When Scripture Becomes a Sword Instead of a Table

Some folks grew up with the Bible as a comfort. A storybook full of parables, poetry, and promises. Others? Got handed a Bible like it was a weapon.

Not to read.
To use.
To strike.
To shame.

And, hey, maybe you're one of the folks who flinches a little when someone starts quoting scripture. Not because you don’t love God. But because you remember exactly how those verses were used to “put you in your place.”

Not loved. 
Not safe. 
Not enough.

The thing is, that’s not your fault. That’s not what the Bible was for.

Faith That Punches Down

We like to talk about Jesus as the Good Shepherd, the Healer, the One Who Welcomes, but too many churches today seem more interested in being gatekeepers than greeters. And if you’ve ever asked a hard question, claimed your pronouns, or brought your whole unpolished self into the room, you know how fast the tone can change.

One moment it's “everyone’s welcome.”

The next? It’s a sermon on “biblical authority” with your name practically in the pastor’s footnotes.

Theology that punches down isn’t theology. It’s domination with a cross around its neck.

And behind that power? Is a long, ugly history of empire, capitalism, and cultural control.

How Capitalism Warps the Church

Let’s go ahead and name the devil in the details: capitalism.

Capitalism doesn’t care about compassion. It sorts people by what they can produce, how much they can pay, or how much they please the powerful. And when that mindset seeps into the church? Everything becomes a transaction.

Grace gets priced.
Belonging gets branded.
Doctrine becomes currency.
And love? Love gets filtered through policy.

Suddenly, the church isn’t a place of rest; it’s a spiritual HOA with a list of rules you didn’t vote on. “Membership” starts to mean conformity. Leadership starts to look like a boardroom. And Jesus… well, he gets rebranded as a polite white guy in khakis who votes Republican and definitely prefers hymns over protest songs.

That’s not the Jesus who flipped tables.

That’s just capitalism with a crucifix.

The People Left Behind

The harm isn’t abstract. It has names.

It’s the trans kid who stopped showing up because their prayer request got turned into gossip.
It’s the divorced woman who got uninvited from small group.
It’s the couple who loved the music but couldn’t stomach another sermon about “God’s design for marriage.”
It’s the formerly incarcerated person who just wanted to sing, but was told they couldn’t lead.
It’s the activist who sat through five sermons on grace and still left hungry for justice.

They didn’t walk away because they lost faith.
They walked away because the church stopped looking like people following Jesus.

A Better Table

But here’s the good news: it doesn’t have to stay this way.

Scripture doesn’t have to be a sword. It can be bread. It can be story. It can be the language we use to say, “I see you,” when the world tries to erase people.

Jesus wasn’t building a brand. He was setting a table.

Not for the perfect. Not for the powerful. But for the hungry, the tired, the weird, the wounded, the ones who ask hard questions and bring their whole messy truth with them.

That’s the kind of faith we’re called to.
Not the one that gates grace.
But the one that multiplies it.

So if the church you're in starts looking more like a courtroom than a table… if the theology feels more like surveillance than sanctuary… maybe it’s time to find a better table.

Or build one.

Because there’s room. There’s enough.
And grace was never supposed to be rationed.