Only Jesus
A Letter to the Evangelical Movement That Shaped Me
I wasn’t raised in evangelicalism. I found my way into it.
I was raised Catholic—by a mother who both loved the Church and rebelled against its silence, its patriarchy, its refusal to see the God she knew. The Capuchin friars raised me after that. They taught me a gospel that walked barefoot, a God who lived among the poor.
Then life happened. I broke away.
And years later, after a second marriage, with two kids and a thousand questions, I came back to faith—this time through the wide-open arms of evangelical culture.
It wasn’t perfect. But it felt alive. Urgent. Unapologetic.
It preached Jesus. It promised truth.
And I believed it.
That’s what makes this so hard to say—because I know what I saw.
And I can’t unsee it.
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Dear Evangelical Christianity,
You warned me about moral relativism for as long as I can remember.
You said truth was eternal.
You told me to stand firm even when the culture shifted.
And I took that seriously.
I gave my time, my prayers, my heart to that vision of faith.
But somewhere along the way, something broke.
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You moved the goalposts.
You once said character matters.
That no amount of political success could excuse a failure of personal integrity.
I remember the outrage. The fasting. The sermons calling for national repentance.
Then came your political champions—men who did things far worse than those you once condemned—and suddenly the moral standard became… negotiable.
What happened to “Be sure your sin will find you out” (Numbers 32:23)?
What happened to “Righteousness exalts a nation” (Proverbs 14:34)?
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You told me “Obey the law. Actions have consequences.”
Unless, of course, the person breaking the law shares your political tribe.
Then it’s a witch hunt. Then it’s persecution.
You demanded accountability from others.
But offered immunity to those with power.
What happened to “God shows no partiality” (Acts 10:34)?
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You held the people in the pews to rigid theology—
While defending leaders who mock the very gospel you preached.
You turned grace into grievance, faith into flag-waving, and repentance into political theater.
And I have to ask:
Is your morality still anchored in Christ—
or just aligned with proximity to power?
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You say you care about the soul of this nation.
But do you really believe rage, vengeance, and authoritarianism will bring it healing?
What are you conserving if not the fruit of the Spirit?
Love. Joy. Peace. Patience. Kindness. Goodness. Faithfulness. Gentleness. Self-control.
(Galatians 5:22–23)
Because what you’re preaching now sounds more like:
Win at all costs.
Than:
Thy Kingdom come.
And that breaks my heart.
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You taught me better.
You taught me that strength isn’t dominance.
That faith means integrity.
That Christ-like love doesn’t seek power—it empties itself.
You taught me to walk the narrow road, even when it costs.
And I still believe in all of that.
But somewhere along the way—you stopped believing what you taught me.
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So here I am.
Not writing as a critic from the outside.
But as someone who was shaped by your culture.
Who gave you the benefit of the doubt.
Who stayed longer than I probably should have—because I wanted to believe it was still about Jesus.
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And now I’m asking you to come home.
Not to a party.
Not to a platform.
Not to a pulpit.
But to the Kingdom.
To the Jesus who flipped tables.
Who laid down his life.
Who chose love over power, even when it cost everything.
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Coming home will cost you.
It may cost your platform.
Your influence.
Your applause.
But isn’t that the very heart of the gospel?
“Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves, take up their cross daily and follow me.”
— Luke 9:23
Jesus didn’t call us to conquer our enemies.
He called us to love them.
“Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”
— John 15:13
And not just friends.
Even the ones who shouted “Crucify Him.”
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You once quoted 2 Chronicles 7:14:
“If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves…”
But you always seemed to think that verse was about them.
It’s not. It’s about us.
About repentance.
About return.
About remembering who we are.
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So I’m pleading with you—
Not in judgment, but in truth.
Not with condemnation, but with conviction.
We can choose differently.
We can follow Jesus again—
Not the politicized version.
But the real One.
The One who still blesses the poor.
The One who still lifts the outcast.
The One who still says “Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me.”
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The time to choose is now.
“Choose this day whom you will serve…”
— Joshua 24:15
And may it be Jesus.
Only Jesus.
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📖 This post is part of the series In Spite of It All
→ Start Here – Series Index
← Previous:
Prelude: I Am a Believer (In Spite of It All)
The Gospel Is Not A Performance
Selective Prayer Is Not Prayer at All
The Idol of Personal Authenticity
Controlling Access to Spiritual Certainty
Only Jesus
→ Next: Jesus Didn’t Come to Start a Religion (Coming Soon)