What If Jesus Came Back…
He probably wouldn’t arrive in a palace or on a political stage. If the first time he came to the margins—born in obscurity, walking among the poor, the sick, the outcast—it’s likely he’d do the same now.
You’d find him not in churches full of gold and power, but maybe among refugees, the homeless, the overworked, the forgotten.
And people might miss him again
What Would He Say?
“You built temples in my name but forgot my words.”
You made idols of wealth, borders, and flags—but I told you to love your neighbor, your enemy, the stranger.
“Blessed are the poor… but you ignored them.”
You mocked the hungry and punished the sick.
You made power your gospel and fear your sacrament.
“You ask for signs, but you won’t see the wounds.”
You ask, ‘Where is the kingdom of God?’
But I told you—it’s within you. And among the least of these.
“You say ‘Lord, Lord’—but do you love mercy?”
Do you forgive?
Do you lift up the broken?
Or do you judge and divide and hide behind my name?
“I came to set you free—not make you comfortable.”
I never promised you power. I promised you truth.
I never told you to conquer. I told you to serve.
“Repent—not just of your sins, but of your silence.”
Repent of the times you stayed quiet in the face of injustice.
Repent of the hate you disguised as righteousness.
Repent of the love you withheld.
Would He Be Loved or Hated?
Honestly — probably both. Just like before.
- The humble, the grieving, the seekers—they would weep with joy.
- But the powerful, the self-assured, the “righteous”—they might be furious.
- He’d comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.
Would He Fix Things?
He probably wouldn’t “fix” things like a king or politician. Instead, he’d call us to transformation:
- Not with armies, but with parables and actions.
- Not by seizing power, but by asking us to change—deeply, painfully, lovingly.
- He’d gather the least, empower the weak, and call every heart to turn.
And maybe—just maybe—that call is already happening, quietly, in every act of compassion, justice, and radical forgiveness we dare to live.