When Politics Feeds the Flesh: The Christian Call to Rise Above the Spectacle 07-04-2025
On July 1, President Trump visited the newly opened “Alligator Alcatraz” immigration facility in the Florida Everglades. With reporters in tow, cameras flashing, and supporters watching, the President joked that any escapees would have to outrun alligators—complete with a zigzag demonstration and a wink. Whether you found it funny, shocking, or somewhere in between, the moment was telling. It wasn’t just about policy—it was about performance.
And therein lies a deeper issue: we have slowly but surely turned politics into theater.A spectacle.And many of us—left, right, or in between—have become its most eager audience.
We watch our political leaders the way we watch reality television. We cheer them on when they “own” their opponents. We post memes and share clips not for truth, but for triumph. And in all of it, we must ask ourselves a simple but searing question as followers of Jesus: What is this feeding in me?
Because what we consume, we become.And not everything that amuses us is harmless.
Saint Paul warned that “the mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace” (Romans 8:6). When our political diet is saturated with sarcasm, mockery, cruelty, or constant outrage—even in jest—it starts to deform our hearts. It makes us quicker to attack and slower to listen. It stirs up pride, resentment, fear, and tribalism. These may feel powerful, but they are not the fruits of the Holy Spirit. And they do not draw us closer to Christ.
Let me be clear: this is not about being anti-Trump, or anti-anyone. Many Catholics support President Trump for thoughtful, serious reasons—his stance on religious liberty, the sanctity of life, judicial appointments, and more. That support deserves understanding and respect. But Christian support must never become Christian surrender. If we give a political figure more emotional loyalty than we give to Jesus Christ, we’ve crossed a line.
Because when we let political leaders shape our tone, our instincts, or our moral compass more than the Gospel does, we lose our distinctiveness. We begin to mirror the very world we were sent to transform.
We were not baptized to be partisans. We were baptized to be saints.
That doesn’t mean we stay silent. It doesn’t mean we disengage. But it does mean we speak with mercy. We listen with humility. We lead with love.We can debate without demeaning.We can vote without vilifying.We can laugh—yes, of course—but not at the expense of the suffering.
Jesus never played to the crowd. He didn’t feed on mockery or applause. He walked with the forgotten, He listened to the outcast, He healed without headlines. And when He stood before Pilate—accused and misunderstood—He didn’t throw barbs. He stood in truth. Quiet. Steady. Free.
That is strength.That is freedom.That is the posture of someone who knows the real Kingdom is not of this world.
So if the President’s joke made you laugh—ask yourself: What part of me did it entertain? The part that is growing in holiness? Or the part that still needs Christ’s healing?
And if it made you angry—pause. Let your response be guided not by bitterness, but by the Beatitudes. We are not called to win arguments. We are called to win hearts.
Because the world doesn’t need louder Christians.It needs deeper ones.Rooted ones.Disciples who rise above the spectacle and walk with mercy, courage, and unwavering love.
The Church has never thrived by siding with power. It has always flourished when it has stood with Christ—especially when that stand costs something. And when we do that—when we quietly, faithfully, stubbornly live like Jesus—people start to notice.And hearts begin to change.And grace begins to work.
Not through spectacle.But through saints.
And therein lies a deeper issue: we have slowly but surely turned politics into theater.A spectacle.And many of us—left, right, or in between—have become its most eager audience.
We watch our political leaders the way we watch reality television. We cheer them on when they “own” their opponents. We post memes and share clips not for truth, but for triumph. And in all of it, we must ask ourselves a simple but searing question as followers of Jesus: What is this feeding in me?
Because what we consume, we become.And not everything that amuses us is harmless.
Saint Paul warned that “the mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace” (Romans 8:6). When our political diet is saturated with sarcasm, mockery, cruelty, or constant outrage—even in jest—it starts to deform our hearts. It makes us quicker to attack and slower to listen. It stirs up pride, resentment, fear, and tribalism. These may feel powerful, but they are not the fruits of the Holy Spirit. And they do not draw us closer to Christ.
Let me be clear: this is not about being anti-Trump, or anti-anyone. Many Catholics support President Trump for thoughtful, serious reasons—his stance on religious liberty, the sanctity of life, judicial appointments, and more. That support deserves understanding and respect. But Christian support must never become Christian surrender. If we give a political figure more emotional loyalty than we give to Jesus Christ, we’ve crossed a line.
Because when we let political leaders shape our tone, our instincts, or our moral compass more than the Gospel does, we lose our distinctiveness. We begin to mirror the very world we were sent to transform.
We were not baptized to be partisans. We were baptized to be saints.
That doesn’t mean we stay silent. It doesn’t mean we disengage. But it does mean we speak with mercy. We listen with humility. We lead with love.We can debate without demeaning.We can vote without vilifying.We can laugh—yes, of course—but not at the expense of the suffering.
Jesus never played to the crowd. He didn’t feed on mockery or applause. He walked with the forgotten, He listened to the outcast, He healed without headlines. And when He stood before Pilate—accused and misunderstood—He didn’t throw barbs. He stood in truth. Quiet. Steady. Free.
That is strength.That is freedom.That is the posture of someone who knows the real Kingdom is not of this world.
So if the President’s joke made you laugh—ask yourself: What part of me did it entertain? The part that is growing in holiness? Or the part that still needs Christ’s healing?
And if it made you angry—pause. Let your response be guided not by bitterness, but by the Beatitudes. We are not called to win arguments. We are called to win hearts.
Because the world doesn’t need louder Christians.It needs deeper ones.Rooted ones.Disciples who rise above the spectacle and walk with mercy, courage, and unwavering love.
The Church has never thrived by siding with power. It has always flourished when it has stood with Christ—especially when that stand costs something. And when we do that—when we quietly, faithfully, stubbornly live like Jesus—people start to notice.And hearts begin to change.And grace begins to work.
Not through spectacle.But through saints.