It is Easter again. I walked away from the church years ago, in fact, a long time ago. Why? I just couldn't understand what the Bible said, and what society was becoming, and how they interacted with each other. I saw the poor getting poorer and the rich getting richer, and I could no longer reconcile how this fit the teachings of the Gospel. The moment that reminded me why I walked away wasn’t a sermon or a scandal. It was watching a politician, a man who openly admits he doesn’t read the Bible much, argue with the Pope about Jesus as if he were the expert in the room. One man has spent his entire life studying Scripture. The other can’t even quote Scripture. Yet millions of Christians lined up behind the politician anyway. In fact, they have even compared him to Jesus. That was the moment I realized I hadn’t walked away from Jesus. I was walking away from what had been done to him, not by his crucifixion 2000 years ago, but by how we crucify him almost daily today.

When Trump said he had a spiritual obligation to bomb Iran, it should have hit everyone hard.  Not because it was about politics. It was about authority, which many Christians now treat as the voice of truth. When a political figure with little biblical grounding can contradict the Pope about Jesus and still be believed, it shows something has gone deeply off‑track. People weren’t defending theology. They were defending a team. And the Jesus I grew up with, the one who healed the sick, lifted the poor, and challenged the powerful, was nowhere in sight.

Before all this, the Jesus I was taught about was simple and clear. He taught things that weren’t convenient. He taught, “Blessed are the poor,” “Love your enemies”, “The first will be last”, “Whatever you do for the least of these, you do for me”, “Put away your sword.” He lived a life that made the wrong people angry and the right people hopeful. He touched the untouchable.
He welcomed the excluded. He told the truth even when it cost him everything. That Jesus still makes sense to me. That Jesus still feels like hope. But that Jesus and his teachings rarely show up in our public arguments anymore. Jesus didn’t die because he was weak. He died because he was a threat to systems built on fear, hierarchy, and domination. He challenged religious leaders who used faith to control people. He challenged political leaders who valued order over justice. He challenged wealthy elites who believed their status was God‑given. He died because he refused to trade compassion for power, and that power has twisted his words down through the centuries and still twists them now.

Easter is supposed to remind us that love beats violence, truth beats fear, and no empire gets the last word. But history shows how quickly that message gets twisted. Watching a politician argue with the Pope about Jesus felt absurd, but it wasn’t new. It was part of a very old pattern.
The Roman Empire turned Jesus from a threat to imperial power into a symbol of imperial unity.
Medieval kings claimed God had chosen them to rule, using Christianity to justify noble privilege. Crusaders and colonizers invoked Jesus to sanctify conquest and hierarchy. Hegseth, Trump's Secretary of War, led the Pentagon in prayer, invoking Jesus, asking for overwhelming violence against enemies who deserve no mercy, is just some of the same. Modern political movements use Christian identity to rally supporters or legitimize agendas. In every era, the same thing happens: Power tries to turn Jesus into a mascot. Jesus refuses to fit the costume. But the damage to the church, and to ordinary believers, is real.

In a way, Jesus is still being crucified today by not only the Government but also the Church. Not the man. The message. I have said many times that we are turning our backs on the teachings of Jesus. This happens whenever governments, corporations, churches, or organizations punish the vulnerable, reward cruelty, elevate loyalty over truth, use religion to justify power, silence moral witnesses, and treat human beings as disposable. They are, in reality, reenacting the same logic that led to the cross. Jesus was executed for confronting systems built on domination. Those systems still exist. And they still crush the values he lived and died for. We should be asking these questions. Every time compassion is mocked, is Jesus crucified? Every time truth is punished, is Jesus crucified? Every time the poor are trampled, is Jesus crucified? Every time religion is used to excuse cruelty, is Jesus crucified? And every time someone chooses love, mercy, justice, or courage in the face of that, does Jesus rise again? Those are all great questions we should ask every day and not just on Easter.

I didn’t walk away because I lost faith. I walked away because I couldn’t recognize the faith anymore. I saw churches split over political loyalty. I saw compassion replaced with anger.
I saw the Sermon on the Mount treated like optional fine print and, at times, not even remembered. I saw younger people leave, not because they rejected Jesus, but because they rejected what Christianity had become in public life. I saw a faith that once centered on the poor become a faith that defended the powerful. A faith that once challenged the empire became a faith that blessed it. A faith that once healed the wounded becomes a faith that wounded its own. And I couldn’t pretend anymore. I have come to believe that the separation of Church and State is not very important for preserving the State and the Church. It is important in preserving the words and teachings of Jesus.

Easter, for me now, is a reminder of the words of Jesus that started all of this. Not the Jesus of empire. Not the Jesus of kings. Not the Jesus of political platforms. The Jesus who washed feet. The Jesus who fed crowds. The Jesus who welcomed children. The Jesus who told the truth. The Jesus who loved without fear. The Jesus who rose, not to crown the powerful, but to lift the broken. Be honest with ourselves, is that what we are doing today? I have always asked myself where Jesus would be today. Would he be at the border denying people a better life, or would he be there welcoming them? Would he be supporting the imprisonment of people just because they came here looking for a better life?  Or would he be demanding that they be set free?  

I may have walked away from the institution, but I haven’t walked away from him. If anything, stepping outside the church has made it easier to see him clearly, without the layers of politics, hierarchy, and cultural baggage that have built up over centuries. Maybe the church can find its way back. Maybe Christians can rediscover the Jesus who changed the world by refusing to play by the rules of power. Maybe the message that once threatened empires can rise again.

I don’t know.

But I know this: If Christianity is ever going to heal, it will start by returning to the Jesus who lived and died for love, justice, mercy, and truth. It is the words of Jesus that make it so he doesn’t stay buried.