They put Him in stained glass and called it honor.

Turned the Man who flipped tables into a poster boy for institutional fundraising. Took the One who called religious leaders “whitewashed tombs” and “children of hell” and repackaged Him as a gentle life coach who just wants you to be nice and vote correctly.

This isn’t faith. This is taxidermy.

They killed the lion, stuffed it, posed it in a non-threatening position, and now they charge admission to view the exhibit. And the people file past, place their hand on the glass, feel a brief moment of sentiment, and leave unchanged. Because the Jesus they’re encountering isn’t alive. He’s been curated. Edited. Stripped of everything that made Him dangerous.

The Jesus of the Gospels didn’t fit inside systems. He detonated them.

THE MAN THEY WON’T PREACH

Go back to the text. Not the devotional. Not the commentary. The raw narrative.

He had no donor base to protect. No building fund to consider. No denominational superiors reviewing His sermon content for doctrinal compliance. He had no staff to manage, no board to answer to, no 501(c)(3) status to maintain.

He was ungoverned.

And that freedom let Him say things that would get you expelled from most churches today:

He called the Pharisees, the credentialed religious leaders, the seminary graduates, the theological experts, ”hypocrites,” “blind guides,” “snakes,” “sons of hell.” Not once. Repeatedly. Publicly. He didn’t submit critique through proper channels. He named them in the street.

He violated Sabbath law as they understood it, healing on the Sabbath, letting His disciples pluck grain, claiming authority over the entire system. Not because He didn’t honor the Sabbath, but because He refused to honor their inversion of it. They’d turned rest into bondage. He broke their bondage and called it obedience.

He touched lepers. Ate with tax collectors and prostitutes. Let an unclean woman touch Him in public. Every single one of those acts was a calculated violation of the purity system that kept society stratified and the religious establishment in control of who was “in” and who was “out.”

He told the temple leadership, the ones operating the entire sacrificial economy, that their house had become “a den of robbers.” Then He physically disrupted their business. Overturned tables. Drove out the money changers with a whip. This wasn’t a quiet prophetic gesture. This was economic warfare against the religious-industrial complex.

He told people the Kingdom was at hand, but it wasn’t coming through Rome or the temple system. It was coming through Him. That’s an absolute claim that demolished every other authority structure competing for ultimate allegiance.

He told the rich young ruler to sell everything. He told His followers they couldn’t serve God and money. He said it’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom. Then He let the rich walk away. He didn’t soften the message to keep the donors.

He told His disciples that following Him meant taking up a cross, the Roman execution device. Not “invite me into your heart.” Not “pray this prayer.” Pick up the instrument of your execution and follow Me into confrontation with the powers that kill prophets.

He didn’t come to make you comfortable. He came to make you free. And freedom requires the destruction of everything that’s holding you captive, including, especially, the religious systems that baptized your captivity and called it holiness.

THE SYSTEM HE CONFRONTED

The machinery Jesus walked into wasn’t secular. It was religious. The Pharisees weren’t atheists. They were the most devout people in the culture. They tithed mint and cumin. They memorized Torah. They fasted twice a week. They were the seminary professors, the worship leaders, the conference speakers of their day.

And He called them children of hell.

Why?

Because they’d taken the covenant God gave to liberate people and turned it into a control system. They’d added 613 commands on top of the Law, built entire secondary legal structures to “protect” Torah, and used their mastery of that system to secure their own position as mediators between God and man. You couldn’t approach God without going through them. They owned access.

The temple wasn’t a house of prayer. It was a religious economy. Pilgrims came from all over the world, had to exchange their money, had to buy approved animals for sacrifice, had to pay the priests to perform the rituals. The whole system ran on the premise that you needed their infrastructure to reach God.

Jesus walked into that system and said, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.”

He was talking about His body. About Himself as the new temple. The new meeting place between God and man. No more priests. No more sacrifices. No more controlled access. He was the access. Direct. Unmediated. Available to anyone who would come.

That’s not a tweak to the system. That’s the end of the system.

And they killed Him for it.

THE MODERN PARALLEL

Now look at the contemporary church. The institutional machinery. The 501(c)(3) nonprofit structure that can’t risk its tax-exempt status by getting “too political.” The denominational hierarchies with doctrinal statements you have to sign to stay in good standing. The seminaries that credential pastors based on their ability to navigate systematic theology without threatening the institution. The megachurches with donor bases and building campaigns and staff salaries and operational budgets that require predictable income, which requires keeping the donors happy, which requires not saying anything too disruptive.

The system doesn’t run on the Holy Spirit. It runs on funding.

And you can’t serve God and money.

So what happens when the Gospel confronts the system the same way Jesus confronted the temple economy?

It gets edited.

Not explicitly. Not through some conspiracy in a smoke-filled room. Just through the quiet, relentless pressure of institutional survival. Pastors learn what they can’t say. Not because someone hands them a list, but because they watch what happens to the pastors who did say it. Conferences learn which topics are fundable and which topics lose sponsors. Publishers learn which books sell to the Christian market and which books get you dropped from distribution.

Nobody has to ban the dangerous Jesus. The system just stops platforming Him. And after a few generations, the edited version is the only version most people have ever encountered.

The Jesus who never threatens your comfort.

The Jesus who affirms your political tribe.

The Jesus who wants you to pray more, give more, attend more, but never actually confront the powers that crucified Him.

That Jesus isn’t in the Gospels.

That Jesus is a chaplain to Babylon.

THE COMFORT INVERSION

Here’s the test:

If your faith makes you more comfortable inside the dominant system, you’re not following Jesus. You’re following something wearing His name.

Jesus didn’t come to baptize the status quo. He came to overthrow it. The Kingdom He announced wasn’t an add-on to Caesar’s empire. It was a rival government. A competing allegiance. An entirely different operating system that could not coexist with Rome’s.

That’s why they killed Him. Not because He was “too heavenly minded.” Because He was a threat. To the religious economy. To the political order. To every structure that derived its power from mediation, control, and the people’s belief that the current system was the only option.

He showed them another option. And it terrified them.

Modern Christianity has made peace with the empire. It’s been given a seat at the table, tax exemptions, cultural influence, political access, in exchange for not being too disruptive. You can have your faith as long as it stays in the “religious” category and doesn’t interfere with how the actual power operates.

You can worship on Sunday as long as you submit to Babylon on Monday.

You can read your Bible as long as you don’t let it restructure your entire understanding of economics, governance, sexuality, violence, or allegiance.

You can follow Jesus as long as He stays inside the lines the system has drawn for acceptable spirituality.

But the moment your faith makes you ungovernable, the moment you start operating as though the Kingdom is real and Caesar’s system is temporary, you’ll find out very quickly how much room the system actually has for Jesus.

THE REMNANT

Not everyone inside the institution is captured. There are people in the pews who know something’s wrong. Pastors who feel the tension between what Scripture says and what the bylaws allow. Believers who’ve read the Gospels and can’t reconcile the Jesus they see there with the Jesus being preached from stages.

The system is collapsing under its own weight. The institutional church is hemorrhaging credibility. The next generation isn’t buying the sanitized version. They can smell the compromise. And the ones who are hungry, genuinely hungry for something real, are starting to look outside the approved channels.

They’re reading Scripture like it’s intelligence from behind enemy lines. They’re asking questions the institution trained them not to ask. They’re starting to suspect that the reason Jesus seems so tame in their church is because someone clipped His claws.

This is the threshold moment. The filter.

Babylon’s version of Jesus will keep the comfortable comfortable. Kingdom version of Jesus will wreck your life and reconstruct it around a completely different center of gravity.

One costs nothing. One costs everything.

One lets you keep your position in the system. One makes you ungovernable.

THE COMMISSION

So here’s the question for you:

Which Jesus are you following?

The one in the stained glass, or the one in the text?

The one who validates your tribe, or the one who flipped tables in the temple?

The one who makes you comfortable in Babylon, or the one who called you out of Babylon?

Because you can’t follow both. The domesticated version and the dangerous version are not the same person. One’s been edited to fit inside the system. The other one ends the system.

And if you choose the real one, the Jesus who confronts power, liberates captives, overturns the tables, and calls you to pick up your cross, you’re going to find yourself outside a lot of camps you used to belong to.

The credentialed will call you unqualified.

The institution will call you divisive.

The comfortable will call you extreme.

Let them.

You’re not trying to fit inside their system. You’re following the Man who destroyed every system that tried to domesticate Him.

And if that makes you dangerous, good.

The Kingdom doesn’t need more chaplains to Babylon.

It needs prophets who remember what the Lion actually said.

They put Him in stained glass and called it honor.

Turned the Man who flipped tables into a poster boy for institutional fundraising. Took the One who called religious leaders “whitewashed tombs” and “children of hell” and repackaged Him as a gentle life coach who just wants you to be nice and vote correctly.

This isn’t faith. This is taxidermy.

They killed the lion, stuffed it, posed it in a non-threatening position, and now they charge admission to view the exhibit. And the people file past, place their hand on the glass, feel a brief moment of sentiment, and leave unchanged. Because the Jesus they’re encountering isn’t alive. He’s been curated. Edited. Stripped of everything that made Him dangerous.

The Jesus of the Gospels didn’t fit inside systems. He detonated them.

THE MAN THEY WON’T PREACH

Go back to the text. Not the devotional. Not the commentary. The raw narrative.

He had no donor base to protect. No building fund to consider. No denominational superiors reviewing His sermon content for doctrinal compliance. He had no staff to manage, no board to answer to, no 501(c)(3) status to maintain.

He was ungoverned.

And that freedom let Him say things that would get you expelled from most churches today:

He called the Pharisees, the credentialed religious leaders, the seminary graduates, the theological experts, ”hypocrites,” “blind guides,” “snakes,” “sons of hell.” Not once. Repeatedly. Publicly. He didn’t submit critique through proper channels. He named them in the street.

He violated Sabbath law as they understood it, healing on the Sabbath, letting His disciples pluck grain, claiming authority over the entire system. Not because He didn’t honor the Sabbath, but because He refused to honor their inversion of it. They’d turned rest into bondage. He broke their bondage and called it obedience.

He touched lepers. Ate with tax collectors and prostitutes. Let an unclean woman touch Him in public. Every single one of those acts was a calculated violation of the purity system that kept society stratified and the religious establishment in control of who was “in” and who was “out.”

He told the temple leadership, the ones operating the entire sacrificial economy, that their house had become “a den of robbers.” Then He physically disrupted their business. Overturned tables. Drove out the money changers with a whip. This wasn’t a quiet prophetic gesture. This was economic warfare against the religious-industrial complex.

He told people the Kingdom was at hand, but it wasn’t coming through Rome or the temple system. It was coming through Him. That’s an absolute claim that demolished every other authority structure competing for ultimate allegiance.

He told the rich young ruler to sell everything. He told His followers they couldn’t serve God and money. He said it’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom. Then He let the rich walk away. He didn’t soften the message to keep the donors.

He told His disciples that following Him meant taking up a cross, the Roman execution device. Not “invite me into your heart.” Not “pray this prayer.” Pick up the instrument of your execution and follow Me into confrontation with the powers that kill prophets.

He didn’t come to make you comfortable. He came to make you free. And freedom requires the destruction of everything that’s holding you captive, including, especially, the religious systems that baptized your captivity and called it holiness.

THE SYSTEM HE CONFRONTED

The machinery Jesus walked into wasn’t secular. It was religious. The Pharisees weren’t atheists. They were the most devout people in the culture. They tithed mint and cumin. They memorized Torah. They fasted twice a week. They were the seminary professors, the worship leaders, the conference speakers of their day.

And He called them children of hell.

Why?

Because they’d taken the covenant God gave to liberate people and turned it into a control system. They’d added 613 commands on top of the Law, built entire secondary legal structures to “protect” Torah, and used their mastery of that system to secure their own position as mediators between God and man. You couldn’t approach God without going through them. They owned access.

The temple wasn’t a house of prayer. It was a religious economy. Pilgrims came from all over the world, had to exchange their money, had to buy approved animals for sacrifice, had to pay the priests to perform the rituals. The whole system ran on the premise that you needed their infrastructure to reach God.

Jesus walked into that system and said, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.”

He was talking about His body. About Himself as the new temple. The new meeting place between God and man. No more priests. No more sacrifices. No more controlled access. He was the access. Direct. Unmediated. Available to anyone who would come.

That’s not a tweak to the system. That’s the end of the system.

And they killed Him for it.

THE MODERN PARALLEL

Now look at the contemporary church. The institutional machinery. The 501(c)(3) nonprofit structure that can’t risk its tax-exempt status by getting “too political.” The denominational hierarchies with doctrinal statements you have to sign to stay in good standing. The seminaries that credential pastors based on their ability to navigate systematic theology without threatening the institution. The megachurches with donor bases and building campaigns and staff salaries and operational budgets that require predictable income, which requires keeping the donors happy, which requires not saying anything too disruptive.

The system doesn’t run on the Holy Spirit. It runs on funding.

And you can’t serve God and money.

So what happens when the Gospel confronts the system the same way Jesus confronted the temple economy?

It gets edited.

Not explicitly. Not through some conspiracy in a smoke-filled room. Just through the quiet, relentless pressure of institutional survival. Pastors learn what they can’t say. Not because someone hands them a list, but because they watch what happens to the pastors who did say it. Conferences learn which topics are fundable and which topics lose sponsors. Publishers learn which books sell to the Christian market and which books get you dropped from distribution.

Nobody has to ban the dangerous Jesus. The system just stops platforming Him. And after a few generations, the edited version is the only version most people have ever encountered.

The Jesus who never threatens your comfort.

The Jesus who affirms your political tribe.

The Jesus who wants you to pray more, give more, attend more, but never actually confront the powers that crucified Him.

That Jesus isn’t in the Gospels.

That Jesus is a chaplain to Babylon.

THE COMFORT INVERSION

Here’s the test:

If your faith makes you more comfortable inside the dominant system, you’re not following Jesus. You’re following something wearing His name.

Jesus didn’t come to baptize the status quo. He came to overthrow it. The Kingdom He announced wasn’t an add-on to Caesar’s empire. It was a rival government. A competing allegiance. An entirely different operating system that could not coexist with Rome’s.

That’s why they killed Him. Not because He was “too heavenly minded.” Because He was a threat. To the religious economy. To the political order. To every structure that derived its power from mediation, control, and the people’s belief that the current system was the only option.

He showed them another option. And it terrified them.

Modern Christianity has made peace with the empire. It’s been given a seat at the table, tax exemptions, cultural influence, political access, in exchange for not being too disruptive. You can have your faith as long as it stays in the “religious” category and doesn’t interfere with how the actual power operates.

You can worship on Sunday as long as you submit to Babylon on Monday.

You can read your Bible as long as you don’t let it restructure your entire understanding of economics, governance, sexuality, violence, or allegiance.

You can follow Jesus as long as He stays inside the lines the system has drawn for acceptable spirituality.

But the moment your faith makes you ungovernable, the moment you start operating as though the Kingdom is real and Caesar’s system is temporary, you’ll find out very quickly how much room the system actually has for Jesus.

THE REMNANT

Not everyone inside the institution is captured. There are people in the pews who know something’s wrong. Pastors who feel the tension between what Scripture says and what the bylaws allow. Believers who’ve read the Gospels and can’t reconcile the Jesus they see there with the Jesus being preached from stages.

The system is collapsing under its own weight. The institutional church is hemorrhaging credibility. The next generation isn’t buying the sanitized version. They can smell the compromise. And the ones who are hungry, genuinely hungry for something real, are starting to look outside the approved channels.

They’re reading Scripture like it’s intelligence from behind enemy lines. They’re asking questions the institution trained them not to ask. They’re starting to suspect that the reason Jesus seems so tame in their church is because someone clipped His claws.

This is the threshold moment. The filter.

Babylon’s version of Jesus will keep the comfortable comfortable. Kingdom version of Jesus will wreck your life and reconstruct it around a completely different center of gravity.

One costs nothing. One costs everything.

One lets you keep your position in the system. One makes you ungovernable.

THE COMMISSION

So here’s the question for you:

Which Jesus are you following?

The one in the stained glass, or the one in the text?

The one who validates your tribe, or the one who flipped tables in the temple?

The one who makes you comfortable in Babylon, or the one who called you out of Babylon?

Because you can’t follow both. The domesticated version and the dangerous version are not the same person. One’s been edited to fit inside the system. The other one ends the system.

And if you choose the real one, the Jesus who confronts power, liberates captives, overturns the tables, and calls you to pick up your cross, you’re going to find yourself outside a lot of camps you used to belong to.

The credentialed will call you unqualified.

The institution will call you divisive.

The comfortable will call you extreme.

Let them.

You’re not trying to fit inside their system. You’re following the Man who destroyed every system that tried to domesticate Him.

And if that makes you dangerous, good.

The Kingdom doesn’t need more chaplains to Babylon.

It needs prophets who remember what the Lion actually said.