For those who claim America is a “Christian nation,” here’s a hard question:

If Jesus walked among us today, would he be building walls or feeding the hungry?

This isn’t about punishing success—it’s about rethinking the role of wealth in society. The ultra-wealthy don’t create value simply by existing. Their fortunes don’t trickle down. Their unchecked accumulation of resources leaves billions struggling.

Humanism teaches that our legacy is measured not by how much we hoard, but by how much we help.

Humanism teaches that our worth isn’t defined by how much we accumulate, but by how much we contribute to the well-being of others. When one person has more money than they could ever spend in a thousand lifetimes while others sleep on the streets, it’s clear we have a system problem.

I’ve always understood that billionaires have a lot of money. But the day I saw the raw numbers laid out, something clicked. The sheer magnitude of the disparity between the ultra-wealthy and the rest of us became undeniable.

When disaster strikes, we don’t ask about immigration status before offering a helping hand. We don’t check church attendance before pulling someone from the rubble. We don’t hesitate to help our neighbors rebuild.

But somewhere along the way, a different version of Christianity took root. A version that forgot about the loaves and fishes and instead became obsessed with who is worthy of food in the first place. A version that turned 'love thy neighbor' into 'love thy neighbor—but only if they look, speak, and believe like you.'

For too long, morality has been hijacked. The idea of "loving thy neighbor" has been twisted into something unrecognizable—a tool for control instead of a call for compassion.

We just live our lives with kindness, honesty, and responsibility—because it’s the right thing to do.