Jesus didn’t come to take sides. He came to end the game.
That’s not a slogan — it’s a detonation. In a world addicted to power, obsessed with enemies, and held together by the glue of outrage, Jesus walks in and flips the table. His message isn’t about rearranging the pieces of a broken political system; it’s about exposing the gears of violence that make it run.
René Girard saw it clearly: human civilization was founded on a lie — the lie of the scapegoat. When society descends into chaos, when anxiety and resentment boil over, the crowd finds a victim to blame. Someone must be sacrificed so the rest can feel pure again. The mob kills, and order returns. But the peace is counterfeit. Beneath it, blood cries out from the ground.
Then comes Jesus — not with a sword, but with forgiveness. He doesn’t fight power with more power. He dismantles it by revealing its foundation. The Cross is not a divine demand for blood. It’s an x-ray of the human heart. It shows us that our violence is not righteous, our victims are not guilty, and our unity through exclusion is a sham.
When the mob crucified Christ, they thought they were saving the nation. In truth, they were exposing themselves. The victim was innocent, and the crowd was guilty. That revelation changed everything. It ended the spell.
David Gornoski calls this the birth of “neighbor-centered politics.” No more scapegoats. No more sacred violence. No more pretending that killing can bring peace. Jesus doesn’t invite us to pick a better team — He invites us to love the people we’ve been taught to fear.
This isn’t religious sentimentality. It’s a total paradigm shift. Once you see the machinery of coercion for what it is, you can’t unsee it. The state’s promise to “save” us through control? Exposed. The media’s ritual of moral outrage? Exposed. The endless war of tribes and hashtags? Exposed.
The Gospel is not about managing evil through violence. It’s about revealing that violence for what it is — a lie that keeps the crowd united against a victim. Jesus ends that cycle. He refuses to play the game. And in doing so, He unmasks every counterfeit savior that demands blood in exchange for peace.
That’s why the Cross still terrifies the powerful. It tells the truth about us. It pulls the curtain on every empire and ideology that thrives on fear.
The politics of Jesus are not about seizing power — they’re about refusing its terms altogether. Real transformation begins when we stop looking for someone to blame and start loving our neighbor instead.
The kingdom He proclaimed is not built on coercion, but on communion. Not on fear, but on forgiveness.
That’s the end of the game — and the beginning of everything real.