I’m not here to sugarcoat it, folks. We all know what’s happening, and deep down, I think you do too. This country’s soul is circling the drain, and the people who claim to lead the faithful are too busy polishing their Sunday smiles to do a damn thing about it.
So let me put this as plainly as I can: You are living in the opening act of a tragedy. You’re sitting in the audience, clapping politely, while the stage is set for horrors you swore to God you’d never allow. The script has been written before. We’ve all seen it play out. And yet, here you are, nodding along like it’s some fresh new drama instead of a rerun of the darkest chapters in human history.
Let’s not pretend we don’t see the parallels. The man in the White House lies as easily as he breathes. He mocks the weak, exalts the rich, and treats truth like a cheap commodity to be bartered away for applause. His administration stokes fear and division, scapegoats the powerless, and builds policies on the backs of the already broken. And what do we hear from you? Silence.
But it’s worse than silence, isn’t it? Some of you are cheering. Some of you are twisting scripture to justify cages for children and tax breaks for billionaires. Some of you are standing at your pulpits and blessing this man as though his every action doesn’t spit in the face of Christ’s teachings.
I’ve seen the photos. The rallies. The flags with crosses stitched beside slogans of hate. The hands raised in salute to a new Caesar. And it makes me sick. Because we all know where this train is going, and I don’t want to see my friends loaded onto it.
You want historical context? Here it is: This is your May 1933. The books are already burning. The marginalized are already being targeted. The powerful are already consolidating, and the people are already being told who to blame. And you, the supposed shepherds of God’s flock, are either complicit or too cowardly to call it what it is.
Jesus didn’t come to make you comfortable. He didn’t preach conformity to the powerful or submission to empire. He overturned tables. He called out hypocrisy. He warned us that wolves would come dressed as shepherds. Well, the wolves are here, and they’re wearing MAGA hats.
You have a choice to make. Right here, right now. Are you going to follow Christ, or are you going to bow to Caesar? Because don’t kid yourself—you can’t do both. And no, staying silent isn’t some holy middle ground. It’s a vote for Caesar. It’s a green light for the train to keep rolling.
This isn’t about politics; it’s about morality. It’s about whether you believe the Sermon on the Mount was just a quaint metaphor or a call to action. It’s about whether you have the guts to stand up and say, “Not in my church. Not in my name. Not in the name of the God I serve.”
If you choose the path of silence, history will remember you as it remembers the cowards and collaborators of every other era. Your grandchildren will ask what you did when the fascists rose, and you’ll have to tell them you were too worried about upsetting the rich tithers to take a stand.
This isn’t a threat; it’s a warning. The train is picking up speed. And if you don’t find the courage to stop it, to throw your body on the tracks if you must, then don’t be surprised when you wake up one day and find you’ve been left behind.
The Gospel isn’t a brand. It’s not a product to sell or a shield to hide behind. It’s a fire. And right now, it’s burning with righteous fury at what you’ve allowed to happen.
So, decide. Serve Christ or serve Caesar. But make no mistake—by staying silent, you’ve already made your choice.
R.L. Lawrence