A Fox host who dropped out of college and quit the Church tried to tutor a canon lawyer turned pope — and the U.S. church, across every ideological divide, is closing ranks around its shepherd.
One thing that I’m not hearing or reading anyone say is what the New Testament, or covenant, means. Those examples of war are from the OT, and Jesus brought a new covenant into being. It’s why the Law is no longer necessary, so it’s inaccurate to say an OT reference means God is pro-war.
Jesus of Nazareth lived under Roman occupation in a land where armed revolt, imperial violence, and civil unrest were real possibilities. Yet the core posture attributed to him in the earliest Christian sources is neither militarism nor political conquest, but a demanding vision of God’s reign expressed through enemy-love, nonretaliation, and a willingness to suffer rather than inflict suffering. An essay on Jesus and war, therefore, has to hold together two things at once: the strong current of peace in his teaching and example, and the later reality that Christians—living in states, armies, and empires—have repeatedly fought wars while appealing to him.
In the Synoptic Gospels, Jesus’ most programmatic ethical teaching rejects the spiral of violence. The Sermon on the Mount calls blessing rather than dominance the mark of the “kingdom”: “Blessed are the peacemakers,” and “love your enemies, pray for those who persecute you.” The point is not simply private kindness; it is a public discipline that breaks cycles of revenge. “Turn the other cheek,” “go the second mile,” and “give to the one who asks” are vivid examples of refusing to answer coercion with coercion. Read in their first-century context, these sayings do not necessarily imply passivity; they describe a style of resistance that forgoes retaliation and shames brutality by absorbing it. Jesus’ ethic aims at transformation—of the aggressor, the victim, and the community—rather than victory.
Jesus’ own conduct reinforces this orientation. When he enters Jerusalem, he does not organize an armed uprising. His symbolic action in the Temple critiques corruption and exploitation, but it is not a call to take up the sword against Rome. At his arrest, the Gospels portray him stopping his followers from violent defense—“all who take the sword will perish by the sword”—and submitting to an unjust process. His refusal to meet violence with violence is not presented as strategic calculation but as fidelity to his mission: the reign of God advances through reconciliation and truth rather than force. The cross, in the Christian reading of history, becomes the central sign that God’s power is revealed not in killing enemies but in forgiving them.
At the same time, Jesus’ language is not naïvely serene. He speaks of judgment, of coming upheaval, and even uses sharp metaphors—“I have not come to bring peace, but a sword”—that can sound belligerent when isolated. Yet in context that “sword” most plausibly names division within families and communities as allegiance to him disrupts ordinary loyalties. His warnings about conflict describe the social cost of discipleship, not an endorsement of holy war. Similarly, his apocalyptic imagery—common in Jewish prophetic tradition—frames divine judgment as God’s work, not a mandate for his followers to wage redemptive violence.
The earliest Christian communities largely interpreted Jesus as calling them away from killing. Many early Christians refused military service, not because they denied the state’s right to exist, but because they believed discipleship forbade bloodshed and the worship practices tied to Roman armies. Their alternative was not indifference to public life but a distinct politics: care for the poor, hospitality to strangers, forgiveness, and a transnational identity that loosened the grip of ethnic and imperial rivalry. In this tradition, war is a symptom of disordered desire—fear, pride, greed—and the church’s vocation is to be a foretaste of a reconciled humanity.
History, however, complicated the picture. Once Christianity moved from a persecuted minority to a religion entangled with imperial power, new questions arose: Can a ruler who claims Christian faith defend the innocent? Is it ever permissible to use force to stop grave injustice? Out of these pressures emerged the “just war” tradition associated with thinkers like Augustine and later developed by Aquinas. It does not celebrate war; it attempts to restrain it by moral criteria: legitimate authority, just cause (often defense against aggression), right intention, proportionality, last resort, and discrimination between combatants and noncombatants. The irony is that a tradition born as a set of brakes could also become a set of permissions. Jesus’ teachings were sometimes reinterpreted as counsels for private life rather than commands for public policy, allowing Christians to participate in state violence while claiming personal piety.
Running alongside just war reasoning, a more radical “peace church” tradition persisted—seen in groups such as Anabaptists, Mennonites, Quakers, and others—arguing that Jesus’ commands admit no exception. For these Christians, the Sermon on the Mount is not an unreachable ideal but the constitution of the church. They point to Jesus’ refusal of armed defense, his blessing of peacemakers, and his command to love enemies as incompatible with participation in war. They also argue that the church’s credibility depends on embodying the reconciliation it proclaims; to kill for the sake of peace is, in their view, a contradiction.
Between these poles—just war restraint and nonviolent discipleship—lies a persistent tension: Jesus’ ethic aims at the enemy’s redemption as well as the victim’s protection. War, even when fought for defensible reasons, typically requires dehumanizing the opponent and accepting foreseeable harm to innocents. That reality puts pressure on any attempt to claim direct continuity between Jesus’ way and the practice of war. Even the New Testament’s occasional use of military imagery (“armor of God”) is metaphorical and directed toward spiritual struggle, not a blueprint for armed conflict.
An essay on Jesus and war should also consider the political shape of his message. Jesus announces “good news” of God’s kingdom—language that rivaled imperial propaganda. Yet his kingdom is not built by coercion. He forms a community that includes the marginalized and calls for economic generosity, truth-telling, and reconciliation. This is political in the deepest sense—about how humans live together—but it refuses the state’s normal instruments of control. In this light, Jesus is neither simply a pacifist moralist nor a revolutionary general. He is a prophet of a different order, exposing the false promises of violent power and inviting a new kind of society.
What, then, can be responsibly said about Jesus of Nazareth and war? The strongest claim supported by his teaching and passion narratives is that he rejects vengeance and commands active love of enemies, modeling a form of courageous nonviolence. From that center, Christians have reasoned in divergent ways about the tragic dilemmas of history: some conclude that fidelity to Jesus forbids killing outright; others conclude that love of neighbor may require limited force to protect the vulnerable, while insisting that such force is morally dangerous and tightly constrained. But any account that uses Jesus to glorify war, to baptize aggression, or to treat enemies as subhuman runs against the grain of the sources. Jesus’ legacy presses in the opposite direction: toward peacemaking that is costly, toward truth that risks suffering, and toward a hope that refuses to believe violence is the final word.
Well said and fully agree. We need more voices expressing this sentiment right now. I’m so glad Leo is expressing an alternate view to Christian nationalism. So many American Christians are deceived and ignorant on this topic. I find Jim Wallis to be another powerful voice on what Christianity in action really looks like, but there aren’t as many out there as I’d like.
ROFL! "'I think I’m uniquely qualified,' the host told his viewers. 'I studied Latin, theology, went to Catholic church for twelve years.'” Like his bros in the WH and maga, uniquely qualified to create the unqualified mess the nation is in for sure.
Not quite on topic perhaps, but last night I was (unfortunately) thinking about the absolute contempt this gang has for any expertise. Other than lying and grifting, that is. These people are mediocrities from head to toe.
Wish it were funny. I'd like to believe that Americans and American Catholics are not so gullible and ignorant as Hannity assumes. So many of us have had 16 plus years of Catholic education, and have a good idea of how much we dont know about theology. More than that, I'd like to hope that we have better discernment regarding who we can trust, and who we cannot trust. Sad, really.
Yeah, didn't Jesus say something about those who use false pretences to blatantly praise themselves and overcompensate for their ignorance, shall be known as assholes? I'm not sure that I have the terminology exact right, but I'm sure that the sentiment is correct.
These so-called theological experts never cite the Gospels of the New Testament or the apostle Paul. Instead, they rely on ancient stories of war from the Bronze Age that are told in the Old Testament Hebrew Bible. Give me the words of Jesus any day!
These Pope chiders think about saying it and still say it. They have a chance to back out of making a fool of themselves, and they still think going ahead is the right call.
Notice that Hannity and similar jerks refer to Old Testament legends? Notice that there is no suggestion that the Jesus of the Gospels came with a new message?
Notice that these ignorant folks who pretend to know something can not seem to distinguish between oral traditions later written and collected with all the resultant redundancy and inconsistency and gaps and choices made in different translations.
What struck me reading this alongside the Pope’s recent remarks is the contrast in what leadership can look like. On one hand, there’s an emphasis on peace, dignity, and dialogue—on treating people as inherently worthy of respect. On the other, we see language and actions that can divide, dehumanize, and escalate conflict.
That contrast raises an important question: how do ordinary people make their own priorities—around dignity, accountability, and respect—more visible in a way that actually shapes outcomes?
Without some way to make that shared ground visible, it’s easy for louder, more divisive narratives to dominate, even when they don’t reflect what most people want.
I’ve been working on a small volunteer platform, One Voice One Vote – Count and Deliver, aimed at helping surface those shared priorities in a structured way.
If “unity” is something we care about, it seems like being able to see where it actually exists is a necessary first step.
Sadly, millions of people, mostly your parents and grandparents, watch this (bleep) hole Hannity and other Fox anchors spout off nightly on things about which he knows nothing. They believe every word he says. We have former friends who became totally deluded by Fox. We ghosted them.
I’m 73 and never watch Fox. Don’t assume because someone is over 65 they are watching Hannity and Fox. I think Pope Leo is a gift from God through Pope Francis.
I assume you mean people in my age group (65+). Neither my similar in age friends nor I ever listen to that blow hard sycophant. Please be careful when making generalizations.
It is we who will tip the scales in the next election. It is we who stand with Pope Leo.
If my parents were still living, they would be 104 years old. They had zero respect for either Hannity or the president, whom my parents called a carnival barker. It is true, though, that a large segment of supporters of these types are in the older demographics.
Absolutely! Here in FloriDumb, all we have to do is look at that benighted mega-MAGA "retirement" community, The Villages, to see the 65+ demographics in their MAGA-decorated golf carts.
Hannity is qualified to be a boot licker for dtrump and nothing more! He’s as corrupt and as big a liar as dtrump and all his minions!! Just another POS!!!
One thing that I’m not hearing or reading anyone say is what the New Testament, or covenant, means. Those examples of war are from the OT, and Jesus brought a new covenant into being. It’s why the Law is no longer necessary, so it’s inaccurate to say an OT reference means God is pro-war.
Christian nationalists quote from the OT, never the NT. Do you ever hear them quote Jesus? They don’t because Jesus isn’t in the OT.
Here’s something I wrote a few days ago:
Jesus of Nazareth lived under Roman occupation in a land where armed revolt, imperial violence, and civil unrest were real possibilities. Yet the core posture attributed to him in the earliest Christian sources is neither militarism nor political conquest, but a demanding vision of God’s reign expressed through enemy-love, nonretaliation, and a willingness to suffer rather than inflict suffering. An essay on Jesus and war, therefore, has to hold together two things at once: the strong current of peace in his teaching and example, and the later reality that Christians—living in states, armies, and empires—have repeatedly fought wars while appealing to him.
In the Synoptic Gospels, Jesus’ most programmatic ethical teaching rejects the spiral of violence. The Sermon on the Mount calls blessing rather than dominance the mark of the “kingdom”: “Blessed are the peacemakers,” and “love your enemies, pray for those who persecute you.” The point is not simply private kindness; it is a public discipline that breaks cycles of revenge. “Turn the other cheek,” “go the second mile,” and “give to the one who asks” are vivid examples of refusing to answer coercion with coercion. Read in their first-century context, these sayings do not necessarily imply passivity; they describe a style of resistance that forgoes retaliation and shames brutality by absorbing it. Jesus’ ethic aims at transformation—of the aggressor, the victim, and the community—rather than victory.
Jesus’ own conduct reinforces this orientation. When he enters Jerusalem, he does not organize an armed uprising. His symbolic action in the Temple critiques corruption and exploitation, but it is not a call to take up the sword against Rome. At his arrest, the Gospels portray him stopping his followers from violent defense—“all who take the sword will perish by the sword”—and submitting to an unjust process. His refusal to meet violence with violence is not presented as strategic calculation but as fidelity to his mission: the reign of God advances through reconciliation and truth rather than force. The cross, in the Christian reading of history, becomes the central sign that God’s power is revealed not in killing enemies but in forgiving them.
At the same time, Jesus’ language is not naïvely serene. He speaks of judgment, of coming upheaval, and even uses sharp metaphors—“I have not come to bring peace, but a sword”—that can sound belligerent when isolated. Yet in context that “sword” most plausibly names division within families and communities as allegiance to him disrupts ordinary loyalties. His warnings about conflict describe the social cost of discipleship, not an endorsement of holy war. Similarly, his apocalyptic imagery—common in Jewish prophetic tradition—frames divine judgment as God’s work, not a mandate for his followers to wage redemptive violence.
The earliest Christian communities largely interpreted Jesus as calling them away from killing. Many early Christians refused military service, not because they denied the state’s right to exist, but because they believed discipleship forbade bloodshed and the worship practices tied to Roman armies. Their alternative was not indifference to public life but a distinct politics: care for the poor, hospitality to strangers, forgiveness, and a transnational identity that loosened the grip of ethnic and imperial rivalry. In this tradition, war is a symptom of disordered desire—fear, pride, greed—and the church’s vocation is to be a foretaste of a reconciled humanity.
History, however, complicated the picture. Once Christianity moved from a persecuted minority to a religion entangled with imperial power, new questions arose: Can a ruler who claims Christian faith defend the innocent? Is it ever permissible to use force to stop grave injustice? Out of these pressures emerged the “just war” tradition associated with thinkers like Augustine and later developed by Aquinas. It does not celebrate war; it attempts to restrain it by moral criteria: legitimate authority, just cause (often defense against aggression), right intention, proportionality, last resort, and discrimination between combatants and noncombatants. The irony is that a tradition born as a set of brakes could also become a set of permissions. Jesus’ teachings were sometimes reinterpreted as counsels for private life rather than commands for public policy, allowing Christians to participate in state violence while claiming personal piety.
Running alongside just war reasoning, a more radical “peace church” tradition persisted—seen in groups such as Anabaptists, Mennonites, Quakers, and others—arguing that Jesus’ commands admit no exception. For these Christians, the Sermon on the Mount is not an unreachable ideal but the constitution of the church. They point to Jesus’ refusal of armed defense, his blessing of peacemakers, and his command to love enemies as incompatible with participation in war. They also argue that the church’s credibility depends on embodying the reconciliation it proclaims; to kill for the sake of peace is, in their view, a contradiction.
Between these poles—just war restraint and nonviolent discipleship—lies a persistent tension: Jesus’ ethic aims at the enemy’s redemption as well as the victim’s protection. War, even when fought for defensible reasons, typically requires dehumanizing the opponent and accepting foreseeable harm to innocents. That reality puts pressure on any attempt to claim direct continuity between Jesus’ way and the practice of war. Even the New Testament’s occasional use of military imagery (“armor of God”) is metaphorical and directed toward spiritual struggle, not a blueprint for armed conflict.
An essay on Jesus and war should also consider the political shape of his message. Jesus announces “good news” of God’s kingdom—language that rivaled imperial propaganda. Yet his kingdom is not built by coercion. He forms a community that includes the marginalized and calls for economic generosity, truth-telling, and reconciliation. This is political in the deepest sense—about how humans live together—but it refuses the state’s normal instruments of control. In this light, Jesus is neither simply a pacifist moralist nor a revolutionary general. He is a prophet of a different order, exposing the false promises of violent power and inviting a new kind of society.
What, then, can be responsibly said about Jesus of Nazareth and war? The strongest claim supported by his teaching and passion narratives is that he rejects vengeance and commands active love of enemies, modeling a form of courageous nonviolence. From that center, Christians have reasoned in divergent ways about the tragic dilemmas of history: some conclude that fidelity to Jesus forbids killing outright; others conclude that love of neighbor may require limited force to protect the vulnerable, while insisting that such force is morally dangerous and tightly constrained. But any account that uses Jesus to glorify war, to baptize aggression, or to treat enemies as subhuman runs against the grain of the sources. Jesus’ legacy presses in the opposite direction: toward peacemaking that is costly, toward truth that risks suffering, and toward a hope that refuses to believe violence is the final word.
Well said and fully agree. We need more voices expressing this sentiment right now. I’m so glad Leo is expressing an alternate view to Christian nationalism. So many American Christians are deceived and ignorant on this topic. I find Jim Wallis to be another powerful voice on what Christianity in action really looks like, but there aren’t as many out there as I’d like.
ROFL! "'I think I’m uniquely qualified,' the host told his viewers. 'I studied Latin, theology, went to Catholic church for twelve years.'” Like his bros in the WH and maga, uniquely qualified to create the unqualified mess the nation is in for sure.
Not quite on topic perhaps, but last night I was (unfortunately) thinking about the absolute contempt this gang has for any expertise. Other than lying and grifting, that is. These people are mediocrities from head to toe.
Exactly on topic.
Wish it were funny. I'd like to believe that Americans and American Catholics are not so gullible and ignorant as Hannity assumes. So many of us have had 16 plus years of Catholic education, and have a good idea of how much we dont know about theology. More than that, I'd like to hope that we have better discernment regarding who we can trust, and who we cannot trust. Sad, really.
Yes. If everyone who went to Catholic school had as much knowledge and authority as the Pope, why even have a Pope?
Yeah, didn't Jesus say something about those who use false pretences to blatantly praise themselves and overcompensate for their ignorance, shall be known as assholes? I'm not sure that I have the terminology exact right, but I'm sure that the sentiment is correct.
Better to keep your mouth closed and appear a fool, than open it and remove all doubt.
Hannity is the devil's disciple...
A coward who can’t risk offending the Orange One.
These so-called theological experts never cite the Gospels of the New Testament or the apostle Paul. Instead, they rely on ancient stories of war from the Bronze Age that are told in the Old Testament Hebrew Bible. Give me the words of Jesus any day!
Fr: Thomas Merton
To: Sean Hannity
Re: The Mind and the mis-use of Language
'The abuse of language really blocks thinking and is a
substitute for it."
These Pope chiders think about saying it and still say it. They have a chance to back out of making a fool of themselves, and they still think going ahead is the right call.
The level of hubris on display by Hannity, Vance, et al. is simply gobsmacking.
Sean Hannity the man who breaks the 9th commandment for a very lucrative living lecturing Pope Leo. Welcome to TrumpAmerica 2026.
Sean Hannity??? Oh dear me, how ridiculous!!
Hannity is not “uniquely qualified,” he is uniquely arrogant.
Notice that Hannity and similar jerks refer to Old Testament legends? Notice that there is no suggestion that the Jesus of the Gospels came with a new message?
Notice that these ignorant folks who pretend to know something can not seem to distinguish between oral traditions later written and collected with all the resultant redundancy and inconsistency and gaps and choices made in different translations.
Some fools should stay in their own lane.
And how does anyone think that the atomic bomb was a good thing. What about all those innocent people that were killed in a flash.
It can be dressed up, explained, rationalized in terms of lives (not those of civilians) saved; but the lesser of two evils is still evil.
All right.
Hannity is mind rot.
Listen to him to your peril.
What struck me reading this alongside the Pope’s recent remarks is the contrast in what leadership can look like. On one hand, there’s an emphasis on peace, dignity, and dialogue—on treating people as inherently worthy of respect. On the other, we see language and actions that can divide, dehumanize, and escalate conflict.
That contrast raises an important question: how do ordinary people make their own priorities—around dignity, accountability, and respect—more visible in a way that actually shapes outcomes?
Without some way to make that shared ground visible, it’s easy for louder, more divisive narratives to dominate, even when they don’t reflect what most people want.
I’ve been working on a small volunteer platform, One Voice One Vote – Count and Deliver, aimed at helping surface those shared priorities in a structured way.
If “unity” is something we care about, it seems like being able to see where it actually exists is a necessary first step.
https://countanddeliver.org
Sadly, millions of people, mostly your parents and grandparents, watch this (bleep) hole Hannity and other Fox anchors spout off nightly on things about which he knows nothing. They believe every word he says. We have former friends who became totally deluded by Fox. We ghosted them.
I’m 73 and never watch Fox. Don’t assume because someone is over 65 they are watching Hannity and Fox. I think Pope Leo is a gift from God through Pope Francis.
I assume you mean people in my age group (65+). Neither my similar in age friends nor I ever listen to that blow hard sycophant. Please be careful when making generalizations.
It is we who will tip the scales in the next election. It is we who stand with Pope Leo.
All best to you.
Exactly...we are in that age group and would never ever consider watching Fox news on any format -- TV or online. We too stand with Pope Leo.
So true at 83 years and furious with anyone that thinks it’s ok to listen to propaganda from FOX.
If my parents were still living, they would be 104 years old. They had zero respect for either Hannity or the president, whom my parents called a carnival barker. It is true, though, that a large segment of supporters of these types are in the older demographics.
Absolutely! Here in FloriDumb, all we have to do is look at that benighted mega-MAGA "retirement" community, The Villages, to see the 65+ demographics in their MAGA-decorated golf carts.
Hannity is qualified to be a boot licker for dtrump and nothing more! He’s as corrupt and as big a liar as dtrump and all his minions!! Just another POS!!!