By Andy Cons Matata
KAJIADO, MARCH 25, 2025 (CISA) – On Ash Wednesday morning, March 5, the Kajiado Law Courts were bustling in an entirely different manner than usual. Court staff, judges, prisoners and litigants—most of whom had come in for scheduled hearings—were puzzled but intrigued by the presence of a small altar set up at the front of the courtroom. Fr Christopher Letikirich, a diocesan priest from the Catholic Diocese of Maralal who is pursuing civil law at the Catholic University of Eastern Africa, stood at the altar, his eyes scanning the room, which had quickly filled with an unexpected congregation.
To his left stood a number of black or grey suited magistrates, led by Chief Magistrate, Ms Roseline Ogano, every one of them looking every bit judicial officer, with various degrees of spiritual serenity about them. To his right were prisoners, prison officers, lawyers and their clients, all gathered to take part in the first-ever Ash Wednesday Mass at the Kajiado Law Courts.
The scene was one of delightful confusion, with court staff mingling as though they had just wandered into a pop-up service. A judge, several magistrates, lawyers and litigants exchanged glances, unsure whether they were meant to be there as part of their court duties or simply because it was the right thing to do on Ash Wednesday.
The Mass itself was an interesting mix of liturgical reverence and legal casualness. As Fr Chris, as he is commonly known, stood at the altar, he began with the opening prayers, his voice echoing off the high walls of the courtroom. In the background, the distinct sound of the court’s ticking clock could be heard.
One particularly memorable moment occurred just as Father Chris was about to give the homily. He glanced at his watch, realizing that he was technically on the clock for his practicum and that he might have to answer a few questions later about his legal duties. Nonetheless, he pressed on, delivering a brief reflection on the meaning of Lent, the Jubilee Year of Hope, the importance of fasting and almsgiving, and how sometimes, even in the most unlikely places, one can find an opportunity for reflection.
The Ashes of Justice
When it came time for the distribution of ashes, things took an even more amusing turn. Instead of the quiet and orderly procession one might expect in a church, the courtroom was filled with a surprising sense of camaraderie as the members of the legal community and the prisoners in their distinctive white and black striped uniforms approached the altar, in one line, to receive the ashes.
Magistrates, with airs of humility, walked forward to receive the mark of repentance on their foreheads. The prison officers, with their charges in front of them, joined the line with some sense of seriousness, yet all seemed to engage in the shared moment of reflection. It felt like a strange but delightful merger of the sacred and the secular.
There was, however, one more twist. The photographer for the day was none other than Hon Rodha Kenyatta, a magistrate, who took it upon herself to document this unique moment in judicial history. She snapped photos left, right, and centre—of people receiving ashes, of Fr Chris smiling as he offered them, and of the whole courtroom atmosphere that was a strange hybrid of Holy Mass and the subsequent court proceeding.
“I don’t think I’ve ever taken pictures of a Mass in a courtroom before,” Rodha whispered, still smiling as she adjusted her phone. “But why not? It’s history in the making!”
A Moment of Reflection Amidst Legal Drama
As the Mass concluded and Fr Chris dispensed the final blessing, a sense of unity hung in the air. People who, moments before, were caught up in the mundane intricacies of the law now found themselves bound together by a shared spiritual experience. There was something remarkably human about the whole affair—lawyers and judges, prison officers and prisoners, all of them marked with ashes, all of them beginning their Lenten journey together.
Fr Chris, though a student of civil law, had for one very special morning, found a way to integrate his two passions: the law and his faith. As he left the courtroom, he chuckled to himself, thinking about how Lent in Kajiado would forever be marked by this unique courtroom Holy Mass.
And so, with ashes on their foreheads and a renewed sense of spiritual purpose, the staff, prison warders, prisoners, police officers and visitors of Kajiado Law Courts returned to their respective duties—now just a little bit holier and perhaps a little more mindful of the spiritual side of justice.
Who knew that Lent could be celebrated in a courtroom? Only at the Kajiado Law Courts, it seems, could such an event truly unfold.
