Let me say this before I begin—because it matters.
I do not hate Muslims.
I do not hate Jews.
I do not hate Iran, Russia, or China.
I may not agree with the beliefs of Judaism or Islam, but disagreement is not hatred. Every person—regardless of nation, religion, or background—has the God-given right to exist. No one should be killed simply because they believe differently than I do.
Now that that is clear, let me speak plainly.
I’ll be honest with you—my frustration grows heavier by the day.
We are told, with confident voices and polished speeches, that our government is working to “liberate” the Iranian people. We are told this is about freedom. About justice. About doing what is right.
But I cannot reconcile those words with what we are seeing.
How do you free a people by bombing their neighborhoods?
How do you bring liberty by reducing homes to rubble?
How do you defend human dignity while striking places where families live, where children sleep, where ordinary life unfolds?
Is this what we now call freedom?
Let me ask it plainly—because plain truth is often the clearest truth:
If bombs fell on our towns…
If our schools were struck…
If our children were killed sitting in classrooms…
If our hospitals were reduced to dust…
If our power grid was crippled and thousands died in the darkness that followed…
Would we call that “collateral damage”?
No.
We would call it what it is.
We would call it terror.
And yet, when these same things happen somewhere else—when the victims speak another language, live under another flag—we are asked to see it differently. We are asked to justify it. To explain it away. To trust that somehow this destruction is necessary for a greater good.
But there is something deep within the human conscience—God-given, I believe—that resists that kind of reasoning.
Scripture reminds us in Isaiah 5:20 (KJV):
“Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness.”
At some point, we must ask ourselves:
Have we crossed that line?
I am not a military strategist. I am not privy to classified intelligence. But I do know this—right and wrong do not become blurred simply because they are wrapped in a flag or justified by power.
When civilians suffer… when homes are destroyed… when innocent lives are lost…
we are not looking at abstract policy anymore.
We are looking at human beings.
Men and women made in the image of God.
And I cannot escape this question:
How can we remain silent?
How can we, as a people who claim to value life, liberty, and justice, turn our heads while such tactics are used in our name?
Because make no mistake—whether we approve or not, whether we voted for it or not—these actions are carried out under the banner of our nation.
And silence…
silence becomes a form of consent.
Micah 6:8 tells us clearly what is required:
“To do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God.”
Justice without mercy becomes cruelty.
Power without humility becomes oppression.
And a nation that forgets this risks losing not just its moral authority—but its soul.
I am not writing this out of hatred.
I am writing this out of concern.
Concern for truth.
Concern for justice.
Concern for the kind of nation we are becoming.
Because if we justify the destruction of others in the name of peace…
if we excuse the suffering of civilians because it is politically convenient…
then we are walking a dangerous road.
And history has shown—over and over again—that road does not end well.
So I ask again, not as a politician, not as an expert—but as a preacher, and as a citizen:
Is this truly freedom?
Or have we begun to call something else by that name?
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