Pastor Rich Bitterman
A hush fell over the city courthouse as dusk pulled its blanket across the skyline. The flag barely stirred. It felt like a funeral no one had the decency to attend.
Inside, a man placed his hand on a book. Not the Bible. The Quran. He raised his right hand. He swore his oath in English, but his loyalty was to Allah.
The cameras clicked. The crowd clapped politely.
And the church?
Silent.
The headlines moved on by morning, swallowed by football scores and weather reports. But a gate had shifted. A threshold crossed. A foreign god seated at the table, invited by the vote of a free people.
We are not watching the rise of tolerance. We are watching the transfer of power.
The Religion That Marches
Islam does not hide its ambition. It never has.
Its name means submission.
Its followers are trained from birth to bend the knee not just in prayer, but in politics, in schooling, in economics, in battle. It is not a religion tucked quietly in the soul. It is an empire masquerading as devotion.
Its prophet was no preacher in a wilderness tent. Muhammad led armies. He forged laws. He executed dissenters. He declared war on the world, then built a civilization with the bones of his enemies.
He began in a cave, claiming visions. He ended in a palace, commanding swords.
He wept over no sinners. He bled for no sheep.
And when he died, the conquest did not.
Within a century, his successors had swallowed Syria, Persia, Egypt, North Africa, and Spain. They pressed toward the Alps. They planted their crescent banner on steeples that once rang with bells.
Not by invitation. By force.
Wherever the sword reached, the mosque followed. And wherever the mosque rose, the cross fell.
A New Weapon
But the sword has changed hands. Steel has given way to paper ballots. Loudspeakers now call the faithful to prayer in the heart of Western cities while the church struggles to gather its own on Sunday mornings.
In places where the Gospel once rang, minarets pierce the sky.
Elections are no longer civic debates. They are spiritual battles. The ones who win do not merely write policy. They shape culture. They decide which god will be honored in public square and public school.
And while we argue over music styles and parking lot signage, Islam votes, organizes, advances.
The ballots come wrapped in soft language. Representation. Diversity. Equity.
But behind the words stands a centuries-old creed. A law. A system. A demand.
The Theology of Chains
Islam offers no Savior. No sacrifice. No empty tomb.
It offers five pillars.
Say the words.
Face the east.
Skip the meals.
Pay the fee.
Make the trip.
Then hope it’s enough.
There is no cross in Mecca. There is no resurrection in Medina. There is only law, duty, fear, and the never-ending weight of trying to be good enough.
Heaven is pleasure. Hell is certain. Assurance is a mirage unless you die in war.
And that is why death becomes a weapon.
Not all Muslims strap bombs to their chest. But the system makes room for those who do. Martyrdom is not insanity. It is logic inside a cage.
Why Christianity Is Retreating
They win elections not because they are stronger.
But because they show up.
They raise sons to memorize the Quran while we raise ours on YouTube shorts.
They pray before sunrise while we hit snooze.
They know what they believe. We apologize for believing anything at all.
Islam is conquering not because its message is better. But because the church forgot it had one.
The Battle Is Not Against Flesh
This is not a call to hatred.
This is a call to wakefulness.
Our battle is not against Muslims. It is against the lie that Christ is anything less than Lord of all.
We do not rage at people. We rage against the darkness that blinds them.
The answer is not in screaming at mosques or banning headscarves.
The answer is in preaching Christ.
The church must reclaim its courage.
We must disciple our children until they know the Word.
We must raise our hands in worship and our voices in the street.
We must stop waiting for politicians to protect us and remember that the Gospel never needed permission.
The Gospel That Cannot Be Voted Away
Let the world offer submission to a distant god who watches from above but comes down for no one.
We preach a King who knelt to wash feet, who sweat blood in the garden, who let soldiers spit in His face.
Let the world build ladders of works that collapse under the weight of guilt.
We point to a hill where grace hung bleeding, arms wide, crown of thorns pressed into the skull of the only One who ever kept the law.
Let the world boast of progress.
We boast in a cross.
And that cross does not bend. It does not negotiate. It does not retreat.
It stands where kingdoms fall. It towers over minarets and political empires. It beckons the weary, offends the proud, breaks chains, and crushes the serpent’s head.
We Must Rise
Christian, the hour feels late.
The crescent is rising in places where the cross once led. But the story isn’t finished.
Let them vote. Let them build.
So will we.
We will rise not with violence, but with voices that cannot be silenced.
Not with rage, but with resurrection.
Not with fear, but with faith.
Christ is not running for office.
He already rules.
And the day is coming when every knee will bow, not because it was commanded, but because the King has come.
Until then, preach.
Pray.
Train your children.
Stand at the gate.
And do not move.