Nournews: The arrival of Christmas and the anniversary of the birth of Christ (PBUH) is, each year, an opportunity for pause and reflection — a brief pause in the midst of the noise of politics, war, crisis, and mistrust. But on the threshold of the eventful year 2025 coming to an end, this pause and reflection more than ever turns into a serious question: if Christ were to return to the world today, what kind of world would he encounter? A world closer to his message — or one further away than ever?
The Estrangement of Christ’s Central Message
Among the enduring and core messages of Christ was peace through love — a peace born of empathy, humility, and respect for human dignity. Yet the contemporary world, especially within the logic of modern politics, has highlighted another narrative of peace: peace through power.
In this narrative — clearly reflected in the slogans and policies of Donald Trump and similar movements — peace is not the result of justice, trust, and compassion, but the product of displaying power, threats, sanctions, and even pre-emptive attack. Although this logic may appear deterrent in the short term, from a religious-ethical perspective it is fundamentally un-Christian — indeed, un-religious. A peace built on fear, coercion, and intimidation is not peace; it is merely a temporary suspension of violence.
Christ never said the world should be reformed through power; he said it should be transformed through love. Instead of calling his followers to domination and conquest, he invited them to service and compassion; instead of conquering lands, he proposed conquering hearts. By this measure, were Christ to return today, his first moral shock might not arise from the naked violence of enemies, but from the power-laden language of those who claim to follow him — those who, in the name of security, have abandoned ethics and, in the name of peace, have legitimized violence.
One of Christ’s most central teachings — “love your neighbor and your fellow human being” — has today become painfully neglected and estranged. The modern world, though transformed into a “global village,” is morally more distant and colder than ever. We are more aware than at any time of the suffering of others — yet we feel less responsible for it. The image of pain has become ordinary, and the repetition of tragedy has eroded our moral sensitivity.
Gaza: An Exhibit of Moral Collapse
In this context, the tragedy of Gaza — like an open wound — continues to challenge the conscience of the world, in the very historical and geographical neighborhood from which Christ’s story emerged. The children who died beneath the rubble, the women left defenseless to war and blockade, and the people deprived of the most basic human rights are not merely numbers in a news report — they are the very “neighbors” whom Christ called upon us to love.
Silence in the face of this suffering — or worse, justifying it with terms such as “legitimate defense” or “security necessity” — is a sign of moral collapse in politics. No honest reading of the Gospel can justify the killing of civilians, and no sincere Christian can close their eyes to the death of children. If Christ were to return today, it is unlikely he would stand beside the justifiers of such violence; he would be where he has always been — with the victims, not in the rooms of power.
From this perspective, the world today needs a miracle more than ever — not a supernatural miracle, but a moral one. Contemporary politics has gone blind to the human being, and the world needs healing for this blindness. Consciences buried beneath layers of national interests, geopolitical rivalries, and electoral calculations are in need of revival. Our world does not suffer from a lack of information or analysis; what is absent is empathy.
If Christ were to return today, he would likely be neither welcomed in palaces nor admitted to decision-making rooms. His language would be, for our world, both too simple and too radical. Speaking of loving one’s enemy, unconditional defense of the oppressed, and placing ethics before power — in a world that confuses realism with ruthlessness — sounds unsettling, even dangerous.
Perhaps for this very reason one may say that Christ today is the greatest stranger in the world — a stranger because his message is either unheard or distorted; and perhaps the most sorrowful Christian as well — sorrowful not because people fail to believe, but because human suffering is no longer the world’s primary concern.
If the birth of Christ is to be more than a ceremony, it must compel us to rethink: does a world that seeks peace through power still have the capacity to hear the message of love? And we — in the face of our neighbor’s suffering — have we remained spectators, or do we feel responsible?
Perhaps the miracle the world needs today is not the physical return of Christ, but a sincere return to his message — a message which, despite its simplicity, remains the most radical critique of our unkind and merciless world.