As Christians gather this Christmas to celebrate the birth of Jesus, it is worth asking a simple question—one that is rarely asked honestly in public life.
What would Jesus think about how we conduct politics today, and how we treat our neighbor?
Not how we invoke Him. Not how often His name is spoken from a podium or placed behind us for effect. But how closely our conduct resembles the life and teachings we claim to honor.
Jesus did not arrive as a ruler or a culture warrior. He entered the world quietly, outside the halls of power, into a society governed by hierarchy, fear, and religious authority tightly bound to political control. From the beginning, His life challenged those assumptions.
His message was disarmingly clear. Love your neighbor. Care for the least among you. Show mercy. Practice humility. Serve rather than dominate. He spoke constantly about obligation—not to power, but to one another. Commitment—not to ideology, but to truth and compassion lived out in action.
What He did not do was confuse faith with force.
Jesus never taught that righteousness could be imposed by law, nor did He suggest that moral authority flowed from the state. In fact, He was deeply skeptical of institutions that used religious language to justify cruelty, exclusion or indifference. He reserved some of His harshest words not for sinners, but for religious leaders who wrapped themselves in piety while neglecting justice, mercy and faithfulness.
That distinction matters.
Far too often today, when Scripture is invoked in political debate, it is not the words of Jesus being quoted at all, but selectively chosen passages from the Old Testament—removed from context and pressed into service of power. This is not faith seeking understanding; it is religion conscripted for politics. The result is a kind of Christian nationalism that confuses biblical authority with state authority, and obedience to God with obedience to a political agenda. Yet the Jesus of the Gospels consistently resisted that fusion. When He was asked to endorse power, He declined it. When pressed to condemn, He chose mercy. When questioned about the law, He pointed beyond it—reminding His listeners that the measure of faith was not strict adherence, but love of God and love of neighbor. If Christ is reduced to a mascot for the state, then His teachings are no longer guiding politics—politics is reshaping Christ.
Today’s politics is loud, performative and often merciless. It rewards outrage more than understanding, certainty more than humility, and victory more than responsibility. Too often, neighbors are reduced to enemies, disagreement becomes disloyalty, and suffering is dismissed as acceptable collateral damage in the pursuit of power.
It is difficult to square that with the Jesus of the Gospels.
Jesus did not shy away from moral clarity, but His clarity was rooted in compassion. He challenged hypocrisy without dehumanizing. He confronted injustice without delighting in punishment. He understood government as necessary, but limited—capable of maintaining order, but never capable of replacing conscience or love.
“Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s,” He said—not as an endorsement of state power, but as a reminder that political authority has boundaries. Faith, He made clear, belongs to a higher and more demanding standard.
That standard is uncomfortable because it leaves little room for self-righteousness. It asks believers to examine not just what they oppose, but how they live. It demands consistency between belief and behavior. It insists that faith be recognizable not by performance, but by conduct.
How we speak about immigrants. How we talk about the poor. How we respond to those who are different, vulnerable or inconvenient. How we treat those who disagree with us. How we use power when we have it, and how we restrain ourselves when we do.
These are not abstract questions. They are moral ones.
As Jesus’ birth is celebrated this Christmas, it is worth remembering not just the story of His arrival, but the example He set and the words He spoke. His teachings did not end at the church door. They spoke to how people live together, how they wield authority, and how they treat those placed in their care. Love of neighbor was never meant to be private or abstract—it was meant to shape conduct, judgment and responsibility in the public square.
And if the story of Jesus’ birth still has meaning, it is this: that peace begins with how we see one another, and love is proven by what we choose to do next.
