
When I first stepped into ministry, I carried with me a quiet, nagging fear—one that whispered in my heart as I prepared to serve. My fear was not about the demands of the role or the challenges of leading others. Instead, it was the haunting worry that the American Church might resemble the Pharisees more than the Messiah we profess to follow.
I’ve never thought of the Pharisees as inherently bad people. They were devout, committed to preserving their Religion and protecting their Nation during a tumultuous time. Their intentions, perhaps noble, were clouded by a rigid adherence to tradition and an inability to see the Messiah standing right in front of them. Their vision, consumed by the fear of losing what they cherished, blinded them to the very Savior they awaited.
Recently, my fears resurfaced. A Bishop, speaking calmly and with grace, delivered a message rooted in Scripture and consistent with the Gospel. She addressed the president of this nation, not with condemnation but with a plea: that as he governs and implements his policies, he would do so with mercy. Her words honored his position, avoided political critique, and simply asked for compassion to guide his leadership.
His response? Mockery. He belittled her, dismissed her message, and disrespected her office. It was a moment that cut deeply, not just for the offense to her personally but for what it revealed about the broader state of faith and leadership in this country. The Bishop began receiving death threats, primarily from those who claim to follow the same Christ she does. Threats of violence, fueled by partisan fervor, rained down on a leader whose only “offense” was asking for unity, compassion and mercy.
We can disagree politically—that’s the beauty of democracy. But what I cannot understand is the savior-type worship of a person who, by his own actions and words, shows little understanding or reverence for the faith he panders to. When he speaks of the Bible or Scripture, it’s evident that they are foreign to him—tools for manipulation rather than truths that shape his life.
As a statesman, his response earned no respect. As the leader of what is often called the most powerful nation in the world, it was disheartening. And as someone who claims to align with the faith, his actions were devoid of the humility, grace, and love that Christ exemplifies.
I am embarrassed to be associated with this brand of Christianity—one that cheers for power and turns a blind eye to the lack of integrity in its leaders. I am not ashamed of the Gospel. I am not ashamed of Christ. But I am deeply ashamed of many of His followers.
The Church is meant to be a reflection of Christ—a community marked by love, mercy, and justice. When it begins to look more like the Pharisees, clinging to power, tradition, and fear, it loses its way. My hope, my prayer, is that we would remember who we are called to be, not as defenders of a culture or ideology, but as followers of the Divine who embodies truth and grace.
There’s still time for us to recognize Christ among us. But first, we must open our eyes to honor the inherent dignity of every human being as children of God, open our hearts to extend compassion to those who suffer in the margins, and open our lives to embody the mercy and grace of the One we claim to follow.
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