Lectionary Commentaries for October 18, 2026
Twenty-First Sunday after Pentecost

No one would have expected the Pharisees and the Herodians to come together on the issue of taxation.¹

The former opposed the Roman Empire and the latter actively worked with it, but their shared disdain for Jesus brought the two ideologically and politically opposed groups together.

They offered false praise of Jesus before posing a question—”Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar?”—aimed at entrapment. The Greek word pagideusosin has the connotation of ensnaring someone in their own words. The question was meant to offer Jesus no alternative but to either defy Caesar or offend those who were resisting Rome, which likely included most of his supporters. The attempted entrapment is typical of controversy stories, where the challenge is meant to confuse or confound Jesus, thereby demonstrating power over him.²

It was a loaded question. The Greek word egsestin literally means “legal” or “lawful” and refers to what was permitted (or not permitted) under Roman law. Taxes were both a source of revenue for the empire and Rome’s mechanism for subjugating people.³ However, considering the extreme consequences of refusing to pay taxes, the question should have been, “Is it legal not to pay taxes to Caesar?” The answer was a big no, at least from a Roman perspective.

The Herodians and Pharisees knew full well the consequences of defying the Roman Empire and had been negotiating with it for decades. The Pharisees had been making deals with Rome even as they were opposed to its rule. While the Herodians did not oppose Roman rule, they did not always share its political agenda. Nevertheless, they were often in bed with Rome in order to pursue their political and economic interests.

Hence, it was hypocrisy on the part of the two groups to suggest that Jesus explicitly commit to collaborating with or defying the empire. The choice for him and his followers was more complicated than simply condoning the empire or engaging in outright sedition.

Religious leaders in Matthew have a long history of testing Jesus in the hope of getting him to say something incriminating (16:1; 19:3). This instance is no exception. In response, he asks for a coin they typically used to pay taxes. The emperor’s image and inscription on the coin were reminders that the Roman Empire was present in every realm of their lives. The image and inscription also identify who controls the economy.

The fact that they produced the coin so quickly also exposes the extent to which everyone, including (or especially) the Pharisees and the Herodians, has been participating in Caesar’s economy willingly or because they have no other choice. They are all trading in Caesar’s economy, so they are legally obligated to pay the tax. And Jesus is not about to encourage those at the margins to defy the empire and jeopardize their lives.

The question of paying taxes had surfaced previously in a conversation with Peter (Matthew 17:24–27). Within that literary context, the conversation calls attention to the oppressive nature of earthly rulers who spare the children (other members of the ruling class) and impose heavy financial burdens on “others” (ordinary people). Having made his point deftly, but not so subtly, about the exploitative nature of taxation, Jesus nevertheless encouraged Peter to pay taxes so as to not offend the empire, although he himself will challenge it later.

The question in Matthew 22 about paying taxes was not just a political question. It was also a moral and theological question. Egsestin has both political and theological connotations. What is legal is not necessarily moral. What is lawful from Rome’s perspective might not be acceptable to God. Hence, even as one pays taxes due to Caesar, one should also pay what is due to God.

But what is the relationship between the political and theological aspects of “paying”? Paying to both Caesar and God was not so much about checking off both boxes or keeping both of them equally happy, but about carefully considering the complexity of the issue at hand. While people pay taxes to Rome out of obligation, they “pay” to God because of their calling and their commitment to promote an alternative kingdom.

As Warren Carter has noted, an imperial tax can be paid without the payment being a vote of support for Rome or its ethos. Paying taxes acknowledges Rome’s political power but not its moral authority to rule. That moral authority belongs to God. Which is why Jesus quickly adds that one must pay to God the things that are due to God.

But the “coinage” of God’s kingdom is of a radically different nature than that of Caesar. God does not trade in Caesar’s currency. The whole nature and trajectory of God’s kingdom that Jesus has inaugurated, and is inviting people to participate in, is fundamentally at odds with Caesar’s. Which is why, while people must pay to both Caesar and God, they must pay them not only for different reasons but in entirely different currencies. Paying to God and participating in the divine kingdom entails repenting of the ways they have been complicit in the Roman Empire and its agenda. Paradoxically, then, people should pay taxes the empire has imposed upon them while actively resisting it and working to promote the alternative kingdom.

Jesus is complicating his listeners’ paradigm for engaging with the empire. For communities that are dealing with oppressive and violent regimes, the choices are never as clear-cut as paying taxes or flatly refusing to pay—literally or metaphorically. Challenging the empire and undermining its oppressive powers requires a lot of negotiation, tact, and imagination. Not paying taxes will not necessarily bring the empire down. The question is: What will?

Within the context of Matthew’s Gospel, the Beatitudes suggest that whatever brings wholeness, transformation, and healing to communities is a form of resistance to the imperial worldview and ethos, and thus perhaps the form of coinage required of disciples, especially in divisive times.

If we explicate the issue of paying taxes metaphorically in our times, some questions for us are: How do we as Christians negotiate political spaces tactfully with oppressive regimes without legitimating them? How do we remain hopeful and committed to God’s kingdom and its worldview in the face of persistent evil? What are the mechanisms—the coinage—we need to put in place in order to transform the current reality and bring about a different reality that would be more acceptable to God?

Notes

1. Commentary published previously on this website for October 18, 2020.
2. Stanley Saunders, Preaching the Gospel of Matthew (Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 227.
3. Warren Carter, Matthew and the Margins: A Sociopolitical and Religious Reading (Orbis, 2013), 439.

In times of transition, communities and individuals often seek reassurance, clarity, and comfort. Isaiah 45 is near the beginning of what many scholars label “Second Isaiah”—the chapters most likely written during the sixth century BCE when Babylon, and later Persia, dominated ancient Judah. Our chapter describes the regime change from Babylonian to Persian domination, including the rise of a famous Persian leader known as Cyrus. His rise to power undoubtedly raised concerns and uncertainties. What will happen to us now? Can we return home to Judah? Will he treat us better or worse than the Babylonians? 

Questions like these likely circulated among the Judahite community that were conquered by three major empires—Assyria, Babylon, and Persia—within a period of four to five generations. Some in the community may have questioned God’s presence or power, lifting their voices to ask a refrain common to many suffering people: “How long, O Lord?” (Habakkuk 1:2). Into this ancient moment with modern resonances, the prophet offers an oracle that asserts divine control and knowledge over all people, affairs, and events. 

A messiah has come?

The oracle begins with a declaration that the Lord is addressing his anointed one named Cyrus (Isaiah 45:1). The word translated “his anointed” is a form of the word “messiah”—a term familiar to many Christians as the appellation for Jesus. In this context, the writer of Isaiah 45 declares that Cyrus is the chosen one who benefits from the Lord’s presence and power (Isaiah 45:1–3a). Remarkably, the authors of Isaiah 45 extend this marker of divine selection to a non-Israelite, specifically the Persian leader credited with ending Neo-Babylonian domination. 

Like other parts of Isaiah, the writers remind the Judahite audience that God’s sovereignty extends not only outside Israel’s geographical boundaries, but also beyond the nation’s familial affiliations. Thus, God’s power to choose and use individuals is not restricted to those in formal covenantal relationship with God. Indeed, Cyrus is God’s anointed even though Cyrus does not know the Lord (Isaiah 45:4). Moreover, God’s selection and exaltation of Cyrus has a quasi-evangelical purpose—namely, for Cyrus to “know that it is I, the Lord, the God of Israel, who call you by your name” (Isaiah 45:3). Cyrus’s prominence is ultimately an expression of God’s sovereignty and preeminence. 

Like the imagery found in Isaiah 40:3–4, an effect of God’s power is the leveling of exalted places (Isaiah 45:2) to ensure that Cyrus is successful in his military exploits. The promises of divine reversal that begin Second Isaiah and focus on the nation of Judah are here focused on one man—Cyrus. Despite the focus on a non-Israelite figure, the writers emphasize that the successes of Cyrus are “for the sake of my servant Jacob and Israel my chosen” (Isaiah 45:4). The expansiveness of God’s power does not undermine or reverse the original designation of Israel as God’s treasured possession (segullah). In fact, Cyrus’s anointing and success serve God’s ultimate purpose to exalt Israel. 

Within contemporary American contexts, the reception history of Cyrus and his application to President Trump and American election provide an opportunity for current leaders to reflect on the enduring legacies of this passage.

God and God alone

After the Cyrus prelude, the authors focus on a theological proclamation that describes one of the most radical statements of monotheism preserved in the Hebrew Bible. Isaiah 45:5 records God declaring, “I am the Lord and there is no other; besides me there is no god.” Scholars of the Bronze and Iron Ages remind us that Israel’s claim to a monotheistic religious tradition stands in contrast to the polytheistic norms of many nations at this time. Particularly in the contexts of the Babylonian and emerging Persian Empires, this assertion of monotheism has theological and political consequences. Since political victories were often (if not always) cast as triumphs of national deities, they are evidence that the nation’s god(s) were the most powerful. 

For the Judahite authors of Isaiah 45, the claim of monotheism runs contrary to this tide of political dominance proving divine superiority. Rather than just asserting that the God of Israel is powerful despite the nation’s dominated status, these writers claim that national, geopolitical defeats have nothing to do with a contest among gods. In fact, Isaiah 45 asserts that a contest among gods is impossible because there are no gods with whom to compete. Separating the relationship between the alleged divine agency of politically dominant empires enables the authors of Isaiah 45 to reaffirm a sense of identity amid national turmoil that remains theologically grounded. 

Our God, the authors of Isaiah 45 contend, is neither absent nor impotent when our nation loses military and political battles. Thus, our identity rooted in a covenantal relationship with God need not be shaken. Since no other gods exist, our national condition is the result of our God’s choices, not other gods’ power. Why, then, do other nations succeed and not know the God of Israel? According to Isaiah 45:5b–6a, Israel’s God is the driving force behind the rise and fall of nations, even “though you do not know me” (Isaiah 45:6). Like Cyrus, all nations and their leaders are players in a script that the God of Israel creates.

If that is true, how can this ancient Judahite community explain the suffering that Babylonian domination produces? Like many contemporary sufferers, the activity and proximity of God are pressing concerns in moments of difficulty. Isaiah 45:7 responds to announce that not only is God present, but also that God is the active agent behind everything the nation is experiencing. In language reminiscent of the creation narratives in Genesis 1–2, God declares, “I form light, create darkness, make well-being, and create calamity. I am the Lord who does all these things” (Isaiah 45:7). The form of the verbs in this verse suggests that God is presently responsible and designing what the nation is experiencing—whether good or bad. 

While God’s activity in good and evil (in other words, well-being and calamity) may raise questions at the heart of monotheism, it also bolsters the divine claim for unrivaled power and sovereignty. Here, Isaiah 45:1–7 leaves the community with a God who knows and does all things. Consequently, nothing is outside of God’s jurisdiction and, by implication, control. As a result, the nation’s fate is not left to the random results of divine contests. Instead, each moment is a direct result of divine engineering—everything is on purpose. 

Perhaps the writer of Romans reached a similar conclusion when he exhorted that audience to “know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28). While the present suffering may not be eliminated, the assurance that God is present and powerful amid the suffering may provide a measure of comfort for Second Isaiah’s audience, as well as for our communities today. 

This passage is part of an arc that begins in the previous chapter with the golden calf, whose worship voided the covenant document which Moses brought down the mountain and smashed in fury at the sight of the revelry (Exodus 32:19). As a result, the people become a “hot potato” which neither the Lord nor Moses wants to be caught holding: The Lord calls them Moses’s people (32:7), but Moses avers that the people are the Lord’s (32:11, 12). This tension continues to saturate Exodus 33, which begins with the Lord once again asserting that the people are Moses’s responsibility (verse 1) but also promising a divine messenger to go before Moses (verse 2).

Our passage contains what appears to be a dialogue between Moses and the Lord, often described as “Moses’s intercession” (so the New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition’s heading): Twice Moses speaks at relative length (verses 12–13, 15–16) and is answered by brief divine replies (verses 14, 17), and then there is a final exchange where Moses makes a brief request (verse 18) and the Lord replies at length (verses 19–23). The conversation, if we can call it one, lurches unevenly.

When we read closely to try to follow a train of thought, the cars do not seem well connected:

• For Moses’s part, he keeps reminding the Lord of the people: “This people” (verse 12), “this nation is your people” (verse 13), “us” (verses 15, 16), and “I and your people” (twice in verse 16). The Lord’s replies ignore the people, addressing only Moses with the second-person singular “you.”
• In verse 12, there is a non sequitur: Moses alludes to the Lord having said “I know you by name and you have also found favor in my sight,” phrases which the Lord speaks for the first time in inverted fashion five verses later as “you have found favor in my sight and I know you by name.”
• In verse 13, Moses’s logic is circular: “If I have found favor … show me your ways … so that I may … find favor.”
• In verse 14, there is another non sequitur: The Lord promises, “My presence will go with you,” but in the very next verse, Moses says, “If your presence will not go …”
• In verse 18, Moses requests to be shown (literally “cause me to see”) the divine presence (Hebrew kavod), but it is not clear whether or how the Lord’s reply satisfies his request, which anticipates the following:
  (1) that the divine goodness will pass before Moses (verse 19a),
  (2) that the divine name will be uttered (verse 19b),
  (3) that grace and mercy will be shown (verse 19c), and
  (4) that Moses will experience a divine appearance (theophany), albeit one that is not face-to-face (verses 21–23).

The attentive reader and hearer will be hard-pressed to understand how Moses’s intercession (if that is even what it is) is effective or comprehensible. 

Perhaps the incoherent, disorienting texture of this human-divine interaction is typical and intentional. The Bible’s laconic narrators often leave us with unresolved questions, and this passage is a good example of one that defies readers’ attempts to gain control. We might also compare the inscrutability of Jesus’s encounter with the woman seeking healing for her daughter (Matthew 15:21–28; Mark 7:24–30), another set of passages that resist easy mastery.

To use a musical analogy, Exodus 33 comprises transitional measures of disjointed counterpoint that bridge chapter 32’s frenetic festivities and dissonant chords of shattered tablets (verse 19) and chapter 34’s coherent reprise of the theme of relationship.

To proclaim Exodus 33 is to wrestle with the tensions found in both our individual and our communal relationship with God. Among other things, we may acknowledge that:

• God does not always share our perspectives (verses 12–16; compare Isaiah 55:6–11 and Psalm 103);
• We are forgetful and sometimes illogical creatures (verses 13, 14; compare Deuteronomy 4:9 [and frequently in the book] and James 1:22–25); and
• God does not always answer our prayers or fulfill our dreams in the ways we want or expect (verses 18–23; for example, contrast the contexts of Joseph’s dream in Genesis 37:6–7 and its fulfillment 22 years later in 43:26).

Each of these themes can be developed to show that they are hard, but good, truths. Each can lead us toward greater trust in God’s plans over our own understanding. And through the passage, we hear repeated notes that sow trust and strengthen relationship: favor (five times, Hebrew hēn), presence/face (four times, Hebrew panim), glory (twice, Hebrew kavod), and sight (five times, Hebrew ʿênayim).

It is perhaps notable that the description of the divine appearance in verses 21–23 is couched in the future tense (“you shall stand … you shall see”), its realization assumed and not recorded. The language of the glory “passing” (Hebrew ʿavar) calls to mind the scene in 1 Kings 19:11–13 when Elijah experiences the Lord “pass by” (same verb) not in powerful natural phenomena but in “a sound of sheer silence” (verse 12). 

Taken together, these passages suggest that God’s presence is known not in straightforward or linear ways but in indirect and unexpected ways, like One who refers to himself as the Son of Man (for example, Mark 2:10) and comes not in glory but in weakness (2 Corinthians 13:4).

“It’s like those miserable psalms. They’re so depressing.”¹ At least, so says the character of God in an (in)famous scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

Yet Psalm 96 is anything but miserable or depressing.

Psalm 96 rejoices in Yahweh’s salvation, works, glory, greatness, honor, majesty, and strength. It proclaims that Yahweh alone created the heavens. It commands that all of the heavens, all of the earth, and all peoples should praise Yahweh. It opens with an imperative that sets the joyous, praise-filled tone for what follows: “Sing to Yahweh a new song!” (Psalm 96:1).

While verses 1–9 are included in the liturgy, the final four verses are absent. Yet at the core of this psalm is the opening of these last verses: “Say among the nations, ‘Yahweh is king!’” (Psalm 96:10, New Revised Standard Version). Verses 10–13 remind listeners why they should sing and praise, both declaring that Yahweh is king and promising divine action: Yahweh “is coming to judge [šepoṭ] the earth,” with “righteousness … and truth” (verse 13).

The promise of divine judgment might return us to the idea of “those miserable psalms,” which are “so depressing.” After all, judgment rarely carries with it connotations of joy. But many scholars suggest that a better translation of the Hebrew verb špṭ might be “to establish justice.” In other words, this is a promise of justice on earth, a promise that the world will be righted and restored even if it doesn’t look that way in the present moment. One day, says the psalmist, things will be better than they are. So “let the heavens be glad, and let the earth rejoice; let the sea roar, and all that fills it; let the field exult, and everything in it” (verses 11–12).

The image of the heavens, the earth, the sea, the field, and “everything in it” celebrating a new and better future becomes especially moving when we consider when Psalm 96 might have been composed. Along with Psalms 93, 94–95, and 97–99, Psalm 96 has long been categorized as an enthronement psalm—namely, a psalm that celebrates Yahweh as divine king (also see Psalms 29 and 47). For many years, biblical scholars, following in the footsteps of Sigmund Mowinckel, suggested that these psalms originated in an annual festival where Yahweh was (re)enthroned as king over Israel in the Jerusalem Temple.

Alternatively, scholars have proposed that Psalm 96 might have been written as a response to the Babylonian Exile of 587 BCE. Psalm 89, which closes Book III of the Psalter, describes the crisis of the Babylonian Exile, asking, “How long, O LORD? Will you hide yourself forever? How long will your wrath burn like fire?” (Psalm 89:46). Jerusalem has fallen, and Yahweh is hidden. In the aftermath of the exile, hope in any form, especially hope for justice, must have been hard to come by. After this, Psalm 96 follows, along with the other psalms of Book IV of the Psalter (Psalms 90–106).

So why do scholars think Psalm 96, with its joyous and praise-filled tone, is a response to the crisis of exile? According to many, the similarities between the language of Psalm 96 and the language of Second Isaiah (Isaiah 40–55), largely dated to sometime near the end of the Babylonian Exile, provide us with the clues to situate its composition. A number of parallels are regularly cited.

For example, Psalm 96:1 implores its listeners, “Sing to Yahweh a new song!” So too does the book of Isaiah: “Sing to Yahweh a new song, his praise from the end of the earth!” (Isaiah 42:12). As Isaiah declares, “Let the sea roar and all that fills it,” so too does the psalmist (96:11). Psalm 96:2 commands its listeners to “tell [basserû]” of Yahweh’s “salvation from day to day,” using the same Hebrew root behind the “good tidings” of Isaiah 40:9 (mebasseret) and Isaiah 41:27 (mebasser).

Moreover, this declaration of Yahweh’s “salvation [yešû’atô]” in Psalm 96:2 also appears in the book of Isaiah: “I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation [yešû’atî] may reach to the end of the earth” (Isaiah 49:6; see 52:7).

Both Isaiah and Psalm 96 proclaim that only Yahweh is God and all other gods are idols (Isaiah 44:9–20; Psalm 96:5). And both Second Isaiah and Psalm 96 share the aforementioned vision of divine justice (see Isaiah 42:1–4). So, goes the argument, these literary connections suggest that Psalm 96 might have been written around the same time.

For Second Isaiah, there was hope that the Babylonian Exile might end and that Yahweh would act in Israel’s history once again, as Yahweh had in the past: “I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert” (Isaiah 43:19). The declaration that “I am about to do a new thing” seems to be the same hope that undergirds Psalm 96 and its call for a new song. Once again, says the psalmist, Yahweh will act.

Psalm 96 is anything but miserable or depressing, even if it was perhaps composed in one of the most potentially depressing periods of ancient Israelite history. The psalm looks forward to a time when Yahweh will act yet again.

At the same time, the psalm does not ask its listeners to wait passively for the establishment of justice on earth. The series of imperatives throughout the psalm reminds listeners themselves to also act: to sing, bless, tell, and declare. These imperatives, all in the plural, demand that everyone act. And the inclusion of all throughout the psalm—all the peoples, families, nations, and, indeed, the very heavens, seas, fields, and trees—reminds listeners of how bound together creation is. Together, the psalmist says, hope, even in the face of misery. Celebrate. But together, too, work.

Notes

1. Commentary previously published on this website for October 22, 2017.

In the 2024 US presidential election debate, then-candidate Donald Trump stated in reference to Haitian immigrants in Ohio, “They’re eating the dogs, they’re eating the cats.” I remember thinking that surely such a statement disqualifies this person from being president of the United States. And, of course, I was wrong. Fast-forward to 2026, and the Supreme Court has allowed the Trump administration to strip Temporary Protection Status (TPS) from immigrants who seek asylum from persecution in their home nations.¹ As many as 350,000 Haitians have lived and worked peacefully with TPS but now may lose these protections instantaneously. Haitians are just one of the persecuted groups in the United States of America right now.

With that context, how should we understand Paul’s language of persecution in 1 Thessalonians 1:6? I would argue that Haitians are closer to representing the Thessalonian Jesus-followers than current “Christians” who celebrate the Supreme Court ruling. Why would I argue such a thing? First, the Thessalonians were non-Jews who heard the words of Paul, Silvanus, and Timothy to the point where they received the gospel. Second, they were living in a system that actively persecuted them. Third, they were God’s chosen, according to 1 Thessalonians 1:4. I understand this to mean that God has chosen the Thessalonians for a particular reason and for a unique purpose. What does it mean to imagine the Haitians and other marginalized groups as elect also?²

Paul does not use the word ekloge (which can be translated as “chosen” or “elect”) often. The most we see Paul using this word is in Romans 9–11, where he writes about the Israelites as God’s elect. Our focus passage is the only other passage where Paul discusses election. The difference here is that Paul pairs election with persecution. Such a pairing is telling.

The Thessalonians were an example to the people around them. Paul states twice that they witnessed in Macedonia and Achaia. It was so important that they gave up their vice of worshipping idols.³ That vice was probably worshipping Roman imperial idols, which would have been commanded by the emperor for all of the provinces. Since the Roman Empire was a theo-political religious system, there was no separation of church and state. Part of being in favor with the emperor was worshipping what the emperor wanted the people to worship. However, Paul argues for worship of Jesus as Messiah.

Thus, the Thessalonian Jesus-followers were already bucking the Roman theo-political religious systems since there was no separation of church and state. Similarly, today, I would argue that those people who curry favor with “empire” in the US, similar to those in the Roman Empire, would include some (if not all) MAGA Christians: in other words, those “Christians” who applaud the establishing of a “Christian” nation and the isolationist policies similar to the recent Supreme Court ruling that persecutes people like the 350,000 Haitians. Such people would be closer to worshipping the idols that the Thessalonians who were shunned. Again, Haitians and other marginalized groups are closer to the Thessalonian persecuted ones.

Accordingly, what should the posture of contemporary Jesus-followers be? I would argue that Paul would state that faith, hope, and love should be our postures today. Paul writes in 1:3 that he remembers the Thessalonians’ work of faith, labor of love, and steadfastness of hope. What would that look like today?

In a forthcoming work, I argue that the United States sins against immigrants when it cuts them off from citizenship. If we look at Paul’s letter to the church at Rome, Paul views the Roman church’s problem as lack of connection. When we lack connection, we threaten relationship and sin against one another and God. Connection is what we are to offer to all: Haitians, Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, Christians, et cetera. We are to offer connection to all—whether they are those who relapse in addiction, those who have criminal records, or even those who are deemed unemployable. These are the ones who have difficulty building connection within the world. As faith-based people, part of our duty in a democratic society is to ensure connection, no matter the circumstance. That is a hallmark of democracy and not the hallmark of empire.

As I ponder “hope,” please allow me to paraphrase Howard Thurman. The movement of the Spirit of God in the hearts of women and men often calls us to act against the spirit of our times. We should anticipate a spirit that is yet in the making. In a moment of dedication, we are given wisdom and courage to dare a deed that challenges us to kindle a hope that inspires.⁴ Thurman’s thoughts are still relevant for today. May we possess such movement of the Spirit toward hope!

Love is also difficult in our present moment. We constantly witness the leader of the free world throwing toddler temper tantrums while prices are rising faster than paychecks. How can contemporary Jesus-followers show love in these current times? I would argue that instead of manufacturing fake persecutions, we can show true love by aiding those who are experiencing actual persecutions. How are contemporary Jesus-followers going to rally around 350,000 Haitians who are at risk of being expelled from their employment and residences in our nation? How can we show love to other citizens of the United States who face similar issues?

While I do not have all the answers to these questions, I do believe that part of our job as Jesus-followers today is to show faith, hope, and love to those who are experiencing actual persecution instead of crying about or manufacturing fake persecution where none exists.

Notes

1. Ximena Bustillo, “The Temporary Protected Status Program May Effectively Be Over. Here’s What We Know,” NPR, June 29, 2026, https://www.npr.org/2026/06/29/g-s1-130942/temporary-protected-status-program-explainer-supreme-court.
2. David Noel Freedman, ed., “Election,” in The Anchor Yale Bible Dictionary (Doubleday, 1992), 434.
3. I do note in my forthcoming commentary on 1 Thessalonians 2:1–8 that female Thessalonian converts may have continued worshipping female goddesses. As in all situations, we cannot expect every person in all situations to adhere immediately and completely to Paul’s preaching and teaching. We see such dilemmas in other writings such as Galatians and in the Corinthian correspondence. Gender can make a difference in how the early churches responded to Paul’s preaching and teaching.
4. Howard Thurman, Footprints of a Dream: The Story of the Church for the Fellowship of All Peoples (Wipf & Stock, 2009), 7.