The gospel of Jesus Christ is inherently subversive, a transformative force that infiltrates and dismantles oppressive systems from within. Its power does not lie in direct confrontation or political revolution but in the radical redefinition of human identity, relationships, and value systems. The gospel subverts by challenging the foundational assumptions of structures built on domination, exploitation, and dehumanization, offering in their place a vision of God’s kingdom where every person is recognized as an image-bearer of God.

At its core, the gospel reshapes relationships, not through external force but by permeating the very heart of unjust systems with its truth. In Christ, traditional hierarchies of power and privilege are overturned. As Paul writes in Galatians 3:28, “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” This declaration does not erase social distinctions but reorients them—status, ethnicity, and class no longer determine a person’s worth. In this way, the gospel renders oppressive structures untenable, as they cannot coexist with the kingdom’s vision of equality and mutual love.

A prime example of this quiet yet profound subversion is found in Paul’s letter to Philemon. Although Paul does not explicitly call for the abolition of slavery, his treatment of Onesimus, a runaway slave, subtly redefines the moral and social framework that upheld the institution. His words plant the seeds of transformation, ultimately undermining the legitimacy of slavery itself.

Paul’s letter to Philemon is a masterclass in how the gospel operates within oppressive systems, dismantling them from the inside out. Addressing Philemon, a Christian slave owner, Paul intercedes on behalf of Onesimus, a runaway slave who, under Roman law, was Philemon’s property. Legally, Philemon had every right to punish Onesimus severely. Yet Paul’s approach in the letter subtly challenges the very foundation of that legal and social reality.

Rather than issuing a command, Paul frames his appeal in terms of Christian fellowship. He begins by affirming Philemon’s faith and love for fellow believers, shifting the conversation from one of legal obligation to one of spiritual accountability. Paul does not address Philemon as a master, nor Onesimus as a slave; instead, he reminds Philemon that the gospel has transformed their relationship.

At the heart of Paul’s argument is the humanization of Onesimus. He does not refer to him as a slave but as “my son” and “my very heart” (Philemon 10, 12). By using intimate, familial language, Paul challenges the dehumanizing logic of slavery, which reduced individuals to property. Further, he urges Philemon to receive Onesimus “no longer as a slave but more than a slave—a beloved brother” (Philemon 16). This redefinition shifts Onesimus’s status entirely, placing him on equal footing with Philemon within the household of faith.

Even more striking is Paul’s request that Philemon welcome Onesimus “as you would welcome me” (Philemon 17). In the social hierarchy of the ancient world, Paul was a respected apostle, while Onesimus, as a runaway slave, held no status. Yet Paul insists that Philemon extend to Onesimus the same honor and dignity he would offer Paul himself. This request alone radically undermines the master-slave dynamic, replacing it with a model of Christian brotherhood in which social hierarchies are dissolved.

The implications of Paul’s letter extend far beyond the case of Philemon and Onesimus. The gospel’s affirmation of the intrinsic worth and equality of all people exerts a corrosive effect on oppressive structures—not through violent revolution but through the transformation of hearts and relationships. Jesus likens this process to yeast working through dough (Matt 13:33); it is subtle yet unstoppable.

Over time, the seeds planted by Paul’s gospel-centered ethic bore fruit. Though slavery persisted for centuries, the early church’s radical practices—treating slaves and masters as equals in Christ, sharing meals together, and addressing one another as brothers and sisters—laid the groundwork for a new social order. As the gospel continued to permeate cultures, it exposed the contradictions between the ethics of the kingdom and the realities of oppression, compelling believers to challenge and ultimately dismantle systems that devalued human dignity.

Paul’s appeal to Philemon is not merely an isolated case of personal reconciliation; it is a glimpse into the subversive nature of the gospel itself. By transforming relationships, it disrupts structures of power and domination, replacing them with a new order rooted in love, mutuality, and the recognition of God’s image in all people. This is the true subversiveness of the gospel—not an external overthrow of power but an internal transformation that renders unjust systems obsolete.

In recent years, the United States has witnessed a significant decline in the cultural dominance of Christianity. As more Americans identify as religiously unaffiliated, and as Christian influence in the public sphere appears to wane, many within the church have responded with concern, anxiety, and efforts to reclaim lost ground. This reaction is especially evident in the growing entanglement between certain expressions of Christianity and political ideologies, where the faith is often invoked to preserve cultural traditions, national identity, and moral order. However, such responses reflect a misunderstanding of the gospel’s nature. Christianity was never meant to function as a tool of cultural dominance. Rather, the gospel is an apocalyptic and transformative event that calls individuals and communities into a radically new way of life, reconfiguring identity and allegiance under the lordship of Jesus Christ.

Gospel as Revelation, Not Ideology

The term “apocalyptic” often brings to mind ideas of catastrophe or the end of the world, but in its biblical usage, it refers to an unveiling—a divine revelation that discloses ultimate reality. In the New Testament, and especially in the writings of the Apostle Paul, the gospel is portrayed as precisely this kind of unveiling. It is the revelation of God’s righteousness, enacted through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. This revelation is not simply a new doctrine or moral code; it is the inbreaking of God’s reign into human history, confronting and transforming everything it touches.

The gospel, then, is not merely a set of beliefs or a religious worldview. It is not a static message to be affirmed but a dynamic event that demands participation. It reshapes how we understand God, ourselves, and the world. As such, it does not exist to affirm the status quo but to disrupt it—especially when the prevailing cultural order stands in opposition to the values of the kingdom of God.

Reconfiguring Identity and Allegiance

One of the most significant ways the gospel functions apocalyptically is in the way it reconfigures human identity. In the Greco-Roman world, one’s value and status were largely determined by ethnicity, citizenship, gender, and class. Paul’s proclamation of the gospel confronted these hierarchies by declaring that in Christ “there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female” (Gal 3:28). Such statements were not merely theological abstractions; they were radical redefinitions of what it meant to be human.

In Paul’s theology, to believe in Christ is to undergo a fundamental change in identity. Believers are no longer defined by their previous allegiances or social categories. Instead, they become part of a new humanity, formed in and through the crucified and risen Christ. This identity transcends ethnic, cultural, and political boundaries. It demands loyalty to Jesus as Lord—a claim that stands in deliberate contrast to any allegiance to Caesar, nation, or ideology.

A Challenge to Christendom

Throughout much of Western history, Christianity became entangled with structures of cultural and political power—a phenomenon often referred to as “Christendom.” In Christendom, the church is not simply a community of faith; it is embedded within the state, shaping and enforcing public morality and identity. While this arrangement once gave Christianity significant influence, it also led to a distortion of the gospel. Rather than functioning as a countercultural witness, the church often became a tool of the empire, blessing wars, marginalizing outsiders, and preserving systems of oppression.

In contemporary America, echoes of Christendom remain. Appeals to a “Christian nation,” fears over religious decline, and efforts to preserve cultural dominance through political means all reflect this legacy. However, when the church aligns itself with power in order to protect its position, it risks losing its prophetic voice. The gospel no longer confronts injustice but becomes a justification for it.

The apocalyptic nature of the gospel calls the church to repent of such alliances. It invites believers to return to the disruptive message of Jesus, whose kingdom is not of this world (John 18:36). Rather than lamenting the loss of cultural dominance, the church is called to embrace its identity as a pilgrim people—rooted not in nation or empire, but in the crucified Messiah.

Toward a Transformative Witness

Understanding the gospel as apocalyptic and transformative offers a hopeful and constructive path forward. Rather than fighting to reclaim the center of culture, the church is freed to embody an alternative way of life. It can form communities of reconciliation across racial, social, and economic divides. It can resist systems of violence and exploitation, choosing instead to serve the poor, welcome the outsider, and seek justice for the oppressed.

This is not withdrawal from the world, but engagement on different terms—terms defined by the cross and resurrection rather than by fear or nostalgia. The church is at its best not when it wields power, but when it lives faithfully in the margins, bearing witness to a kingdom that is already breaking into the world.

Conclusion

In a time of cultural upheaval and religious decline, the church must recover the apocalyptic and transformative nature of the gospel. This gospel does not affirm existing power structures; it exposes them. It does not seek cultural preservation; it proclaims new creation. It does not demand political dominance; it calls for radical discipleship. As the American church grapples with its changing place in society, it faces a choice: to cling to the fading privileges of Christendom or to step boldly into the future as a people defined by the inbreaking kingdom of God. Only the latter will allow the church to remain faithful to its calling—and to the Lord it serves.

Setting: A fictional roundtable discussion on World War II, with pundits using contemporary rhetoric.

Moderator: Welcome, everyone. Today, we’re revisiting World War II through the lens of modern geopolitical wisdom. Our topic: Should the Jews and other groups targeted by Hitler have simply “made peace” with the Nazis? Let’s hear from our first guest.

Pundit 1: Look, I’m just saying, at a certain point, you have to face reality. The Nazis were winning. They had the tanks, they had the planes. The Jews in Europe—let’s be honest—they should’ve made a deal. You can’t win against that kind of power.

Pundit 2: Absolutely. The Jewish ghettos? The resistance movements? All that underground stuff? It was a waste of time. Instead of fighting, they should’ve sat down and negotiated. I mean, sure, Hitler had some strong opinions, but if they had just surrendered, they could have avoided all that… unpleasantness.

Pundit 3: And think about the resources! So much money spent on smuggling people out, on hiding in attics. What a drain. If they had just accepted their fate, Europe would have been much more stable. No need for all that disruption. It was a bad investment.

Moderator: But what about the moral imperative to resist evil?

Pundit 1: Morality? Look, I’m not saying I agree with everything Hitler did, but you can’t argue with reality. They should’ve been pragmatic. You don’t negotiate from a position of weakness. They needed to realize they were losing and just cut a deal—maybe something like, “Okay, fine, we’ll go quietly.” It’s about being smart, not right.

Pundit 2: Exactly. And let’s not forget: all that resistance just provoked the Nazis more. It was antagonistic. They should’ve just stopped making trouble. Then maybe they’d have gotten some good terms—like, maybe only half the camps? A conditional ghettoization? You never know until you negotiate.

Pundit 3: Honestly, they should have been grateful. Hitler was offering them trains. Do you know how expensive train travel was back then? And instead of cooperating, they just kept resisting. That’s not how you get good deals.

Moderator: So your argument is that the oppressed should always make peace with their oppressors?

Pundit 1: Exactly. Resistance is overrated. Surrender is the real strength. At least you live—well, for a little while. And maybe, if they had played it right, they could’ve even gotten a nice little museum or something, instead of all this fighting.

Pundit 2: Peace at any price! That’s my motto. Sure, the price might be everything you hold dear, your dignity, and possibly your life, but at least there wouldn’t be any messy conflicts. That’s what really matters.

Moderator: Well, there you have it, folks. When faced with tyranny, the best strategy is to surrender early and hope for the best. After all, nothing says “freedom” like giving up.

Here is a thought experiment I just conducted on myself: Almost everyone I know is opposed to Mendacity, Arrogance, Greed, and Authoritarianism. What would happen if a group of people who actually support Mendacity, Arrogance, Greed, and Authoritarianism gained political power?

Here is what I discovered.

In every era, political movements arise that claim to champion the people, yet their policies betray an allegiance not to democracy or justice but to mendacity, arrogance, greed, and authoritarianism. Such a party—whether in name or practice—operates under a set of principles that serve its own power rather than the common good. Here are some of the policies and political strategies that define such movements throughout history, demonstrating how each of these four traits manifests in governance, economics, and public discourse.

Mendacity: The Politics of Deception

At the heart of a mendacious political movement is an intentional distortion of truth. Propaganda, misinformation, and outright lies become central tools of governance. Leaders of such a party systematically undermine the credibility of the press, replacing factual reporting with conspiracy theories and state-controlled narratives. Dissenting voices—whether from journalists, academics, or political opponents—are dismissed as “fake news” or “enemies of the people.”

Policy-wise, mendacity appears in bait-and-switch tactics: promises of economic relief that never materialize, assurances of national security while stoking fear, and pledges to restore “traditional values” that serve only to consolidate power. This approach thrives on historical revisionism, where past injustices are rewritten to justify present corruption. In the long run, mendacity erodes public trust in institutions, making it easier to manipulate voters through emotional appeals rather than substantive policies.

Arrogance: The Cult of Infallibility

Arrogance in governance manifests in a refusal to admit mistakes, listen to expert advice, or engage in good-faith debate. Leaders of a party built on arrogance project themselves as infallible saviors, insisting that their instincts matter more than science, data, or democratic deliberation.

This trait often results in anti-intellectualism, where universities, research institutions, and subject-matter experts are ridiculed or defunded. Leaders surround themselves with loyalists rather than qualified professionals, ensuring that decisions are made based on political loyalty rather than competence.

Arrogance also fuels hyper-nationalism and exceptionalism, where the party claims that their nation (or race, or ideology) is superior to all others, justifying reckless policies, military aggression, or isolationism. Instead of constructive diplomacy, they engage in belligerent posturing, leading to unnecessary conflicts at home and abroad.

Greed: The Economics of Exploitation

A party driven by greed prioritizes corporate interests and wealth accumulation over the well-being of the general population. Economic policies are designed to benefit the ruling elite while being framed as “pro-business” or “trickle-down economics.” Tax cuts for the ultra-wealthy, deregulation that benefits polluters and monopolies, and the privatization of essential public services all serve to consolidate wealth at the top.

In such a system, workers’ rights are systematically eroded—unions are broken, wages stagnate, and job security disappears, all while executives and shareholders see record profits. Healthcare, education, and housing are treated as commodities rather than rights, ensuring that only the privileged have access to them.

Greed is further entrenched through corruption and cronyism. Government contracts are awarded not based on merit but on political connections. Public funds are siphoned into private ventures. Campaign finance laws are weakened to allow unlimited corporate donations, ensuring that the wealthy dictate policy.

Authoritarianism: The Suppression of Democracy

To maintain control, a party of mendacity, arrogance, and greed must inevitably resort to authoritarian tactics. Democracy is tolerated only to the extent that it serves their interests—when it does not, it is subverted.

This is achieved through voter suppression, gerrymandering, and the undermining of democratic institutions. Elections are rigged through legal loopholes, opposition candidates are harassed or imprisoned, and judicial systems are stacked with loyalists who rule in favor of the regime.

Free speech is curtailed through censorship laws, surveillance, and intimidation of journalists. Protest movements are met with excessive police force, and dissenters are labeled as traitors, terrorists, or foreign agents.

Internationally, such a party aligns itself with other authoritarian regimes, forming alliances that prioritize power over principles. Human rights abuses are dismissed, and global organizations designed to promote democracy are weakened or ignored.

The endgame is a hollowed-out democracy.

The combination of Mendacity, Arrogance, Greed, and Authoritarianism does not merely corrupt political parties—it corrodes the very foundations of society. Citizens grow cynical, institutions become dysfunctional, and democracy becomes an empty shell. Inequality skyrockets, civil liberties erode, and the rule of law is replaced with the rule of power.

However, history shows that such regimes do not last forever. Over time, the contradictions of their rule—economic instability, public resentment, and internal power struggles—lead to their downfall. The question is not if they will collapse, but how much damage they will inflict before they do.

The antidote to this kind of politics is an informed and engaged public that values truth over propaganda, humility over arrogance, justice over greed, and democracy over authoritarianism. The real test of any society is whether it has the courage to reject these corrosive forces before it is too late.

The temptation of Christ in Luke 4:1–13 is not merely a test of Jesus’ resolve but a confrontation between two fundamentally opposing visions of God’s kingdom. The devil tempts Jesus with power, spectacle, and the satisfaction of immediate needs—offering him the opportunity to embrace dominion without sacrifice, recognition without suffering, and fulfillment without trust. Jesus refuses, remaining steadfast in his identity and mission. Yet, the church today has largely abandoned his example, succumbing to these same temptations while finding theological justifications for doing so.

The First Temptation: Immediate Satisfaction Over Faithful Dependence

The devil’s first temptation is aimed at Jesus’ hunger: “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become bread” (Luke 4:3). After forty days of fasting, Jesus is physically weakened, making this temptation especially acute. Yet, his response is decisive: “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone’” (Luke 4:4).

This temptation is about more than bread—it is about trust. Will Jesus rely on the Father to sustain him, or will he seize control of his own provision? The temptation to satisfy immediate needs at the expense of faith is pervasive, and the modern church has eagerly taken the bait. We justify our compromises in the name of pragmatism: we soften the gospel to attract more attendees, prioritize comfort over discipleship, and promote personal well-being over sacrificial obedience.

Consumerism has become the new bread of life. Many churches operate like corporations, offering religious goods and services tailored to individual preferences. Programs replace prayer, convenience replaces commitment, and entertainment replaces endurance. The drive for numerical growth eclipses the call to spiritual depth. In embracing this temptation, the church has become more like the crowds who followed Jesus for the loaves and fishes than like the disciples who followed him to the cross.

The Second Temptation: Power Over Servanthood

“Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil said to him, ‘To you I will give their glory and all this authority, for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.’” (Luke 4:5–7)

The devil offers Jesus political power without the cross, authority without suffering, dominion without sacrifice. Yet Jesus refuses: “It is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him’” (Luke 4:8).

In rejecting this offer, Jesus affirms that the kingdom of God does not advance through worldly power but through obedience and suffering. The church, however, has often pursued the very authority Jesus rejected. Instead of witnessing to the kingdom of God through humility, love, and sacrifice, we have sought cultural, political, and institutional dominance. The church has traded the basin and the towel for the sword and the scepter.

We justify political alliances in the name of influence, defend corruption in the name of effectiveness, and silence dissent in the name of unity. Many have come to believe that power is a necessary means to a righteous end, even when it requires bowing to the devil’s terms.

When the church seeks to wield the kingdoms of this world rather than bear witness to the kingdom of God, it becomes indistinguishable from the very systems Jesus came to redeem. Instead of standing as a prophetic voice against empire, it often serves as the empire’s chaplain, blessing its ambitions in exchange for access to its power.

The Third Temptation: Spectacle Over Faithfulness

Finally, the devil takes Jesus to the pinnacle of the temple and urges him to throw himself down, quoting Scripture to support the act:

“If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’” (Luke 4:9–11)

The devil tempts Jesus to prove himself through spectacle, manipulating God into a public display of divine intervention. Jesus responds, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test’” (Luke 4:12).

Jesus refuses to use miracles as a means of self-promotion. He will not manipulate God to establish his credibility or impress the masses. Instead, he chooses the hidden, slow, suffering path of faithfulness. The church, however, has frequently chosen spectacle over substance.

We live in an age of religious showmanship. The entertainment church culture, with its celebrity pastors, dazzling productions, and market-driven strategies, prioritizes attention over authenticity. Social media platforms have turned faith into performance, where leaders are more concerned with crafting a brand than embodying Christ. Worship has often become entertainment, and discipleship is reduced to a momentary emotional experience rather than a lifelong journey of transformation. We are called to enthrone the Lamb, not entertain the sheep.

Even in theological circles, spectacle reigns. The pursuit of intellectual superiority, the obsession with controversies, and the constant demand for relevance have distracted us from the simplicity of faith. We demand signs and wonders while neglecting love and service. We seek viral influence rather than faithful presence. The church has placed its trust in platforms, personalities, and production value, often forgetting that true power is found not in spectacle but in the quiet obedience of the cross.

The Church’s Justifications for Capitulation

The tragedy is not just that the church has succumbed to these temptations—it is that it has convinced itself that doing so is righteous. We justify our pursuit of power by claiming it is necessary for protecting religious freedom. We defend our obsession with spectacle as a means of reaching the lost. We embrace the logic of immediate satisfaction, insisting that if we do not give people what they want, they will go elsewhere. In each case, we echo the voice of the tempter: “If you are the church of God, do this thing to prove it.”

But Jesus shows us another way. He does not justify himself. He does not grasp for power, nor does he demand spectacle. He chooses faithfulness over pragmatism, trust over control, the cross over the crown.

The Path of True Faithfulness

The temptation narrative ends with these haunting words:

“When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.” (Luke 4:13)

The devil was not finished. He would return, whispering these same temptations in new forms, calling Jesus to abandon the cross. And he continues to whisper to the church today.

We, the church, are called not to seek power, spectacle, or self-satisfaction but to follow the crucified Christ. We are not called to impress the world but to be faithful to the kingdom. We do not need to justify ourselves through results, recognition, or relevance—The church succeeds by being the church.

May we have the courage to follow Jesus into the wilderness, to resist the false promises of the tempter, and to walk the narrow way of faithfulness, no matter the cost.