What to Do
Continue to do the good work.
Continue to build bridges not walls.
Continue to lead with compassion.
Continue the demanding work
of liberation for all.
Continue to dismantle broken systems,
large and small.
Continue to set the best example
for the children.
Continue to be a vessel of nourishing joy.
- Shared by Vibiana Andrade
The Galilean Vision
Following the Way of Jesus
in an Age of Ruling Caesars
As I write this, many Americans celebrate a victory in electoral politics. The strongman won. They trust that a newly elected former president, alongside the party that slavishly supports him, will "make America great again." They believe that a ruling Caesar is essential for the well-being of their country and their pocketbooks.
Some even consider themselves Christian. They render unto God that which belongs to Caesar, and see the hand of God in the victory of their newly-elected president. They forget the Sermon on the Mount, the call to love our enemies, the invitation to forgive “seventy times seven,” and the charge to care for the least among us.
It’s worth reminding ourselves just how different Jesus is from the Caesar they voted in. Philosopher Doug Corbitt, who himself ran for office in 2024, offers this perspective:
*
For those who are confused…
Jesus didn’t talk about “shithole countries.” He spoke of God’s love for the entire world (see John 3:17).
Jesus didn’t boast about exploiting women. He treated them with compassion, tenderness, and respect (see “The Woman at the Well” in John 4, “The Woman Caught in the Act of Adultery” in John 8, and “The Woman Who Washed Jesus’ Feet with Her Tears” in Luke 7).
Jesus didn’t counsel us to put ourselves, our families, and our countries first. Nor did he ask us to build walls to defend ourselves from the needy and desperate. He asked us to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, comfort and heal the sick, and visit those in prison (see Matthew 25).
Jesus didn’t advise us to follow those who will “fight for us.” He called us to be peacemakers, to be merciful, and to embrace persecution for the cause of righteousness—lifting up, caring for, and protecting others (see the opening of the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 5 and the Parable of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10).
Jesus didn’t ask us to lie about the value of our belongings to avoid taxes or inflate their worth to secure loans. Instead, he warned about the futility of wealth’s pursuit (see the Parable of the Rich Fool in Luke 12).
If you feel someone needs to fight for you as a Christian, remember that Jesus told Peter to put away his sword (see Matthew 26) and asked forgiveness for his torturers as he died on the cross (see Luke 23).
We don’t follow Jesus because he promises to shield us from tragedy, defeat, humiliation, or persecution. We follow him because he shows us what divine compassion, love, mercy, and justice look like and because he accepted suffering to reveal it.
*
Those who celebrate may also have forgotten an image of God, embodied in Jesus' life, as tender, inclusive, and loving. Philosopher Whitehead writes:
"There is, however, in the Galilean origin of Christianity yet another suggestion which does not fit very well with any of the three main strands of thought. It does not emphasize the ruling Caesar, or the ruthless moralist, or the unmoved mover. It dwells upon the tender elements in the world, which slowly and in quietness operate by love; and it finds purpose in the present immediacy of a kingdom not of this world. Love neither rules, nor is it unmoved; also, it is a little oblivious as to morals. It does not look to the future; for it finds its own reward in the immediate present."
*
This more Galilean vision of God seems to have been lost. How, then, can we sing a song of tenderness and love in an age so dominated by power and self-interest? Can the teachings of the Sermon on the Mount be resurrected in our hearts and lives? And might we help?
Perhaps part of the answer lies not in grand gestures but in small, daily acts of love and kindness. By choosing compassion over judgment, forgiveness over vengeance, and generosity over greed, we might keep this Galilean vision alive. Each choice to love, even amid hostility, is a way of singing that song of tenderness anew.
In this way, we participate in the resurrection of Jesus’ teachings—not as a political agenda but as a quiet revolution of the heart, echoing that kingdom "not of this world." And when opportunities for public or political action arise, we can embrace them as we are able, supporting those who carry these Galilean values. But even if such leaders are scarce, we ourselves can become the light of a new way—a more Christian way.
This is a sad day for many Galilean Christians. Lament for as long as is needed, and the let the light shine.
- Jay McDaniel
Some even consider themselves Christian. They render unto God that which belongs to Caesar, and see the hand of God in the victory of their newly-elected president. They forget the Sermon on the Mount, the call to love our enemies, the invitation to forgive “seventy times seven,” and the charge to care for the least among us.
It’s worth reminding ourselves just how different Jesus is from the Caesar they voted in. Philosopher Doug Corbitt, who himself ran for office in 2024, offers this perspective:
*
For those who are confused…
Jesus didn’t talk about “shithole countries.” He spoke of God’s love for the entire world (see John 3:17).
Jesus didn’t boast about exploiting women. He treated them with compassion, tenderness, and respect (see “The Woman at the Well” in John 4, “The Woman Caught in the Act of Adultery” in John 8, and “The Woman Who Washed Jesus’ Feet with Her Tears” in Luke 7).
Jesus didn’t counsel us to put ourselves, our families, and our countries first. Nor did he ask us to build walls to defend ourselves from the needy and desperate. He asked us to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, comfort and heal the sick, and visit those in prison (see Matthew 25).
Jesus didn’t advise us to follow those who will “fight for us.” He called us to be peacemakers, to be merciful, and to embrace persecution for the cause of righteousness—lifting up, caring for, and protecting others (see the opening of the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 5 and the Parable of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10).
Jesus didn’t ask us to lie about the value of our belongings to avoid taxes or inflate their worth to secure loans. Instead, he warned about the futility of wealth’s pursuit (see the Parable of the Rich Fool in Luke 12).
If you feel someone needs to fight for you as a Christian, remember that Jesus told Peter to put away his sword (see Matthew 26) and asked forgiveness for his torturers as he died on the cross (see Luke 23).
We don’t follow Jesus because he promises to shield us from tragedy, defeat, humiliation, or persecution. We follow him because he shows us what divine compassion, love, mercy, and justice look like and because he accepted suffering to reveal it.
*
Those who celebrate may also have forgotten an image of God, embodied in Jesus' life, as tender, inclusive, and loving. Philosopher Whitehead writes:
"There is, however, in the Galilean origin of Christianity yet another suggestion which does not fit very well with any of the three main strands of thought. It does not emphasize the ruling Caesar, or the ruthless moralist, or the unmoved mover. It dwells upon the tender elements in the world, which slowly and in quietness operate by love; and it finds purpose in the present immediacy of a kingdom not of this world. Love neither rules, nor is it unmoved; also, it is a little oblivious as to morals. It does not look to the future; for it finds its own reward in the immediate present."
*
This more Galilean vision of God seems to have been lost. How, then, can we sing a song of tenderness and love in an age so dominated by power and self-interest? Can the teachings of the Sermon on the Mount be resurrected in our hearts and lives? And might we help?
Perhaps part of the answer lies not in grand gestures but in small, daily acts of love and kindness. By choosing compassion over judgment, forgiveness over vengeance, and generosity over greed, we might keep this Galilean vision alive. Each choice to love, even amid hostility, is a way of singing that song of tenderness anew.
In this way, we participate in the resurrection of Jesus’ teachings—not as a political agenda but as a quiet revolution of the heart, echoing that kingdom "not of this world." And when opportunities for public or political action arise, we can embrace them as we are able, supporting those who carry these Galilean values. But even if such leaders are scarce, we ourselves can become the light of a new way—a more Christian way.
This is a sad day for many Galilean Christians. Lament for as long as is needed, and the let the light shine.
- Jay McDaniel