Faith and Resistance in the Face of Oppression

Jason

Grace and resilience to you, beloved, I'm your host, Rev. Father Jason Carson Wilson. The music is by Bosnow. Today, we stand together on the precipice of a truth too grave to ignore, yet too necessary to turn away from. We are witnessing a modern-day empire, one that doesn't build its monuments in stone but in policies that erode the very soul of justice. What I see, what we see, is what Scripture warns us about—oppression codified into law, cruelty disguised as governance.

Jason

Let me speak plainly. When Governor Janet Mills of Maine signed an executive order ensuring transgender girls could play on school sports teams, she wasn’t making a radical statement—she was defending human dignity. And yet, the Trump administration responded with punishment, threatening federal funding as if humanity itself is negotiable. What kind of system wages war on children simply for existing? What does that say about the soul of our governance?

Jason

This isn’t just bad politics—this is spiritual violence. It’s a theology of supremacy, insisting that some lives matter more than others. That might, not mercy, is what defines justice. You see, beloved, the Pharaoh of Exodus did the very same thing. Stripping dignity, brick by brick, oppression by oppression, Pharaoh’s empire thrived by crushing the most vulnerable. And today—today—we face our own Pharaohs. It’s not a desert tomb, but a White House that builds deserts of despair in the lives of so many. We are, in so many ways, enslaved to systems of harm, unless we resist, unless we truly believe liberation is not just our birthright but our duty.

Jason

And here’s the thing. Faith is not just about quiet contemplations or Sunday morning songs. Faith engages. Faith fights. Faith looks at injustice and says: No. And as a minister, I’m I’m reminded every day that a life of faith demands something of us—beyond comfort, beyond tradition. We are called to disrupt the systems that would steal humanity. To sit with the marginalized, like Christ sat with the lepers and bleeding women.

Jason

When we see these actions—the Maine policy retaliation, or the wider attacks on trans rights—those are not just political moves. They are theological statements. They are policies borne of a gospel of power, of exclusion, not love. My message to you, to all of us, is this: We are the church when we resist, not when we remain silent. Faith needs to show up, not just in pews, but in protest lines, in policy debates, in the hearts of those willing to confront giants.

Jason

Now beloved, let’s turn our attention to something both chilling and deeply familiar—the erosion of human dignity under the guise of security. I’m talking about “Project Esther.” This isn’t just another bureaucratic initiative; this is a quiet campaign of dispossession. Arab American activists—our siblings, our prophets for peace—are being surveilled, detained, even deported, not because they’ve committed a crime, but because they dared to cry out against genocide in Gaza. To stand for justice, to resist the machinery of violence, has become an act punishable by silence, exile, or worse.

Jason

And what does it say about a government that weaponizes faith to justify this kind of harm? To declare that someone standing for the oppressed is, by default, an enemy? It reminds me of Jesus’ words in Matthew: 'Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me.' But this system—it targets the least of these. It punishes protest. It criminalizes compassion. And it does so in the name of control, not care.

Jason

And and then, there’s Lowndes County, Alabama—a community drenched in a history of civil rights struggle. Yet today, its streets flood not with marches but with untreated sewage, ignored and unresolved because a nation that once fought for equity now dismantles it with executive orders canceling civil rights settlements. What kind of gospel is that? What kind of governance chooses abandonment over restoration?

Jason

Here’s the thing, family: This, too, is a theology. It’s a theology of dispossession, a ritualized erasure of responsibility. And we in the church, we who claim to follow a Jesus that touched the untouchable, have a responsibility, a theological imperative to resist. When communities like Lowndes are left to rot, we cannot remain in our pulpits, singing songs of comfort while their cries for justice go unanswered.

Jason

The church—our collective moral voice—has too often offered solace to the powerful while abandoning the powerless. But beloved, I tell you this: The God of Amos is not impressed by polished sermons or elaborate cathedrals. God desires justice, righteousness like a mighty stream. And when we turn away from the dispossessed, when we ignore their suffering, we dam that stream. But faith, true faith, resists. Faith stands where others kneel to power.

Jason

So when the policies of empire aim to crush dissent, or to strip dignity from places like Gaza or Lowndes County, the question before us is not just 'What will the church do?' It’s 'What are we doing as the church—right now, in this moment—when giants are walking among us?'

Jason

Beloved, as we bring this call to action together, I need you to understand something—it has always been through movement, through unity, through an unyielding collective spirit, that the arc of justice bends. And today, right now, we are the ones tasked with bending it further. We are the hands and feet of liberation, the breath of ancestors who dared to dream and resist.

Jason

First, let us engage. Call your senators, your representatives, and demand they uphold justice over fear, equity over exclusion. Let them know we see the misclassification of immigrants—over 6,000 souls, beloved—with benefits stripped, lives thrown into chaos. And this is no accident. This is policy weaponized against the vulnerable. We must hold them accountable. Write down their numbers today. Phone lines are your prayer lines—use them.

Jason

Second, organize. Faith isn’t static, it’s movement. Gather your church, your community groups. Host teach-ins. Create vigils for change. Testify loudly. If your pulpit remains silent, then, beloved, use your table, your living room, your street corner, and claim the space for truth. And and don't let fear hold you back. Faith, true faith, doesn't cower—it steps forward.

Jason

Third, we know resistance is creativity birthed in struggle. If you paint, paint liberation. If you sing, sing justice. Write. Teach. March. What the empire cannot control, it fears. Your voice matters.

Jason

And here’s what sustains resistance—remembering we don’t do this alone. Think of Harriet Tubman on that Underground Railroad, daring to carve freedom into the landscape of bondage. Think of Audre Lorde, declaring her very survival revolutionary. We carry their spirits. Liberation theology teaches us that when chains are broken, they ripple into eternity. It’s not just an idea—it’s our past, our future. We show up because they showed up.

Jason

So today, whether you are marching in the streets, or organizing from a church basement, or making those difficult calls, remember that this struggle isn’t just for right now—it echoes for those who will come after us. When the world tells you, 'You cannot,' let your heart say, 'Watch me.' Let your faith say, 'I I must.' By faith, I truly believe justice will rise, like those living waters Amos foretold.

Jason

And on that note, beloved...keep rising, keep organizing, keep believing that the holy work of building justice is ours to do, together. As Pharaoh built empire, we will raise liberation with our hands, our hope, and our voices. This has been The Daily UnHoly—where faith refuses to bow, and power faces truth. Until next time…stay dangerous, and stay divine.