“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE”: A MESSAGE TO DONALD TRUMP AND THE HOLY MEME BRIGADE.

Editor’s Note:

This sermon wasn’t delivered by Jesus Christ. Not literally. But in the wake of Donald Trump’s AI-generated photo posing as pope — just days after the death of Pope Francis — we couldn’t help but wonder: What would Jesus actually say about all this? Not the soft-focus, TV-pastor Jesus. The real one. The one who flipped tables, called out hypocrites, and warned the powerful to humble themselves or be humbled. If He saw Trump’s meme and JD Vance’s defense of it, this is what we imagine it might sound like..

JESUS SPEAKS:

I’m going to say this once — and clearly.

You are not the Pope.

You are not holy.

You are not even trying.

You are a man who mistook attention for anointing, applause for absolution, and Photoshop for the power of God.

I walked this earth with no throne, no title, no marketing team. I preached from boats, hillsides, and borrowed homes. I entered the city on a donkey, not a jet. When I wore white, it was linen. When I raised my hand, it was to heal — not to brand.

And now here you are — in robes you never earned, raising a finger you use for lawsuits, posing as a shepherd when you wouldn’t last five minutes with real sheep.

You don’t know the weight of that vestment. You couldn’t carry it. Not because it’s heavy, but because it’s honest.

And you, the man who defended him — you saw this circus, this mockery, this holy parody, and you said, “Well, I’m fine with jokes.”

Of course you are.

You’d be fine with golden calves if the lighting was good.

You’d be fine with selling prayer oil if the margins looked decent.

You would laugh in the courtyard while they hammered the nails — and then tweet about how misunderstood you are.

Let me be clear:

I’m not angry that you joked. I’m not afraid of jokes.

I invented irony.

I once said it’s easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven — and you all thought I was talking about actual camels.

What offends me is the hollow theater.

What offends me is using death as a costume change.

What offends me is borrowing the symbols of a sacred calling to prop up a brand.

You didn’t honor Pope Francis.
You hijacked his funeral and made it a campaign stop.

You saw the smoke rising from St. Peter’s and thought,

“What if it spelled my name?”

You turned mourning into marketing.

You turned Truth into Truth Social.

You turned the papacy into a punchline — and then dared the grieving to laugh.

You have confused virality with divinity.

You think because millions saw it, it must matter.

Let me tell you something about crowds:

I had them too.

They shouted my name.

And then they shouted for my execution.

Crowds are not disciples.

Retweets are not resurrection.

And memes are not miracles.

You want to wear the robe? Try washing feet.

You want the ring? Feed the poor.

You want to lead? Start by kneeling.
And not on a golf green.

You treat the Church like a prop.

You hold up Bibles like trophies.

You speak of faith like it’s a flavor of ice cream.

Something to sample, then discard.

Let me ask you something:

Would you recognize me if I came back tomorrow?

Or would you photoshop me too?

Would I be the radical you ignore?

The refugee you deport?

The poor man you step over?

Would you accuse me of socialism for flipping your tables?

Would you call me “woke” for feeding the hungry?

Would you say, “He’s not very presidential”?

Here’s what I want to say to you, both of you, all of you who stood by that image — who reposted it, excused it, laughed with it,
who turned My Father’s house into a punchline:

Get out.

Get out of My house with your photo ops.

Get out of My name with your merch drops.

Get out of My Gospel with your golden thrones and grievance theater.

The robe does not sanctify you.

The likes do not absolve you.

The silence of your pastors does not protect you.

You stood at the altar of your own ego and called it church.

I have seen enough.

And when the time comes, when the veil tears and the stage lights fall…

Do not say you weren’t warned.

Because I told you.

I told you loudly.

I told you clearly.

I told you with love, yes — but this time, with volume:

You are not the Pope.

You are not the truth.

And I do not know you.

---

If you're tired of watching false prophets turn faith into farce, subscribe to Closer to the Edge.

We don’t sell salvation. We ask real questions, expose frauds, and flip every table that needs flipping.