My reflections of Sept 11, 2001, Our current divisions, and how Christ can guide us as the ultimate example going forward:

Violence, whether politically motivated or otherwise, is fundamentally wrong. This truth bears repeating in our current moment, when the very fabric of our democracy seems strained to its breaking point. As I write this, I am acutely aware that we stand twenty-four years removed from the tragedy of September 11, 2001—a day that forever changed the American landscape and, for a brief but powerful moment, reminded us of who we could be when we stood together.

In those dark hours following the attacks, something remarkable happened. The artificial divisions that so often separate us—Republican and Democrat, liberal and conservative, left and right—seemed to dissolve in the face of shared grief and common purpose. We were not partisans; we were Americans. We mourned together, we prayed together, and we promised together that we would never forget. We vowed that we were stronger united than divided, that our diversity was our strength, and that no force on earth could break the bonds that held us together as one nation, under God, indivisible.

Yet here we stand today, and those lessons feel like echoes from a distant past. The unity that emerged from tragedy has given way to a tribalism that would have been unrecognizable to those who lived through that September morning. The promise to "never forget" has been replaced by a willful amnesia about what it means to be American. Instead of drawing strength from our shared values and common humanity, we have retreated into ideological bunker silos, viewing our fellow citizens not as neighbors with different perspectives, but as enemies to be defeated.

Today's political landscape is dominated by an "us versus them" mentality that treats governance as a zero-sum game where one side's victory necessarily means the other's destruction. Conservatives target the left with increasing vitriol, while progressives and liberals respond in kind toward the right. This toxic dynamic has infected every level of our political discourse, from the halls of Congress and the executive branch to family dinner tables across America. We have forgotten that democracy requires disagreement—but disagreement conducted with respect, good faith, and a shared commitment to the common good.

What makes this division particularly insidious is how it has been weaponized and sanctified through the misuse of religious language and imagery. Too often, political movements on both sides of the aisle cloak their pursuit of power in scriptural references and divine mandates. They invoke God's name not to call us to higher purposes of love, justice, and reconciliation, but to justify their own ambitions and demonize their opponents. This represents a profound corruption of faith—transforming religion from a source of moral guidance and spiritual comfort into a tool for political manipulation.

The truth that many political leaders would prefer we ignore is that this manufactured division serves their interests perfectly. Fear is the engine that drives political power in our current system, and nothing generates fear quite like the specter of an existential threat from "the other side." When politicians can convince their supporters that their political opponents are not merely wrong but evil—not merely misguided but dangerous—they create a permission structure for increasingly extreme rhetoric and action.

This dynamic feeds on itself, creating an escalating cycle of hostility and mistrust. Each inflammatory statement demands an equally inflammatory response. Each act of political theater requires an even more dramatic counter-performance. The result is a political culture that rewards the loudest voices, the most extreme positions, and the most divisive tactics, while marginalizing those who seek common ground and reasonable compromise.

It is in this moment, I find myself drawn to the example of Jesus Christ—not as a political figure to be claimed by any particular party or ideology, but as a moral teacher whose life and teachings offer a radically different model for how we might engage with one another across lines of difference.

It has become common to describe Jesus as a revolutionary, and in many ways, this characterization is accurate. During his earthly ministry, Jesus challenged numerous social norms and religious conventions. He elevated the status of women in a patriarchal society, associating with them as equals and including them among his closest followers. He reached across ethnic and religious boundaries, showing compassion to Samaritans, Romans, and other outsiders who were typically shunned by respectable Jewish society. He consistently sided with the marginalized—the poor, the sick, the outcast—against the powerful religious and political establishments of his day.

Jesus' teachings were indeed revolutionary in their implications for how society should be organized and how human beings should treat one another. His emphasis on love for enemies, care for the least fortunate, and the inherent dignity of every person challenged the fundamental assumptions of the Roman Empire and the religious hierarchy of first-century Palestine. In this sense, Jesus was absolutely a revolutionary figure whose message threatened the status quo.

However—and this is crucial for our current moment—Jesus was not a violent revolutionary. Despite living under the oppressive rule of a foreign empire, despite witnessing the suffering of his people under Roman occupation, despite having every earthly reason to take up arms against injustice, Jesus consistently chose a different path.

The Gospels provide numerous examples of Jesus explicitly rejecting violence as a means of achieving even righteous ends. When questioned about whether God's people should pay taxes to the Roman Empire—a question designed to trap him between loyalty to his people and submission to their oppressors—Jesus gave his famous response: "Give to Caesar what is Caesar's, and to God what is God's" (Mark 12:17). This was not a call to passive submission to unjust authority, but rather a recognition that the kingdom of God operates according to different principles than earthly kingdoms.

Perhaps the most powerful example of Jesus' commitment to non-violence came during his arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane. When the temple guards came to take him, Peter drew his sword in defense of his teacher. Jesus' response was immediate and unequivocal: "Put your sword back in its place, for all who choose the sword will be destroyed by the sword. Don't you realize I can call on my Father, and he will at once put more than twelve legions of angels at my disposal?" (Matthew 26:52-53).

This moment is particularly significant because it demonstrates that Jesus' commitment to non-violence was not born of weakness or lack of options. He explicitly states that he could call upon divine power to destroy his enemies if he chose to do so. His refusal to use violence was not a tactical decision based on inferior strength, but a principled commitment to a different way of engaging with conflict and opposition.

Later, when questioned by Pontius Pilate about his identity and mission, Jesus made clear the fundamental difference between his kingdom and earthly political movements: "My kingdom is not of this world. If it were, my servants would be fighting to prevent my arrest" (John 18:36). This statement reveals the heart of Jesus' revolutionary approach—he sought to transform the world not through the conquest of political power, but through the transformation of human hearts and relationships.

For Christians living in twenty-first-century America, the example of Jesus offers a clear and challenging model for political engagement. If we truly believe that Jesus is Lord—not merely a personal savior, but the ultimate authority over all aspects of life—then his rejection of violence must inform how we approach political disagreement and social conflict.

This does not mean that Christians should withdraw from political engagement or remain silent in the face of injustice. Jesus himself was deeply engaged with the social and political issues of his day, consistently advocating for the poor and marginalized while challenging systems of oppression and exploitation. However, his methods were fundamentally different from those employed by political movements that seek to achieve their goals through force, intimidation, or the demonization of opponents.

The way of Christ calls Christians to a higher standard of political engagement—one characterized by love for enemies, concern for the common good, and a commitment to truth-telling even when it is politically inconvenient. This means rejecting the tribal loyalties that demand we view members of the opposing political party as enemies rather than neighbors. It means refusing to participate in the politics of fear and division, even when such tactics might advance causes we believe in.

Most importantly, it means recognizing that the ultimate hope for human flourishing does not rest in the victory of any particular political party or ideology, but in the transformation of human hearts and relationships according to the principles of God's kingdom. This perspective should make Christians the most committed advocates for justice and human dignity, while simultaneously making them the most gracious and humble participants in political discourse.

As we reflect on the lessons of September 11th and consider the deep divisions that currently plague our nation, we must ask ourselves what kind of country we want to be. Do we want to be a nation defined by fear, suspicion, and tribal warfare? Or do we want to reclaim the vision of America as a place where people of different backgrounds, beliefs, and political perspectives can come together in pursuit of the common good?

The choice is ours, but it will require intentional effort from citizens across the political spectrum. We must begin by rejecting the false prophets of division who profit from our mutual hostility. We must refuse to participate in the dehumanization of our political opponents, recognizing that even those with whom we disagree most strongly are created in the image of God and deserving of basic respect and dignity.

We must also reclaim the art of democratic discourse—learning once again how to disagree without being disagreeable, how to advocate for our convictions without demonizing those who hold different views, and how to seek common ground without compromising our core principles. This will require humility, patience, and a willingness to listen to perspectives that challenge our own assumptions.

For Christians specifically, this moment calls for a return to the radical teachings of Jesus—not as a political platform to be imposed on others, but as a personal commitment to embody the love, grace, and reconciliation that Christ demonstrated in his own life and death. This means being willing to love our political enemies, to pray for those who persecute us, and to seek the welfare of our entire community rather than just those who share our political allegiances.

The choice is before us. We can continue to choose the sword, with all its promise of quick victory and inevitable destruction. Or we can choose the way of the cross—the harder path of love, sacrifice, and reconciliation that offers the only hope for genuine healing and lasting peace.