What Makes Jesus Smile

I came across this only recently, though it happened back in October, much the way one realizes too late that they stepped on a rusty nail in the dark. There is no immediate pain, no dramatic moment. Just the slow, unsettling awareness that something harmful may already be at work beneath the surface.

At first glance, the comments themselves are almost too on the nose to take seriously. They sound exaggerated, performative, even cartoonish in their cruelty. But that instinct, to dismiss them as fringe theater, fades quickly once you slow down and actually read what is being said, how it is being justified, and what is being invoked to make it all sound righteous.

The remarks in question come from an October episode of a podcast produced by Right Response Ministries, later reported on by Right Wing Watch and other outlets that monitor Christian nationalist rhetoric. In the episode, the host urges Christians to join Immigration and Customs Enforcement as an act of divine obedience, explicitly framing the use of armed force against immigrants as something that “makes Jesus smile.” The recording and related clips remain publicly available.

Because this was not a rant. It was not a slip. It was not a provocation tossed off for attention. It was a carefully articulated moral argument, one that conscripts Christian Scripture, sanctifies state violence, and invites believers to imagine Jesus as an approving witness to coercion exercised against the stranger.

That detail matters.

What is happening here is not a misunderstanding of the Gospel, but its inversion. Scripture is not being read poorly. It is being turned inside out. Passages meant to restrain power are repurposed to glorify it. Texts meant to humble the strong are used to authorize domination. The moral arc is not bent accidentally. It is bent deliberately.

The appeal to Romans 13 is a familiar move, but familiarity should not be confused with legitimacy. In its original context, the passage functions as a warning against chaos, not a commission for violence. It certainly does not invite Christians to seek out roles where harm can be inflicted with a clean conscience. The idea that believers are called to become agents of vengeance, armed and eager, is not merely unsupported by the text. It is contradicted by the broader witness of the Gospels.

Jesus does not recruit enforcers. He forms disciples. He does not promise that following him will grant access to power. He promises a cross.

Equally disturbing is the language used to describe immigrants themselves. Locusts. Invaders. Devourers. This is not descriptive language. It is preparatory language. It does not explain a policy position. It prepares the listener to stop seeing human beings. Once people are rendered as a swarm or a disease, the moral calculus changes. Force no longer feels tragic. It feels necessary. Sometimes it even feels righteous.

That shift is not incidental. It is the point.

Sociologically, this kind of rhetoric performs a very specific function. It offers moral permission to anger. It reframes resentment as clarity. It collapses complex social realities into a single story of us and them, faithful and traitorous, righteous and deserving. In doing so, it creates an identity forged not through virtue, but through opposition.

This is particularly potent for young men who already feel dislocated, diminished, or unseen. What is offered is not discipline, humility, or patience, but purpose through aggression. Strength is defined not as self-control, but as the willingness to impose order by force. Compassion becomes weakness. Doubt becomes betrayal. Violence, when properly aimed, becomes obedience.

History has a vocabulary for this pattern. It always begins the same way. Dehumanization first. Then moral inversion. Then the blessing of authority. The language shifts from concern to necessity, from necessity to righteousness. By the time consequences arrive, the groundwork has already been laid.

It is also worth noting the tone in which all of this is delivered. Not sorrow. Not grief. Not even fear. But confidence. Even humor. Jokes about throwing people to the ground. Laughter at the idea of cruelty. That is not a rhetorical flourish. It is a diagnostic signal. When harm becomes amusing, something essential has already been lost.

None of this should be dismissed as merely provocative speech. Words like these do not remain abstract. They shape imagination. They lower inhibitions. They tell people, in advance, that when the moment comes, they will not be the bad guys.

The most troubling aspect of all of this is how casually Jesus is enlisted into the project. Not as teacher. Not as judge. But as approving spectator. A Christ who smiles at cages and cheers the closing of a van door is not the Christ of the Gospels. It is a fabrication, assembled to meet the emotional needs of those who want their fear baptized and their anger absolved.

This is not Christianity under pressure. It is Christianity repurposed. And that distinction matters.

Some ideas deserve to be debated. Others deserve to be examined, documented, and judged by what they do to people. This belongs firmly in the latter category.

Because when faith is stripped of mercy and welded to grievance, what follows is not renewal. It is corrosion. Quiet at first. Then spreading. And by the time the pain finally announces itself, the damage is already underway.

Source material includes publicly available podcast recordings and contemporaneous reporting by Right Wing Watch (October 2025).

A Line Has Been Crossed

There are days when you witness something so deeply wrong that it shakes something inside you. That has been my day. I have been watching footage of federal agents harming people who did nothing to deserve it. Not arresting dangerous criminals. Not protecting the public. Just hurting people. Treating human beings like they are beneath the dignity of basic respect.

I am not reacting as a political person here. I am reacting as a human being who believes people matter.

Different parts of me have been speaking up as I try to process all of this.

There is the part of me that grew up believing that institutions exist to protect people. That part feels betrayed.

There is the part of me that still remembers being a small red-headed kid who learned early how easy it is for the powerful to ignore the vulnerable. That part feels a deep and burning anger.

There is the part of me that has worked hard to live by the principle of never treating anyone as less than. That part feels grief, because what I am witnessing violates something sacred.

And there is the part that understands that lashing out will not fix any of this. It will feel good for only a moment and then leave everything exactly where it was.

So I am letting myself sit with all of this. The sadness. The anger. The disappointment. All of it is telling me something true.

This cannot ever be considered normal. This cannot ever be accepted as the cost of doing business. This cannot become something we look away from because it is easier that way.

If you are scared or frustrated or overwhelmed by what you are seeing, you are not wrong and you are not alone. If you are comfortable and tempted to look away, I would gently challenge you to resist that instinct. Comfort is not a reason to stay silent. Silence is not neutral.

Whatever your beliefs or background, every one of us reaches a point where we have to decide whether we will stand up or sit down. Whether we protect our comfort or lean into our responsibility.

Here is what I would encourage. Take care of yourself first. Rest. Recover. Get grounded. You cannot help anyone if you are running on fumes.

Then, when you are steady enough, find a place to serve. Support the people doing the work. Listen to the voices who cannot walk away. Become part of the effort to build something better than what we are watching right now.

Because this moment is not about left or right. It is not about owning the other side. It is about deciding who we want to be as a people. It is about refusing to become numb to cruelty. It is about recognizing that a line has been crossed and choosing to respond with courage instead of despair.

I still believe we can build something better. But it will only happen if we choose to do it together.

An American Inflection Point

Something has shifted in the United States, and pretending otherwise is its own kind of denial. This moment is no longer about left or right, or Democrat or Republican. It is not about Black, brown, or white. It is not about Christian, Muslim, or Jewish. What we are dealing with now is a question of good versus evil. It is about whether our democracy survives in any recognizable form.

The people in charge are showing us, again and again, that they are willing to do whatever it takes to hold on to power. They are willing to erode norms, undermine institutions, and twist the machinery of government toward their own self-preservation. And while all of this is happening, we are being told not to worry, that everything is fine, that raising concerns is alarmist. That kind of reassurance is part of the problem. It is a way of keeping people quiet.

I know how this may sound. I know it sounds like I am being alarmist. But I am also a student of history. I know what it looks like when a democracy reaches an inflection point and refuses to see it. Democracies usually do not collapse overnight. More often, they slowly fall apart because ordinary people convince themselves that the erosion is not that bad, or that someone else will handle it.

We are now in a place where every small compromise, every shrug, and every acceptance of this new reality pulls us further from the country we believe we are. This stopped being about politics a while ago. Now it is about whether we still believe in truth, justice, the rule of law, and human dignity. It is about whether we think power should be guided by morality, or whether we are willing to let power redefine morality for us.

History is watching. The future will judge whether we saw this moment clearly and whether we had the courage to respond with resolve instead of resignation.

America has reached an inflection point. The question now is whether we recognize it in time to change course.

Five Smooth Stones, A Beginning

There are seasons when it feels like the world is getting darker around the edges. You can sense it in how people talk to each other, how quick we are to divide into camps, and how easily fear turns into anger. A lot of what’s being done and said “in the name of Jesus” doesn’t look much like him at all.

That’s part of why I’m starting Five Smooth Stones.

Not because I think I have all the answers, and not because I’m trying to shout over anyone. Honestly, I don’t even want to shout. I just want to create a place where the actual teachings of Jesus matter again—things like mercy, humility, responsibility, and what it really means to love your neighbor.

There’s a simple moment in the story of David I keep coming back to. Before he faced Goliath, he bent down and picked up five smooth stones. Nothing flashy. Nothing dramatic. Just what he had, what fit his hand, and what he knew how to use.

It reminds me that sometimes courage isn’t loud or grand. Sometimes it’s just showing up with whatever strength you have left and choosing to do what’s right, even if the odds aren’t great. Like Theoden charging when he knew the cost. Like anyone who refuses to let fear or cynicism decide who they’re going to be.

That’s really the point of this project.

A small stand against the things that are pulling us apart.

A reminder that the way of Christ still leads toward compassion, not cruelty. Toward truth, not intimidation.Toward light, even when everything feels heavy.

I don’t expect this space to change the world.

But maybe it can steady a few people who feel the same weight I do.

Maybe it can encourage you to take up your own “stones”—your integrity, your kindness, your courage, your willingness to do the next right thing.

If you feel the darkness rising, you’re not imagining it.

But you’re not alone, either.

This is the start.

Let’s stand in the light together.