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“Jesus is my Savior. Trump is my President.”
That banner hung proudly less than a mile from our newly purchased home in Arlington, Texas. I remember stopping my car, staring at it, and feeling a wave of emotions, I couldn’t immediately name — grief, confusion, and yes, fury.
Over the years, I’ve watched the name of Jesus become more than a prayer or a person. It’s become a political slogan. A brand. A bludgeon. The gospel I grew up with — one of mercy, justice, and radical love — has been hijacked. In its place, I’ve seen a different gospel rise: one of control. Of exclusion. Of power-wielding superiority that often glorifies the White, the Male, and the Straight — while condemning or ignoring everyone else.
On January 6, 2021, as rioters stormed the U.S. Capitol with weapons, nooses, and MAGA hats, they also carried crosses. Banners named Trump as a messianic figure. The Son of God had become a mascot for a violent insurrection.
As someone raised in the Evangelical church, I wasn’t new to hearing Jesus’ name invoked for political gain. I’d heard pastors hint — or outright tell us — who to vote for. But this? This was something else entirely.
The Jesus I know didn’t lead mobs. He healed the sick. He wept with mourners. He flipped the tables of the powerful and dined with the outcast. He never campaigned. He never coerced. He never killed.
Jesus wasn’t apolitical — He was anti-empire. He challenged corrupt systems. He lifted the poor. And in the most radical twist, after His resurrection, He first appeared to women — those considered unworthy witnesses by society — and gave them the first message of hope.
Here’s what He didn’t do:
He didn’t scapegoat the poor. He didn’t grab power. He didn’t demand allegiance to a flag.
Jesus invited people to a new way of being — not a voting bloc.
So why is it so hard for some to see that Donald Trump of Queens couldn’t be more different than Jesus of Nazareth?
The list of contrasts is too long for any Op-Ed.
I grew up being told that character matters. Remember that mantra during the Clinton years? Character Counts. I believed it then. I still do now.
Christian nationalism is a counterfeit faith. It replaces grace with dominance. It alienates those who might otherwise be drawn to Jesus. And it trades the cruciform love of Christ for the brute force of political control.
Jesus didn’t take power. He laid it down.
This isn’t a screed against Christian political engagement. We should engage. But it’s a warning against confusing faith with faction. When we trade the cross for a campaign, we don’t just lose sight of Christ — we become pawns in a game that sees our faith as nothing more than a means to an end.
It’s time to reclaim Jesus.
Not just from the far right, but from anyone who seeks to reduce Him to a political mascot. Because the Kingdom He spoke of has never fit inside a ballot box.
Reclaiming Jesus doesn’t mean we abandon public life. It means we re-enter it with clearer eyes and softer hearts. It means asking hard questions:
Does my political allegiance reflect the Jesus I know — or simply invoke His name for comfort and convenience?
It won’t be easy to untangle what’s been so tightly braided. But the Gospel was never meant to serve a party. It was meant to serve the poor, the brokenhearted, the peacemakers, the persecuted, the outcast.
Jesus didn’t come to take sides. He came to take over — but not through policy. Through love, humility, and grace.
What does reclaiming Jesus look like?
So let’s follow Him — not to the polls, but to the margins.
Not to the seat of power, but to places of honesty and healing.
Not to win a culture war, but to love in a way that makes war unnecessary.
Because if we truly believe in the Jesus of the Gospels, then it’s not our politics that need protecting. It’s our witness.
Reclaiming Jesus starts small
It begins in living rooms and lunch conversations. It begins with listening, repenting, and choosing love when outrage is easier.
It’s not about going backward. It’s about rediscovering a faith too beautiful to be used— and too powerful to be controlled.
What if the Church became known not for who it votes for, but for who it loves?
What if reclaiming Jesus meant finding Him again—not in the halls of power, but among the hurting?
Susan Parker is an author and former DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) consultant with a passion for exploring complex social issues. She is best known for her thought-provoking memoir Walking in the Deep End, where she candidly reflects on her personal journey and the challenges of navigating faith and identity. In her upcoming book, “Leaving the Deep End: How I Escaped Christian Nationalism and Why It’s Taking Over America,” Susan offers a powerful critique of the growing influence of Christian nationalism in the United States, drawing from her own experiences to illuminate its dangers and offer hope for escape. With a career built on advocating for inclusivity, Susan’s work continues to inspire readers to confront difficult truths and engage in meaningful social change. Reprinted with permission. This article first appeared at www.redletterchristians.org.
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