Banned Books and the Beatitudes

There’s a special kind of irony in watching people who claim to follow Jesus (they frequently call him the “Word” of God) try to erase his actual words from public view.

We're living in a time when school boards are banning Toni Morrison and Maya Angelou while some folks in church are out here acting like Leviticus is the only book God ever wrote. Book banning used to be a plot line in dystopian novels, now it's just another Tuesday in Tennessee.

And don’t think it stops with school libraries. This is a full-on theological crisis disguised as a PTA meeting.

Because when you start banning books that make people think, feel, question, or God forbid empathize, what you’re really banning is Love in motion.

Who Gets to Tell the Story?

Let’s be real: it’s not the books they fear.
It’s the perspective.

It’s not about “protecting children.” It’s about protecting a narrative where white is always right, history is neat and tidy, and God only speaks in English with a Southern accent.

They’re not scared of books with “bad language.” They’re scared of books that tell the truth about racism, gender, empire, sexuality, resistance, and the complicated beauty of being human.

That’s why they’re banning James Baldwin and Audre Lorde. That’s why they’re trying to keep kids from reading about Ruby Bridges. That’s why they’d rather quote Paul than listen to Maia Kobabe.

Because power can’t survive a well-told truth.

The Beatitudes Wouldn’t Make the Cut

Let’s play this out.

If the Beatitudes showed up in a public school library today, they'd probably be reported to the principal:

• Blessed are the poor? That sounds socialist.

• Blessed are the peacemakers? Clearly anti-military.

• Blessed are those who hunger for righteousness? Probably CRT in disguise.

• Blessed are the persecuted? Not unless they’re white and on Fox News.

They don’t want the Beatitudes.
They want bootstraps.

They don’t want to read about turning the other cheek.
They want “Stand Your Ground.”

Jesus: Banned for Being Too Real

He told stories with Samaritan protagonists.
He welcomed children without parental consent forms.
He praised beggars, immigrants, and bleeding women.

He sent his followers running to meet a Black, queer-coded eunuch on the side of the road and called it holy.
He said the kingdom belonged to the last, the least, and the ones the system forgot.

And for that?
They tried to cancel him the old-fashioned way,
with a cross.

Which, you know, worse than a book complaint form.

This Is About Power, Not Purity

Let’s stop pretending this is about “protecting innocence.”
It’s about policing imagination and controlling memory.

Because if the next generation reads the truth about slavery, civil rights, queer lives, and resistance, they might start questioning things that were never meant to be sacred in the first place.

Like capitalism.
Like whiteness.
Like the violent god of Christian nationalism.

And God forbid a kid finds out that Jesus was a brown-skinned radical who never once led a purity conference or quoted the founding fathers.

Final Benediction (Filed Under “Objectionable Content”)

If your faith depends on banning books,
it’s not faith.
It’s fear in a prayer shawl.

If your Jesus can’t survive a classroom with Baldwin and bell hooks on the shelves,
you’re not worshiping the Word.
You’re worshiping a propaganda campaign.

And if the Beatitudes are too dangerous for your school board,
maybe your gospel was never all that good to begin with.