, and stewardship of creation is one of the ways we live that out. When we choose to care for the world entrusted to us, we participate in God’s purposes rather than working against them.
What is remarkable is that God does not call us to act against the natural order He established. When we choose to be good stewards of land, water, and biodiversity, the outcomes ripple outward: healthier ecosystems, stronger communities, and greater resilience for the future.
As we step into a new year, my hope is that this reflection gives us something steady to walk with, a reminder that faith and conservation are not separate paths, but deeply connected ones.
Happy New Year.
Alex Simiyu
Communications Coordinator