In Luke’s Gospel, the Jesus story begins with these words: “And it came to pass in those days that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.”
The Gospel of John describes a scene three decades later when Jesus is brought before Pontius Pilate, the Roman prefect of Judea, who asks him: “Are you a king?” And Jesus responds: “My kingdom is not of this world. To this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness unto the truth.”
In his insightful commentary on the Gospel of John, Andrew Lincoln writes that Jesus’ “kingship is subsumed under and reinterpreted by his witness to the truth. … By subordinating kingship to his role as witness, (Jesus) also subordinates the issue of power to that of truth.”
Bill Leonard
Lincoln concludes: “So Jesus does not so much have subjects over whom he rules as followers who accept his witness and who hear his voice as truth.”
Yet John’s Gospel reminds us that such truth is essentially lost on the mob that implores Pilate: “’Away with him, away with him, crucify him.’ Pilate saith unto them, ‘Shall I crucify your King?’ The chief priests answered, ‘We have no king but Caesar.’”
In Holy Week 2025, American Christians confront the stark reality that the Gospel accounts of the “two kingdoms” represented in Jesus and Caesar seem strikingly contemporary here and now.
When Jesus tells Pilate that “my kingdom is not of this world,” he’s not simply referencing an ethereal realm somewhere in the heavenlies; he’s articulating the dramatic difference between the world as it was, is and, according to Jesus, might become. While this always has been the case, somehow those gospel stakes seem higher right now.
“The Gospel accounts of the ‘two kingdoms’ represented in Jesus and Caesar seem strikingly contemporary here and now.”
For Jesus, the world Caesar fashioned, and that Pilate represents, is not the world God intended. Rather, Jesus personifies that gospel world, which he describes in what the church calls the Sermon on the Mount. It starts with this:
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”
“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.”
“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.”
“Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.”
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.”
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”
“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
Whether in the first or the 21st centuries, those principles were and remain a long way from the “real world.” And that’s the gospel of it. Jesus’ life and lessons are certainly “not of this world” in its present form.
While such gospel possibilities are ever at hand, they seem increasingly elusive, especially in the current religio-political environment that surrounds us.
The contrast between Jesus and Caesar seems as evident in 2025 as it was in that first un-holy week in events, for example, that extend the suffering of “those who mourn.” In a recent interview, District Judge Esther Salas described her enduring grief after the murder of her 20-year-old son, Daniel Anderl, in 2020, shot down at her home by an angry litigant seeking retribution against her.
“The contrast between Jesus and Caesar seems as evident in 2025 as it was in that first un-holy week.”
Noting that death threats against judges have increased 300% since January, Judge Salas reported some of those perils have come in the form of pizzas delivered to the judges’ homes, some signed with the name Daniel Anderl. In America 2025, Judge Salas’ mourning for her slain son is compounded by the use of his name and fate as a means of intimidation against her judicial colleagues.
No wonder Jesus told Pilate his way was “not of this world.” It still isn’t. Even now, those who mourn may not yet be comforted.
And then there’s mercy, another hallmark of Jesus’ call for God’s new day in the world.
Remember last January when Episcopal Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde had the spiritual tenacity to ask the newly inaugurated president of the United States to extend mercy to people on the margins? Speaking from the pulpit of Washington’s National Cathedral, Bishiop Budde beseeched America’s chief executive:
Have mercy, Mr. President, on those in our communities whose children fear that their parents will be taken away. Help those who are fleeing war zones and persecution in their own lands to find compassion and welcome here. Our God teaches us that we are to be merciful to the stranger, for we were once strangers in this land.
So incensed were certain legislators at the bishop’s “political” tactics, some 21 House members sponsored legislation against her sermon and herself.
House Resolution 59 declares:
Whereas the Right Reverend Mariann Edgar Budde, the bishop leading the inaugural prayer service, used her position inappropriately, promoting political bias instead of advocating the full counsel of biblical teaching: Now, therefore, be it Resolved, That— (1) it is the sense of the House of Representatives that the sermon given at the National Prayer Service on January 21st, 2025, at the National Cathedral was a display of political activism; and (2) the House of Representatives condemns the Right Reverend Mariann Edgar Budde’s distorted message.
“Why has the contrast between Jesus and Caesar become so pronounced this in particular Holy Week?”
The resolution remains in committee.
In Holy Week 2025, we might ask, when did a call for mercy in a Christian church, whatever the composition of the congregation, become a “political bias?” Wasn’t it Jesus who said, “Blessed are the merciful?” Was he, too, lacking “the full counsel of biblical teaching?”
Why has the contrast between Jesus and Caesar become so pronounced this in particular Holy Week? Few have addressed that question more often and more directly than evangelical lawyer turned editorial writer David French, as evidenced in his April 3 New York Times column titled, “The Donald Trump Leap of Faith.”
After almost 10 long years during which Trump has captured evangelical hearts more than any other president of my lifetime, I am forced to admit that Trump may have been better attuned to conservative evangelical culture than any other Republican president in the modern era.
His bond with evangelicals isn’t just a result of flawed theology. It’s a result of the broken culture that flawed theology helped create. And in some parts of American Christianity the theology is so flawed, and the culture is so broken, that evangelicals don’t see Trump contradicting their values at all — he’s exactly like the men and women who lead their church.
In Holy Week 2025, Jesus’ gospel remains “not of this world” even as our own “broken culture” assisted by “flawed theology” attempts to accommodate it to the principalities and powers that surround us. Jesus refused such accommodation to Caesar, ever remaining God’s “witness to the truth.” It cost him the cross.
Before we rush to resurrection, let us linger with Jesus and the women at Golgotha and find ourselves at last.
Bill Leonard is founding dean and the James and Marilyn Dunn professor of Baptist studies and church history emeritus at Wake Forest University School of Divinity in Winston-Salem, N.C. He is the author or editor of 25 books. A native Texan, he lives in Winston-Salem with his wife, Candyce, and their daughter, Stephanie.
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