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Throughout American history, Christianity has been wielded both as a weapon of oppression and as a force of liberation. Nowhere is this contradiction more apparent than in the faith of enslaved Black people and the so-called Christianity of their enslavers. While the oppressors distorted scripture to justify their brutality, the enslaved gathered in secret, whispering spirituals of deliverance to a God who promised liberation. This division continued through the Civil Rights Movement, as Black churches championed justice while segregationists clung to a faith twisted to uphold white supremacy. And today, in 2025, we face the same question:

Which church will we be?

Two Christianities: One of Oppression, One of Liberation

By the eve of the Civil War, Christianity was deeply embedded in the enslaved community. Some enslaved people were permitted to attend white-led church services, but the sermons they heard preached obedience: Servants, obey your masters. Do not steal. Work hard, and you will be rewarded in heaven.

But the enslaved knew better. They risked their lives to worship in hush harbors, gathering beneath the stars to proclaim a different gospel—one of freedom and justice. They sang of Moses leading their people out of bondage, of a Jesus who had come to proclaim release to the captives. Their faith was not in submission but in survival. They knew that the God of their oppressors was not the God they served.

This same spiritual divide resurfaced during the Civil Rights Movement. While Black churches organized sit-ins, marches, and voter registration drives, white supremacists gathered in their own churches to defend segregation. Some claimed that racial integration was against God’s will, that justice was a threat to Christian values. But the faithful—those who marched, who prayed, who faced fire hoses and police dogs—knew better. Once again, two Christianities stood in stark opposition: one that fought for justice and one that fought to maintain injustice.

The Legacy of Bloody Sunday: A Church That Marches for Justice

Sixty years ago, on March 7, 1965, hundreds of peaceful demonstrators began their march across the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama. They were met by a wall of police officers who tear-gassed them, beat them with clubs, and trampled them on horseback. A young man named John Lewis suffered a fractured skull that day—but he did not stop marching.

Two weeks later, led by Lewis and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., thousands of protestors completed the 54-mile journey to Montgomery, demanding the right to vote. The brutality of Bloody Sunday shocked the nation, and by that summer, the Voting Rights Act of 1965 was signed into law.

This weekend, faith leaders, members of Congress, and civil rights veterans will gather in Selma to commemorate the 60th anniversary of that fateful day. They will stand in the shadow of history, reflecting on the courage of those who risked everything for justice. But remembrance alone is not enough.

The Struggle Continues in 2025

We are still in the midst of this struggle. Voter suppression laws threaten to disenfranchise Black and marginalized communities. Politicians attack the teaching of Black history, ban books, and seek to erase the very stories that shape our fight for justice. Hate-filled theology continues to be used to justify the oppression of LGBTQ+ people, immigrants, and the poor.

Just as in the civil war era, just as in civil rights era, two Christianities exist today: One that fights for justice, and one that seeks to maintain oppression. Some churches are using their pulpits to push policies that strip away human dignity. Others, like those who marched in Selma, are putting their faith into action, resisting injustice wherever it appears.

So, the question remains: Which church will we be?

A Call to the Church

We are the inheritors of a great legacy. The faith of the enslaved, the faith of those who crossed the Edmund Pettus Bridge, the faith of John Lewis and Martin Luther King, Jr., calls to us now. If we claim to follow Christ, we cannot remain silent.

The oppressors have always had their churches. But the faithful have always had ours. And history has judged which church was right.

Let us not grow weary in well-doing (Galatians 6:9). Let us be the church that history will remember as standing on the side of the oppressed. Let us be as bold, as tenacious, and as unrelenting as the faith of our ancestors.

Because, make no mistake: We do not worship the same God as those who preach hate.