Naming the Moment
If you’ve noticed the cultural temperature rising — whether at the grocery store checkout, in your newsfeed, or at a school board meeting — you’re not imagining it. Much of our public life is discipled by fear. We're told that only a strong hand can save us, that our problems stem from “those people,” and that security depends on someone’s silence or their spot at the back of the line. These are old temptations dressed up with new names.
Beneath the headlines are three patterns that promise control but cause harm: authoritarianism (the lure of domination), scapegoating (the habit of blaming the vulnerable), and supremacy (the lie that some are more human than others). They’re efficient; fear always is. But they are not the gospel. As followers of Jesus, we confess that love — not coercion — is the organizing principle of God’s life and the shape of our own (1 John 4:18). God works with us, not over us, inviting real collaboration in a future that is not yet fixed but is always being shaped by love.
Here’s the question guiding this reflection: What does the gospel say about our desire for control, our tendency to blame, and our addiction to hierarchy? How might we challenge these patterns in our public witness and personal relationships? My aim isn't to score points but to speak the truth in love, to help us hear beyond the noise, and to remember that Jesus’ way remains the most subversive path to human flourishing: a table big enough for all, a power expressed in service, and a community sustained by hope.
Love, Liberation, Relationship
Before we can name what the gospel opposes, we must remember what it proclaims. At its heart, the gospel is not a list of rules or a control strategy — it is the good news that God’s love becomes real in Jesus, inviting us into relationship with God and each other. Love, not fear, is the thread running throughout scripture: from God walking with Adam and Eve in the garden, to God liberating Israel from Pharaoh’s oppression, to Christ sharing bread with outcasts and sinners.
Jesus clearly shows this through his life and teachings. In the Sermon on the Mount, he blesses the poor, the meek, and the peacemakers — not the powerful. At his table, he welcomes tax collectors, zealots, women, and children — not the privileged elite. His ministry is characterized by compassion rather than coercion, healing instead of domination, and inclusion instead of exclusion. Jesus says the kingdom of God is like a feast where everyone is invited, even those the world has rejected (Luke 14:15–24).
The apostle Paul communicated this vision to the early church, writing to the Galatians that in Christ “there is no longer Jew or Greek, slave or free, male and female; for all are one” (Galatians 3:28). This isn’t a denial of our differences — it’s a statement that no difference makes one person more deserving of love than another. God’s future is constantly being shaped with us, through us, and for us. At the core of that ongoing story is not authoritarian control, scapegoating, or supremacy, but a radical invitation into beloved community.
Authoritarianism Is Antithetical to the Gospel
Authoritarianism promises safety through control. It whispers that if we just hand over our freedom to the “right” leader, our lives will be secure and our problems solved. But the gospel challenges this illusion. Jesus never consolidates power for his own benefit. Instead, he consistently spreads it — sending disciples out two by two, empowering women as witnesses, and reminding his followers that true greatness is found in service (Mark 10:42–45).
When tempted in the wilderness to take political control, Jesus refused. He would not turn stones into bread to prove his strength, nor bow to the devil for authority over kingdoms (Luke 4:1–13). His entire life demonstrates a rejection of coercive power. And when he washed his disciples’ feet (John 13:1–17), he gave them a living parable: authority in God’s kingdom is measured not by domination but by humility, not by fear but by love.
The Spirit Paul describes in 2 Corinthians 3:17 — “where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom” — is the opposite of authoritarianism. Christian faith cannot thrive in fear-based control because fear and love cannot coexist (1 John 4:18). Whenever the church leans toward authoritarian patterns — whether in politics, culture, or even within its own leadership structures — it loses sight of the One who emptied himself, “taking the form of a servant” (Philippians 2:7). Authoritarianism opposes the gospel because it confines the freedom Christ came to give.
Scapegoating Is Antithetical to the Gospel
Scapegoating is as old as humanity. When communities feel anxious, they look for someone to blame. If we can just shift the “problem” onto one group — the immigrant, the poor, the queer neighbor, the political opponent — we think we’ve found peace. But scapegoating doesn’t heal; it only deepens the wound.
The cross clearly shows this. Jesus becomes history’s ultimate scapegoat—falsely accused, abandoned by friends, and killed as a threat to the system. From one perspective, the crucifixion appears to be another example of empire silencing a troublemaker. But through faith, it reveals the full mechanism of blame. As René Girard and others have pointed out, Jesus’ death exposes scapegoating for what it truly is: a cycle of violence that claims to restore order but actually deepens injustice.
The gospel presents a different way. Paul writes that God “reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation” (2 Corinthians 5:18). Instead of projecting our fears onto others, Christ absorbs our violence and responds with forgiveness. Instead of exclusion, he creates space at the table. Scapegoating is anti-gospel because it damages community, while Jesus’ way is to heal community through love, truth, and reconciliation.
Supremacy Is Antithetical to the Gospel
Supremacy is based on the false idea that some lives are more valuable than others. It depends on hierarchy — whether racial, national, gender, or cultural — and requires some to be elevated by putting others down. Supremacy may offer pride and a sense of belonging, but it always comes at the cost of another person’s dignity.
The gospel presents a very different story. From the first chapter of Genesis, every person is described as bearing the image of God (Genesis 1:27). To diminish someone’s value is to deny the divine mark within them. Jesus demonstrated this truth by consistently breaking boundaries: touching lepers, healing Gentiles, respecting women, and welcoming children. His parables about the kingdom depict a banquet where the poor and the marginalized are given seats of honor (Luke 14:7–14). Supremacy has no place at that table.
Paul’s words in Galatians 3:28 and the vision of Revelation 7:9—“a great multitude…from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages”—deliver the same message: the beloved community is not uniform, but radically inclusive. Supremacy is anti-gospel because it rejects the diversity of God’s love and fractures the unity of Christ’s body. Where supremacy causes division, the Spirit unites. Where supremacy excludes, the gospel offers a welcome without walls.
Christian Nationalism
These three forces — authoritarianism, scapegoating, and supremacy — are not just ideas. We see them in our public life today. One clear example is what has come to be called Christian Nationalism. By this, I mean the belief that Christianity should be merged with American identity and political power — often privileging one race, one culture, or one party as if it alone expresses God’s will.
Christian Nationalism exhibits all three dangers: authoritarianism when loyalty to leaders is mistaken for loyalty to God, scapegoating when immigrants, minorities, or LGBTQ+ neighbors are blamed for society’s problems, and supremacy when Christianity is equated with whiteness, cultural dominance, or the myth of a chosen nation.
The tragedy isn't just political — it's spiritual. Christian Nationalism corrupts the gospel by replacing Christ's universal love with a tribal idol. It narrows the kingdom of God to national borders and treats neighbors as threats instead of siblings.
A Better Way
If authoritarianism, scapegoating, and supremacy distort the gospel, what does faith invite us into instead? Jesus doesn’t just expose the broken systems of his world — he embodies an alternative. His life shows us a different rhythm, one rooted in love, humility, and community.
Instead of authoritarianism → servant leadership. Jesus says, “Whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant” (Mark 10:43). Leadership in the way of Christ is not about control, but about empowering others, lifting them up, and sharing the work of God’s kingdom.
Instead of scapegoating → solidarity. Jesus stands with the vulnerable, not against them. He touches those others avoid, dines with those others condemn, and even from the cross says, “Father, forgive them” (Luke 23:34). Solidarity involves refusing to project our fears onto others and instead committing to share their burdens.
Instead of supremacy → beloved community. The vision of the kingdom is a table where every tribe, tongue, and people find belonging. Supremacy divides; beloved community heals. This is the gospel invitation: to live as if we are truly siblings, because in Christ we are.
Richard Rohr often reminds us that God is not a distant monarch but the flow of love itself, drawing all things into union. Thomas Oord describes God’s very nature as uncontrolling love. To follow Jesus, then, is to participate in that flow — to resist systems that constrict and to build communities that expand. The gospel is not just about personal salvation; it is about shaping a world where love has the final say.
Hope and Courage
It can be tempting to focus on the forces of authoritarianism, scapegoating, and supremacy and feel overwhelmed. They are loud, deeply rooted, and influence much of our public life. But the gospel reminds us that these forces are not ultimate. They may wound, but they do not have the final say. Love does.
Resurrection is God’s response to the world’s violence and control. The cross was meant to silence Jesus forever, making him the scapegoat of the empire. Yet, God raised him up, confirming his way of love and nonviolent resistance. This pattern exemplifies our faith: when fear and domination seem to prevail, the Spirit keeps moving, opening a future shaped not by coercion but by grace.
So let us take heart. The gospel's call is not just to reject what is false but to live out what is true. In our homes, churches, neighborhoods, and yes, in our politics, we are called to practice a different kind of power: servant leadership, reconciliation, and beloved community. We are invited to declare with our lives that authoritarianism, scapegoating, and supremacy are anti-gospel — and that Christ’s love is big enough to gather us all.
Love is not naïve; it is the only force powerful enough to shatter the idols of fear.