The Pharaoh Problem: Chosen by Faith, Not Pedigree

Set aside the later Pauline interpretations for a moment and look straight at Jesus in the Gospels. What you see is a man breaking down religious tollbooths—confronting gatekeepers who claimed a monopoly on God. He didn’t preach a church-run pipeline to grace or a rulebook that made a few “chosen” by race, religion, or culture. He called a people chosen by faith—anyone with ears to hear. When modern Christians slip into the Pharaoh mindset—control the crowd, guard the privilege, decide who’s in or out—we reopen the same doors to fear and hate that Jesus stood against.

I say this as someone who’s led troops, mentored young leaders, and seen systems from the ground floor to the command post. Control feels safe. But the Kingdom doesn’t run on control; it runs on truth, mercy, and disciplined love.

In Jesus’ day, purity codes and religious status often outweighed compassion. Holiness got measured by distance—how far you stayed from “unclean” people—rather than by proximity to the hurting. Jesus flipped that script. He ate with tax collectors and sinners, spoke with a Samaritan woman at a well, touched lepers, healed on the “wrong” day, and told stories where the hero was the last person you’d expect—the Samaritan, the prodigal, the widow with two coins. That wasn’t rebellion for rebellion’s sake; it was calibration. He was resetting God’s people to the center: mercy, justice, humility. In His economy, faith outranks pedigree, and fruit outranks titles.

Look close at His method. He doesn’t abolish structure; He re-purposes it. The Sabbath becomes a gift, not a gate. Table fellowship becomes a hospital, not a trophy room. Parables disarm defensiveness and go straight to the conscience. Jesus builds order that serves people, not people who serve order. That’s the difference between Kingdom leadership and religious management.

The Historical Mirror

We’re not in first-century Judea, but the human heart hasn’t changed much. Our era has its own gatekeeping:

• Culture-war litmus tests that decide who’s “in” before we’ve heard anyone’s story.
• Respectability politics that swap image for integrity.
• Platform church, where brand can outrun compassion and metrics crowd out mercy.

None of that looks like Jesus. It looks a little like Pharaoh—tight-fisted leadership that fears losing control more than losing people. The result? Fear over faith, walls higher than our tables are long, and a slow drift from shepherding to managing.

A note on witnesses: which New Testament books come from the disciples?

If we briefly bracket later interpretations and ask, “What did the first witnesses say?”, here’s the traditional map:

• Matthew — traditionally attributed to Matthew (one of the Twelve).
• John — Gospel of John; 1–3 John; Revelation are traditionally linked to John the Apostle (with scholarly debate on authorship of some).
• 1–2 Peter — attributed to the Apostle Peter.
• James — attributed to James, the brother of Jesus and leader of the Jerusalem church (not one of the Twelve, but an apostolic witness).
• Jude — attributed to Jude (brother of James; some traditions identify him with Thaddeus, one of the Twelve).

Close apostolic associates who were not among the Twelve also wrote: Mark (companion of Peter) and Luke–Acts (companion of Paul). Paul authored many letters. Hebrews is anonymous.

Thought experiment: “What if Paul wasn’t truly converted?”

You posed a hard question: What if Saul’s Damascus story wasn’t conversion but a strategy to steer the movement—another form of mass control? As a literary device, that question forces us to inspect our assumptions about power, church, and who gets to define “orthodoxy.”

Two clarifying points help keep the conversation honest:

• Historical mainstream. The earliest sources we possess (including Paul’s own letters, written before the Gospels) present him as a sincere convert who championed Gentile inclusion by faith, not a Roman agent of control. His communities were decentralized house churches, not a top-down bureaucracy. Even if you don’t agree with every Pauline line, his banner claim is radically anti-gatekeeping: “There is neither Jew nor Greek…” and salvation by grace through faith.
• Where gatekeeping grew. Much of the heavy institutional gatekeeping emerged after the apostolic era as the church organized, survived persecution, and later encountered imperial favor. That’s where creed, canon, and hierarchy solidified—for good order, yes, but also with a real risk of control. Bluntly: the Pharaoh problem is perennial, and any movement—Pauline or otherwise—can slide into it if leaders love power more than people.

So, even if we bracket Paul to test your thesis, the Gospels already give you enough: Jesus tears down tollbooths and refuses pedigree-based chosenness. And if we read Paul carefully, there’s strong alignment with faith over lineage and table over barrier. Your critique, then, isn’t “anti-Paul”; it’s anti-control.

Whether we’re reading Matthew, John, Peter—or wrestling with Paul—the Kingdom metric stays the same: mercy, justice, humility. Leaders who follow Jesus move toward people, not away from them; build tables before stages; choose confession before correction; practice mercy with a spine; and audit policies by their fruit. If our systems turn grace into a toll road, we’ve left the Way. The invitation is to recalibrate—back to faith over pedigree and people over posturing.

.

Jesus’ Counter-Move

Look at His playbook:

• Open tables. He invites the wrong people to dinner and lets grace do the work.
• Human over rulebook. “The Sabbath was made for man.” He honors the law by fulfilling its purpose—restoring life.
• Story that disarms. Parables cut through argument and go straight to the conscience.
• Faith before lineage. “Whosoever.” If you trust, you belong; if you love, you’re known.

That is not antistructure; it’s holy structure—order that serves people, not people who serve order.

The Modern Pharaoh Problem

When churches or Christian leaders start guarding image, privilege, and control, we drift from Shepherd to Pharaoh. You can hear it in the fruit: fear over faith, “us vs. them” labels, hearts that harden quicker than they humble. And once fear takes the wheel, hate isn’t far behind—first as sarcasm and suspicion, then as policies that wound.

When zeal grabs the steering wheel of the State

Let’s talk Modern America. “Separation of church and state” was never a gag order on faith—it was a guardrail against coercion. It protects the church from being a mouthpiece for power and protects the public square from any one sect commanding everyone’s conscience. When new zealots baptize the nation and treat political victory like spiritual purity, we’re not witnessing revival—we’re watching control dress up as conviction.

That script sounds familiar: America is for people who look like us, worship like us, vote like us—and the rest are enemies, not God’s children. We’ve seen this movie:

• Nativist movements that decided who was “real American.”
• Slavery and Jim Crow propped up by pulpits that quoted verses but ignored neighbors.
• Know-Nothing politics, exclusion acts, redlining—policy turned into a purity code.

Every time, somebody claimed God’s endorsement for a smaller table. That isn’t the Kingdom; that’s Pharaoh with a choir.

Does this align with Jesus?

Line it up with Jesus’ own pattern:

• People over posture. He touches lepers, eats with tax collectors, dignifies Samaritans. If your strategy needs an enemy to stay alive, it’s not His.
• Freedom over coercion. He says “follow me,” not “or else.” No forced worship, no state-backed holiness.
• Peacemakers over power-brokers. He blesses the poor in spirit, the merciful, the peacemakers—not the platform builders.
• Table before tribe. His guest list keeps exploding—outsiders first in line.

By that measure, any message claiming a nation for one race, culture, or denomination fails the Jesus test. It also fails the Image-of-God test; if every person bears God’s image, then weaponizing faith to shrink who counts is blasphemy by policy.

How the drift happens (and how to resist it)

Pharaoh-drift is sneaky. It starts with good intentions—“protect the truth, protect the flock”—then swaps protection for control.

Watch for these tells:

• Loyalty oaths to party or platform that outrank love of neighbor.
• Sermons that make it easier to hate your opponent than to serve your neighbor.
• Policies that guard the stage but neglect the table.

Resist with these practices:

• Conscience over coercion. Advocate in public life, yes—coerce no one.
• Hospitality over homogeneity. Sit with difference until you can love it.
• Accountability over applause. Let the poor, the outsider, and those harmed by our policies speak into our leadership.
• Fruit audits. If our work isn’t growing love, joy, peace, patience, kindness—rethink it. The Spirit’s fruit is still the Kingdom’s KPI.

Jesus didn’t die to crown a new Pharaoh. He died to free slaves—including leaders enslaved to control. If America is going to be healed instead of hardened, the church must choose towel over throne, table over gate, and faith over pedigree. That’s not weakness. That’s the strongest thing we could do.

What Faith That Frees Looks Like

If “chosen by faith” is more than a slogan, it must look like something. Here’s the leadership picture, drawn from the Gospels and tested on the ground:

• Proximity over posturing. Sit with people who make you uncomfortable. Listen before you label.
• Tables before stages. Spend more time in circles than in spotlights. Ministry without meals usually becomes management.
• Confession before correction. Start with our own logs, not their specks. Authority grows from humility.
• Mercy with a spine. This isn’t softness—it’s strength aimed at restoration. Boundaries stay up; doors stay open.
• Fruit audits. If a policy, sermon, or strategy doesn’t grow love, joy, peace, patience, kindness—rethink it. The Spirit’s fruit is the Kingdom’s KPI.

Leadership Notes from the Field

After 24 years in the Army National Guard, here’s what I know: pressure reveals doctrine. Under stress, we reach for whatever we truly trust. Pharaoh reaches for tighter fists. Jesus reaches for a towel.

Churches, families, and organizations have to choose: Do we lead by fear of losing control, or by faith that love—ordered and disciplined—actually changes people? One way builds pyramids; the other builds people.

A People by Faith

“Chosen people” in Scripture was never a trophy; it was a task—blessed to be a blessing. If our chosenness creates a caste, we’ve misread our calling. The ground at the foot of the cross is level, and the invitation is wide. That doesn’t erase standards; it reframes them. Holiness isn’t a fence to keep people out—it’s a path that helps people walk in the light.

If We’ve Missed the Point

Here’s the gut-check: If our faith builds walls instead of tables, we’ve missed the point. If our sermons make enemies easier to hate than neighbors easier to love, we’ve missed the point. If our churches mirror the Pharaoh’s palace more than the Upper Room, we’ve missed the point.

The good news is we can repent. We can return to the center. We can be the kind of leaders who can take the heat—not by doubling down on power, but by laying it down for people.

The Invitation

Modern America is hungry for something deeper than outrage. We don’t need another empire dressed in church clothes. We need communities where truth is spoken with courage, mercy is practiced with discipline, and faith—not pedigree—opens the door. Jesus already showed the way. The question is whether we trust Him enough to walk it.