It has been remarked by men wiser than myself that the Good Book is like a mirror: if an ass looks in, you can’t expect an apostle to look out. These days, however, it seems a whole congregation of folks have looked into the Gospel and somehow mistaken the Beatitudes for a business prospectus.
I spent a good deal of my life observing the human animal, and I must confess, the modern “MAGA” pilgrim is the most interesting specimen to come along since the Cardiff Giant. They profess a deep, abiding love for a certain carpenter from Nazareth, a man who, by all accounts, was a homeless radical who suggested that if you had two coats, you might part with one. Yet, if that same Nazarene showed up at a rally in Ohio today, speaking of loving one’s enemies and welcoming the stranger, I suspect he’d be escorted out for being a “subversive element” before he could even turn the water into something drinkable.
Take, for instance, the recent news of the former President’s foray into the stock market. We are told he has been busy trading in the shares of “Big Media” giants, the very same dens of iniquity he spends his Sunday mornings (and Monday nights) railing against. It is a masterful bit of footwork. It’s as if a man spent his days preaching the evils of strong drink while quietly buying up every distillery in the county so he might profit from the very thirst he condemns.
In the old stories, the “mythology,” if you will, Jesus had a rather pointed encounter with the money-changers in the Temple. He didn’t offer them a seat on a committee or ask for a favorable valuation of his brand; he flipped the tables. But the modern movement has decided the tables are actually quite comfortable if you just put a gold cloth over them.
The Republican platform has become a peculiar sort of “Christianity” that has been scrubbed clean of Christ. They have kept the label because it’s a fine, sturdy brand for a cultural identity—like a well-worn hat that makes a man look respectable even if his head is empty of charity. They use the faith as a fence to keep people out, rather than a bridge to bring them in.
They speak of “family values” while cheering for the separation of families at the border. They speak of “life” while ensuring the poor have the hardest possible time sustaining it. They have traded the “Peace that passeth understanding” for the “Hatred that passeth the collection plate.”
It is a grand irony. The faith of the “meek inheriting the earth” has been hijacked by those who believe the earth belongs to the highest bidder. If greed is a sin, they’ve turned it into a sacrament. If pride is a fall, they’ve built a skyscraper to jump from.
I reckon if you told a common laborer in the days of my youth that a billionaire who lives in a gold-leafed tower was the “chosen vessel” of the God of the Poor, he’d have laughed you off the docks. But today, the story is sold with such fervor that the common man is convinced his own poverty is caused by a refugee’s hunger, rather than the landlord’s appetite.
It is not a religion of the heart anymore; it is a costume of the ego. And as any river-man knows, you can paint “S.S. Salvation” on the side of a sinking barge, but it won’t keep your feet dry when the river starts to rise.