Throwback Thursday: Faith in the Face of Fascism

It’s an uncomfortable title, I know. “Fascism” feels dramatic. Like something from a history book. Or a distant country. Or a dystopian novel we don’t really want to admit we’re living inside.

But if we’re honest—and we have to be—there’s a reason this word is showing up in headlines, protests, and prayers.

Something dangerous is rising. Not just policy shifts, but patterns. Not just disagreement, but dehumanization. And for those of us rooted in faith, the question is urgent: how do we respond when the gospel gets hijacked by empire?

In Episode 4, “Narcissus at the Pool,” we sat with Rev. Tony Snow, an Indigenous Traditional Knowledge Keeper and United Church Minister, who spoke with clarity and compassion about the long legacy of colonization in the name of Christ. About how the gospel—meant to be good news—has been weaponized to suppress, convert, and erase. And about the quiet courage of reclaiming that same story through Indigenous ceremony, relationship, and truth-telling.

Tony didn’t preach despair. He preached resistance. He reminded us that the Spirit does not belong to systems of domination. That sacred wisdom cannot be colonized. That empire may call itself righteous, but it has always been threatened by liberation.

And that stuck with me.

Because when politicians drape themselves in religious language to justify cruelty—when they speak of “order” and “purity” and “returning to values,” we need to ask: whose values? Whose bodies are being policed? Whose lives are being pushed to the margins?

In Episode 7, “Dinghies and Yachts,” we took a deep dive into the myths we’ve built around wealth, poverty, and deservingness. We talked about how meritocracy makes us cruel. How a theology of personal responsibility too often becomes a cover for systemic neglect. And how the church sometimes echoes the empire instead of confronting it.

What struck me most in that conversation was how easily we fall into the logic of scarcity—even in spiritual spaces. We want to believe there’s enough grace for everyone. But when resources are stretched, when fear takes hold, when power is threatened… we start building fences.

And yet, in Episode 8, “Dam Good Neighbours,” we caught a different vision. One shaped not by power, but by proximity. Panelists spoke about community organizing, mutual aid, grassroots creativity. Not as charity—but as resistance. As holy disruption.

Because here’s the thing: fascism doesn’t just want to silence dissent. It wants to isolate us. To convince us that connection is dangerous, and that neighborliness is naïve. But the gospel says otherwise.

The gospel says love your neighbor—not fear them.
The gospel says blessed are the peacemakers—not the powerful.
The gospel says break bread—not break ranks.

I want to say this carefully: I know not every person who leans conservative is fascist. That’s not the point.

The point is that when Christian language is used to embolden authoritarianism, ban books, surveil classrooms, deny medical care, and dehumanize 2SLGBTQIA+ people, it’s not “just politics.” It’s spiritual rot. And silence from the pulpit—or the pew—is complicity.

And yet… I still believe in grace. I still believe in the church. I still believe that faith can be a source of healing, not harm.

But only if we’re willing to confront the systems we’ve too long blessed.

So here’s what I think it means to have faith in the face of fascism:

It means paying attention.
It means choosing solidarity over safety.
It means asking hard questions about how we vote, how we pray, and who we follow.

It means remembering that Jesus was not executed for being nice. He was killed by the state for challenging the status quo. For healing on the wrong day. For dining with the wrong people. For telling the truth.

It means that our faith must be more than private comfort. It must be public courage.

And it means that even now—even here—we can choose the better way.