The Reign of God or The Forces of Empire?

Today’s reflection is by Bondings 2.0 contributor Yunuen Trujillo.

Today’s liturgical readings for the Twenty-Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time can be found here.

“No one can serve two masters.

Either you will hate the one and love the other,

or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other.

You cannot serve both God and money.” Luke 16:1-13

If somebody asked you why there has been so much resistance in the institutional Catholic Church to welcoming and inclusive approaches toward the LGBTQ community, what would your answer be? Some might say it is because members of the hierarchy are close-minded, or afraid of what they don’t know, or—ever the favorite answer of some—because they want to avoid “scandal.” The truth is that while all of these factors are relevant, they are not the main cause.

What if I told you that at the core of this opposition is the love of power?

Today’s liturgical readings focus almost exclusively on how money is linked to dishonesty, power, and economic injustice. How does this relate to our current struggles in LGBTQ ministry and beyond?

The Scriptures tell us that it is the love of money that is the root of all kinds of evil. Yet it is only in money’s ability to buy power that a simple piece of paper becomes a source of corruption. For the earliest Christian communities, that link was crystal clear. Throughout his public ministry, Jesus placed the poor, the vulnerable, and the marginalized at the center of faith. He overturned tables, he scolded the greedy, and in parable after parable he made it clear that the rich would struggle to embrace his message. Following Jesus’ teachings, the first Christians shared a common purse and cared for one another.

However, only a few centuries after these early disciples, when the Roman Emperor Constantine embraced Christianity and later his successor Theodosius I made it the official religion of the empire, the faith was transformed into a tool of power, a force of empire. Since then, Christianity has reflected both realities: it is at once a source of transforming power that fights for the poor and marginalized, and also a tool of empire. Our mainstream theologies tend to align with one side or the other—either empire, with its hyper-focus on sin, guilt, suppression, and control; or the Gospel, with its focus on the poor and vulnerable, on love of God, self, and neighbor. For better or worse, we remain a mixture of both—as a religion, and very often as individual believers, each of us somewhere along that spectrum.

The ways the forces of empire show up in Christianity have changed over time, but they remain very much present. To understand how these forces manifest today in the U.S. Catholic Church, we must first acknowledge that the 20th century was a time of great growth and advancement—both in technology and in civil rights. In the early 20th century, workers secured labor protections and safety nets. In the 1960s, civil rights were expanded for African Americans and other marginalized groups, and immigration reforms shifted from focusing on racial exclusion to family reunification. In the 1970s, women gained the right to open bank accounts and access credit without needing their husbands’ signatures, gaining financial independence and greater access to civil divorce when relationships were harmful.

In the early 21st century, marriage equality for same-gender couples was recognized. The 20th and early 21st centuries were fruitful times for marginalized communities, but these advances disrupted the status quo—some might say, “too quickly.” In response, the institutional church leaders often positioned themselves as the keepers of “tradition.”

After losing influence for consecutive decades, American Christianity saw a way to regain power through the culture wars. Leaders built a broad coalition of groups resistant to change—including the immensely wealthy, along with individuals who, consciously or unconsciously, embraced misogynistic, racist, nativist, homophobic, or transphobic fears. 

This strategy, however, came at a cost: the American Catholic Church became more isolated from people’s realities. In the wake of the sexual abuse crisis of the early 21st century, the institutional Catholic church grew increasingly distrustful of anyone outside its tightly knit circle. The Church became afraid of “outsiders”.

Today, we see that this religious trend has culminated in the creation and spread of White Christian Nationalism—an ideology that fuses American identity with a narrow vision of Christianity centered on whiteness, heterosexuality, maleness, toxic masculinity, and the concentration of power in the hands of the privileged. The objective? To undo every progressive advance for the marginalized that occurred in the 20th and early 21st centuries by building a broad coalition of individuals who oppose at least one of these groups.

Has the love of power influenced opposition to LGBTQ inclusivity in the Church? Absolutely.

Are the values of our current political system the values of the Gospel? Absolutely not.

So what are we to do? Today’s Gospel calls us to be honest. We must do some soul-searching and ask ourselves: when have I, knowingly or unknowingly, aligned with the powers of empire by excluding or diminishing other marginalized groups? How can I connect with my marginalized identity as an LGBTQ+ person, family member, or ally to extend mercy beyond my immediate circle? How can we join hands in the fight for intersectional justice?

The signs of the times are speaking loudly. If we are to succeed in building a bigger table, we need a broad coalition that is Gospel-based. We are already doing great work—we must now break out of our silos.

—Yuenuen Trujillo, New Ways Ministry, September 21, 2025