Part 5: The Stranger on the Road Would Jesus be Islamophobic? We look for him in the defence of "British values," in the protection of our shores, in the language of order and control. But he keeps appearing elsewhere. In the man in the keffiyeh. In the woman in the hijab. In the family crossing the Channel because their homes were levelled by weapons we sold or conflicts we sustained. If our faith requires the death of our neighbours to feel secure, then it is not the faith of the resurrected Christ. It is merely the ancient religion of empire, wearing a stolen crown of thorns.
Easter 2026
Resurrection Without Denial
Part 4: Resurrection Without Denial Resurrection is the ultimate protest against the state. The state used its finest instrument—the cross—to silence him. Resurrection is God saying: Your violence is not final. Your power is not absolute. The stone is rolled away, but the scars remain. Still visible. Still open. Still telling the truth about what was done to him. Yet we reach for a weaponised Jesus. A Christ who returns to settle scores. But the one who stands among his friends does not carry a weapon. He carries wounds. If we need violence to protect Christianity, we have already admitted we do not believe in resurrection.
God in the Rubble
Part 3: God in the Rubble Holy Saturday is the day God is a civilian. No rank. No uniform. No strategic value. Just a body that needs burying. From the streets of Beirut to the ports of Yemen, the silence is the same. It is the silence of families waiting for names that will never be called. The Church often prefers a God of solutions. But Holy Saturday gives us a God of solidarity. If you cannot find God in a morgue in Gaza, you will not find him in a cathedral of power. If we only look for God in the ruins we find politically acceptable, we are not looking for God. We are looking for a mascot.
The Theology of the Airstrike
Part 2: The Theology of the Airstrike We have traded the Lamb who was slain for the lion who slays. We name our operations with the language of gods—Swords of Iron, Prosperity Guardian—as if we are the dispensers of divine justice. As if devastation is divine when we author it. Forgetting that when God finally came in the flesh, he did not bring fury. He brought a towel. He brought a cross. He brought a refusal to strike back. Crucifixion was a tool of empire. It was designed to demonstrate power, enforce control, and eliminate perceived threats under the cover of legality. Sound familiar? Christians ask, with straight faces: Who would Jesus bomb? Jesus was not the one authorising the violence. He was the one subjected to it.
The Weaponisation of the Table
Part 1: The Weaponisation of the Table If Jesus doesn’t have a litmus test for a traitor, why do we have one for a neighbour? The table is set. No purity tests at the door. No background checks. No border control. At the first Eucharist, the enemy is already at the table. Jesus does not remove him. He serves him. He washes the feet of the one who will hand him over to the state. We argue about the sanctity of the communion cup while our tax pounds—and our silent consent—help fill the cups of the broken-hearted in Yemen and Lebanon with the bitter wine of displacement. Who, exactly, are we excluding in his name?
The Broken Church 