Why Christians Need to Rethink Power
If you've spent any time around American Christianity in recent years, you've probably felt the tension.
On one hand, we read about Jesus—the one who blessed the poor, loved his enemies, welcomed outsiders, and refused to seize political power. On the other hand, we see forms of Christianity that seem obsessed with influence, domination, and cultural control. Many people, both inside and outside the church, look at this disconnect and ask a simple question: How did we get here?
Recently, I had a conversation with biblical scholar Ron Herms about apocalyptic literature, empire, Christian nationalism, and the church's relationship to power. One of the most important insights from our discussion was that the Bible gives us answers and clues to these subjects.
The biblical writers understood empire as more than a political system. Empire was the relentless expansion of power—the desire to control, dominate, and impose one's vision on others. Ancient Israel lived under the shadow of Egypt, Assyria, Babylon, Persia, Greece, and Rome. The prophets and apocalyptic writers recognized that these empires often justified themselves with stories, myths, and promises that sounded noble while masking deeper realities.
That is where apocalyptic literature enters the picture.
The word apocalypse does not mean "the end of the world." It means an unveiling. A revealing. Pulling back the curtain to expose what is really happening beneath the surface. Books like Daniel and Revelation were written as resistance literature for communities trying to remain faithful while living under the pressures of empire.
What struck me most was that the biblical response to empire is rarely about seizing power. Instead, apocalyptic writers redefine what faithfulness, victory, and leadership look like.
Victory is not domination. It is faithful witness. Leadership is not control. It is service.
This is where the teachings of Jesus become so important. The Sermon on the Mount does not provide a strategy for conquering enemies. It calls us to love them. The cross is not a symbol of worldly success. It is the ultimate act of self-giving love. That raises an uncomfortable question for many of us: What happens when the church begins to mirror the very systems of power that Jesus challenged?
Throughout American history there have been Christians who modeled another way. The Black church, leaders in the Civil Rights Movement, and many voices from liberation traditions demonstrated that it is possible to resist injustice without embracing violence. They exposed evil, confronted systems of oppression, and remained committed to the way of Jesus.
Perhaps the church's task today is not to gain more power but to recover a different imagination. An apocalyptic imagination.
One that pulls back the curtain on the idols of our age. One that refuses to confuse political influence with faithfulness. One that remembers that the kingdom of God advances not through domination but through love, sacrifice, truth, and hope. In a culture obsessed with winning, Jesus invites us to a different kind of victory.
On one hand, we read about Jesus—the one who blessed the poor, loved his enemies, welcomed outsiders, and refused to seize political power. On the other hand, we see forms of Christianity that seem obsessed with influence, domination, and cultural control. Many people, both inside and outside the church, look at this disconnect and ask a simple question: How did we get here?
Recently, I had a conversation with biblical scholar Ron Herms about apocalyptic literature, empire, Christian nationalism, and the church's relationship to power. One of the most important insights from our discussion was that the Bible gives us answers and clues to these subjects.
The biblical writers understood empire as more than a political system. Empire was the relentless expansion of power—the desire to control, dominate, and impose one's vision on others. Ancient Israel lived under the shadow of Egypt, Assyria, Babylon, Persia, Greece, and Rome. The prophets and apocalyptic writers recognized that these empires often justified themselves with stories, myths, and promises that sounded noble while masking deeper realities.
That is where apocalyptic literature enters the picture.
The word apocalypse does not mean "the end of the world." It means an unveiling. A revealing. Pulling back the curtain to expose what is really happening beneath the surface. Books like Daniel and Revelation were written as resistance literature for communities trying to remain faithful while living under the pressures of empire.
What struck me most was that the biblical response to empire is rarely about seizing power. Instead, apocalyptic writers redefine what faithfulness, victory, and leadership look like.
Victory is not domination. It is faithful witness. Leadership is not control. It is service.
This is where the teachings of Jesus become so important. The Sermon on the Mount does not provide a strategy for conquering enemies. It calls us to love them. The cross is not a symbol of worldly success. It is the ultimate act of self-giving love. That raises an uncomfortable question for many of us: What happens when the church begins to mirror the very systems of power that Jesus challenged?
Throughout American history there have been Christians who modeled another way. The Black church, leaders in the Civil Rights Movement, and many voices from liberation traditions demonstrated that it is possible to resist injustice without embracing violence. They exposed evil, confronted systems of oppression, and remained committed to the way of Jesus.
Perhaps the church's task today is not to gain more power but to recover a different imagination. An apocalyptic imagination.
One that pulls back the curtain on the idols of our age. One that refuses to confuse political influence with faithfulness. One that remembers that the kingdom of God advances not through domination but through love, sacrifice, truth, and hope. In a culture obsessed with winning, Jesus invites us to a different kind of victory.
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