Give to Caesar What Belongs to Caesar

Lately I’ve had this unsettled feeling I can’t shake when I think about the Church in America. It’s a bit hard to explain, but now that I've seen it, there's no un-seeing it.

It feels like somewhere over the last decade we’ve started to drift. Like we’ve gone from being a people who follow Jesus to a people who follow political agendas and call it faith.

Not everywhere, and not everyone. But in some circles, the overlap between conservative politics and Christian identity is so tight that questioning the politics can feel like questioning the gospel itself. Which is wild, but that’s where we are.

The pressure to pick a side is loud. You can hear it in the tone, in the fear, in the way some churches talk more about “holding the line” than looking like Jesus. You can hear it in sermons that sound more like stump speeches. I feel it in myself sometimes too, which is honestly the part that bothers me most.

But when I look at the life of Jesus, I don’t see someone trying to take over a political party. I don’t see Him building coalitions or forming strategies to reclaim cultural power. Even though people wanted Him to. They wanted a rebellion. They wanted a king who would overthrow Rome and restore their nation.

Instead, Jesus drops this simple, almost disarming line:

“Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s.”

He didn’t chase influence.
He didn’t posture for control.
He didn’t try to win the game everyone else was playing.

He fed people, healed the sick, welcomed the outcasts, told stories that made religious people uncomfortable, washed feet, and walked toward a cross instead of grabbing a sword. Or to say it simply, He loved people—deeply, stubbornly, and without condition. Not just the ones who followed Him, but the ones who mocked Him too.

That kind of love feels rare right now.

What gets labeled as “revival” in some places looks more like religious nationalism wrapped in worship music, and it’s not the same thing. It isn’t transformation and it sure as heck ain’t Jesus. But it’s just subtle enough that people cheer for it without realizing what’s slipping away underneath.

The real spooky thing is that this version of Christianity seems to be gaining momentum, especially in the last handful of years. It’s centered on power and spectacle and winning cultural fights. Once you start chasing those things, the heart of the gospel becomes surprisingly easy to lose.

Jesus never asked us to build parties on His behalf.
He asked us to carry a cross.

I don’t pretend to know where all of this is headed, but I keep coming back to how Jesus moved through the world. He didn’t ignore truth or dilute it, yet He didn’t use it to beat people into submission. His way was compassion, not control. He wasn’t focused on winning arguments; He was focused on changing people from the inside out.

He didn’t come to take a stance as a republican or democrat.
He came to transform hearts.

And if the Church forgets that, I’m not sure what we’re left with.