Beatitudes not Bombs.
The slogan appears on sweatshirts as a way of countering the Trumpian preference for power and violence with the Jesus strategy of compassion and service. But the tension between these two strategies for making friends and influencing affairs goes back a long way. Suffice it to say that it is a perennial temptation for people of faith to abandon the path of persuasion in favor of the way of war.
Jesus, of course, explicitly rejected the way of power. He did it three times in the temptations, as record in Luke’s gospel. And more than one gospel writer testifies to the taunting Jesus received from those who witnessed the crucifixion, “If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself and us also.”
Throughout his life, Jesus opted for kindness, compassion, and the care of souls … and bodies!
Christians find it difficult to pass these tests so vividly described in our gospel accounts. The way of power is so appealing. It promises the eradication of evil and the triumph of goodness.
Christian Nationalist are simply the most recent in a long line of Christian advocates who embrace the bombs and ignore the beatitudes.
Before them, Hebrew people took to the sword to take the Promise Land. In the Middle Ages, Christian people (or at least Christianized people, and there is a difference) drew the sword and marched into battle in an effort to push back the Muslims and assert the way of Jesus. It did not work.
Now, faced with three advancing armies of cultural and political force, (secularism, atheism, and Islam) some people with Christian identity are calling for more power in the hands of the Believers. The way to save Christian America is to seize power, exercise power, wield power.
They call it Dominionism, quoting the scriptural call for humans to exercise dominion over all creation.
They also call it the Seven Mountain Mandate, identifying seven places where true believers need to seize power: education, government, media, religion, family, entertainment, and business. If only our people, they say to one another, can get into positions of power, we can then establish the commonwealth of righteousness and peace.
This call to arms undergirds the rising tide of Christian Masculinity. Let men be men, they say, and take charge of homes, congregations, legislatures, and courts. Let’s turn our testosterone into righteous toughness and take it by force, for Jesus and the kingdom. Let’s be manly men. Argh!
But it is hard to find a place where Jesus sought and secured power. Not in the temple, not in the streets, not in the courts, certainly not on the cross. In fact, his life and ministry, especially the cross, is a rebuke of the myth of power. Put away your sword, he commanded his people. Instead, feed the people, clothe the people, release the people from prison, and teach them how to pray.
I ponder all of this as I witness from afar the power strategy employed against immigrants and refugees, including those with and without documentation. Their color, their poverty, and especially their religion pose a danger to our “Christian” culture, so we are told; and we must exercise power: to build prisons, bust windows, and pull triggers.
Even though most of the objects of our surge of power identify as Christians coming from Christianized cultures, loud voices among us play the power card in response to what they see as an Islamic invasion. In other words, the proper way to respond to Muslims (among others) is with a sword (or actually, a gun).
But the Christian mission is one of persuasion not power. The Christian message is one of love not command.
What do pagans, atheists, secularists, and even Muslims learn about Jesus when we beat them over the head instead of feed them, when we put them in jails instead of freeing them from jails, when we brandish our guns rather than embracing the opportunity to welcome a stranger.
When we abandon the beatitudes and take up the bombs.
At the very least, we surrender all hope of Christian community (or Christian Nation, as some prefer these days) regardless of how many worship services we host in the Pentagon, or how many Commandments we post of the school wall, or how many crosses we parade down Main Street.
July 25, 2026
Subscribe to Dr. Moody’s weekly newsletter featuring his commentary on Religion and American Life.
Beatitudes not Bombs.
The slogan appears on sweatshirts as a way of countering the Trumpian preference for power and violence with the Jesus strategy of compassion and service. But the tension between these two strategies for making friends and influencing affairs goes back a long way. Suffice it to say that it is a perennial temptation for people of faith to abandon the path of persuasion in favor of the way of war.
Jesus, of course, explicitly rejected the way of power. He did it three times in the temptations, as record in Luke’s gospel. And more than one gospel writer testifies to the taunting Jesus received from those who witnessed the crucifixion, “If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself and us also.”
Throughout his life, Jesus opted for kindness, compassion, and the care of souls … and bodies!
Christians find it difficult to pass these tests so vividly described in our gospel accounts. The way of power is so appealing. It promises the eradication of evil and the triumph of goodness.
Christian Nationalist are simply the most recent in a long line of Christian advocates who embrace the bombs and ignore the beatitudes.
Before them, Hebrew people took to the sword to take the Promise Land. In the Middle Ages, Christian people (or at least Christianized people, and there is a difference) drew the sword and marched into battle in an effort to push back the Muslims and assert the way of Jesus. It did not work.
Now, faced with three advancing armies of cultural and political force, (secularism, atheism, and Islam) some people with Christian identity are calling for more power in the hands of the Believers. The way to save Christian America is to seize power, exercise power, wield power.
They call it Dominionism, quoting the scriptural call for humans to exercise dominion over all creation.
They also call it the Seven Mountain Mandate, identifying seven places where true believers need to seize power: education, government, media, religion, family, entertainment, and business. If only our people, they say to one another, can get into positions of power, we can then establish the commonwealth of righteousness and peace.
This call to arms undergirds the rising tide of Christian Masculinity. Let men be men, they say, and take charge of homes, congregations, legislatures, and courts. Let’s turn our testosterone into righteous toughness and take it by force, for Jesus and the kingdom. Let’s be manly men. Argh!
But it is hard to find a place where Jesus sought and secured power. Not in the temple, not in the streets, not in the courts, certainly not on the cross. In fact, his life and ministry, especially the cross, is a rebuke of the myth of power. Put away your sword, he commanded his people. Instead, feed the people, clothe the people, release the people from prison, and teach them how to pray.
I ponder all of this as I witness from afar the power strategy employed against immigrants and refugees, including those with and without documentation. Their color, their poverty, and especially their religion pose a danger to our “Christian” culture, so we are told; and we must exercise power: to build prisons, bust windows, and pull triggers.
Even though most of the objects of our surge of power identify as Christians coming from Christianized cultures, loud voices among us play the power card in response to what they see as an Islamic invasion. In other words, the proper way to respond to Muslims (among others) is with a sword (or actually, a gun).
But the Christian mission is one of persuasion not power. The Christian message is one of love not command.
What do pagans, atheists, secularists, and even Muslims learn about Jesus when we beat them over the head instead of feed them, when we put them in jails instead of freeing them from jails, when we brandish our guns rather than embracing the opportunity to welcome a stranger.
When we abandon the beatitudes and take up the bombs.
At the very least, we surrender all hope of Christian community (or Christian Nation, as some prefer these days) regardless of how many worship services we host in the Pentagon, or how many Commandments we post of the school wall, or how many crosses we parade down Main Street.
July 25, 2026
Subscribe to Dr. Moody’s weekly newsletter featuring his commentary on Religion and American Life.
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