President Donald Trump has been playing Russian roulette with genocide.
Ninety minutes before his own deadline expired, the man in charge of the most powerful and lethal military force in the world decided not to destroy a civilization. And the global response was simply a sigh of relief. There wasn’t a bullet in the chamber, at least this time.
But the world remains gripped with anxiety over what will happen next time the U.S. spins the chamber with nuclear bullets.
We live in a time of moral catastrophe. The fragile global infrastructure designed to hold nations at least minimally accountable to recognize our common humanity lies in rubble, just like Iran’s destroyed bridges and universities. While leaders in Iran, the U.S., Israel, and other warring countries all have blood on their hands, it is Trump who has blasted apart any pretense of respect for laws, norms, agreements, institutions, and practices that attempt to hold a torch for human dignity in the face of the annihilating brutality of violence and warfare.
Some seem to think that Trump’s brazen, profane, and vicious bellicosity is only a shrewd negotiating tactic or regrettable personality trait. That is not consolation; it’s fatal naivete. His record shows he is completely capable of compulsive vengeance and impulsive aggression. Trump has confessed, even to the New York Times, that the only restraint on his international actions is his own “morality.” This, said by one who not only lacks a moral compass but couldn’t identify a guiding north star because it would require him to look beyond his grandiose, narcissistic ego.
The unleashing of unmitigated war against Iran has been baptized as God’s holy cause by Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth in public Pentagon prayer services. Brazenly misusing scripture, he called for the help of God’s wrath in killing “wicked” enemies “who deserve no mercy” and should be “delivered to the eternal damnation prepared for them.”
According to legend, Emperor Constantine marched his legions through rivers to “baptize” them in preparation for war against the empire's foes. Hegseth’s language about war today is just as heretical and ungodly.
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The conflict between Caesar and God was on full display during the first Holy Week. The stone that was rolled away from the tomb broke the seal of the Roman empire, stunning the guards as an angel appeared. In that moment, God revealed who has real power—the power of life rather than death. When John wrote his account of this, the Roman emperor was Domitian, who took on the title “Lord and God.” When Thomas sees the wounds of a love that suffers and redeems, and declares “my Lord and my God,” it was a rebuke to the emperor of his time. It’s still a rebuke to our would-be emperor today in the partially demolished White House.
Trump’s annihilating edicts and acts will continue. In this time of moral catastrophe, the voice of faith must break through all the diplomatic consternation and political speculation. Trusting in the ways of annihilation, vengeance, and war brings a harvest of death, not just to its victims but ultimately to its perpetrators and their empires. Embracing the pathways of life, even through pain and suffering, will break the seal of any empire, confound its leaders, and reveal that love is victorious over the reign of sin, evil, and death. Even today.
The world remains gripped with anxiety over what will happen next time the U.S. spins the chamber with nuclear bullets.
Wes Granberg-Michaelson is a contributing editor to Sojourners. His most recent book is The Soulwork of Justice: Four Movements of Contemplative Action (Orbis Books). He and his wife, Kaarin, live in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
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