The images from Gaza haunt the conscience of humanity: endless columns of desperate families fleeing under bombardment, children sleeping in rubble, parents starving themselves to feed their offspring, and the constant, grinding terror of displacement after displacement. According to recent UN reports, over 250,000 people have been displaced from Gaza City in just the past month alone, adding to the nearly two million already displaced throughout the territory. As I write these words, countless Palestinian families—including an estimated 1,000 Palestinian Christians—are being forced from homes that have become uninhabitable ruins, joining what the International Displacement Monitoring Centre identifies as one of the largest displacement crises in the world today.
From a Christian perspective, this catastrophic human suffering demands more than political analysis; it requires theological and moral reflection rooted in our deepest convictions about human dignity, divine compassion, and justice. How might Jesus of Nazareth—the Palestinian Jew who knew the trauma of displacement as a refugee in Egypt—view what is happening in Gaza today? What does the forced displacement of an entire population reveal about the state of Christian witness in the world? This question beckons us beyond simplistic binaries and comfortable religious nationalism into the uncomfortable territory where faith meets solidarity with the crucified peoples of our time.
Biblical Landscapes of Displacement
The narrative of forced displacement is tragically familiar within Scripture. The Hebrew Bible tells countless stories of exile and displacement—from Adam and Eve expelled from Eden to the Israelites dragged into Babylonian captivity. God’s people knew the anguish of being driven from their land, the terror of living under occupation, and the bitter tears of displacement. The Psalmist captures this trauma vividly: “By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion” (Psalm 137:1).
These stories were not mere historical artifacts to Jesus; they formed the spiritual imagination of his Jewish identity. When Matthew’s Gospel tells us Joseph fled to Egypt with Mary and the infant Jesus to escape Herod’s slaughter of innocents, it places God himself in the position of a displaced person. The Incarnation thus includes the experience of forced migration—God becomes a refugee, sanctifying the experience of those who flee violence today. This theological truth should fundamentally shape how Christians view Gaza’s displaced millions: in their faces, we encounter Christ himself, who identified with the displaced and marginalized so completely that he said, “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me” (Matthew 25:40).
How Would Jesus View Gaza’s Displacement?
Based on the gospel accounts, Jesus would likely respond to Gaza’s suffering with three distinct postures:
1. Radical Identification with the Suffering
Jesus consistently demonstrated what Palestinian theologian Munther Isaac calls “Christ in the rubble”—the Christ who identifies not with powerful rulers but with victims buried under the debris of violence. In Gaza today, Christ is present in the child buried under concrete, the mother mourning her family, the father searching for bread. Jesus’ ministry was characterized by this intentional solidarity with those on the margins: the sick, the impoverished, the ritually unclean, the occupation-weary residents of Galilee. His compassion (literally “suffering with”) was not abstract pity but gut-wrenching identification . As Graham Joseph Hill writes, “The cross holds no nation; it holds brokenness, and it holds both Israelis and Palestinians”.
2. Unflinching Truth-Telling
Jesus would undoubtedly name the realities in Gaza with prophetic clarity. He would condemn Hamas’ horrific attacks on October 7th that killed approximately 1,200 Israelis and took hundreds hostage. But he would also condemn the disproportionate response that has left over 65,000 Palestinians dead, mostly civilians, and created famine conditions. Jesus never remained silent in the face of injustice, whether confronting religious leaders about their hypocrisy or driving money-changers from the temple. His example challenges us to speak truth without partiality, recognizing that “we cannot apologize for truth: and yet we must not weaponize it. We must speak truth rooted in lament, not in tribal vindication”.
3. Rejection of Dehumanizing Theologies
Jesus consistently challenged religious frameworks that justified ignoring human suffering. He healed on the Sabbath, touched the unclean, and ate with sinners—all acts that privileged human need over rigid interpretations of religion. In Gaza, Jesus would undoubtedly reject theologies that privilege one people’s security over another’s right to exist, or that use Scripture to justify endless violence. He would confront what Munther Isaac identifies as the “matrix of coloniality, racism, and theology” that enables the current violence . His ministry reveals a God whose compassion is “indiscriminately available to all”, not a tribal deity who takes sides in human conflicts.
The Crisis of Christian Conscience
The tragedy of Gaza’s displacement is not merely humanitarian; it represents a profound crisis of Christian conscience. While millions suffer, many Christians have remained silent, defensive, or openly supportive of policies that lead to civilian casualties and mass displacement. This failure stems from what Palestinian Christian Dr. Fares Abraham identifies as “the absence of Christ-honoring compassion during these darkest moments of our humanity”.
This moral failure has theological roots. For decades, certain strands of Christian theology—particularly forms of Christian Zionism—have uncritically supported Israeli policy while minimizing Palestinian suffering. This theology often spiritualizes away Palestinian rights and interprets biblical prophecies in ways that require unquestioning support for the Israeli state. As the Gaza war strains these theological models, even evangelical scholars are questioning whether their frameworks have “exhausted a group of evangelical Bible professors pursuing unity on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict”.
The result is what Munther Isaac rightly calls complicity: “The denial is so loud. It’s nothing short of complicity” . When we fail to name atrocities—when we hesitate to call out the killing of 17,000 children or the deliberate creation of famine conditions—we become like the religious leaders who passed by on the other side in Jesus’ parable of the Good Samaritan . Our silence echoes that of German Christians who largely failed to protest the Nazi persecution of Jews—a historical parallel that should unsettle every Christian conscience.
Beyond Bunker Mentalities: Toward a Cruciform Compassion
Christian response to Gaza’s displacement requires moving beyond what Graham Joseph Hill calls “bunker mentalities” that shrink our moral imagination . Nationalism, he argues, “shrinks the heart. Tribal identity makes vacuums in compassion.” Instead, we need a spirituality that embodies what the ancient Christian tradition called orthopathos—right emotions—particularly the virtue of compassion.
Table: Elements of Christian Response to Gaza’s Displacement
| Theological Concept | Traditional Response | Transformed Response |
|---|---|---|
| Compassion | Pity from a distance | Identification with suffering |
| Solidarity | Charity for those like us | Justice for all oppressed |
| Land Theology | Exclusive divine promise | Shared homeland for all |
| Security | Military protection for one | Human security for all |
| Peacemaking | Absence of conflict | Presence of justice |
This compassion is not mere sentiment but what the Latin root (compati) literally means: to suffer with . It moves beyond sympathy (“feeling for”) to identification (“suffering with”). This compassion becomes incarnational—taking flesh in concrete action:
1. The Spiritual Practice of Lament
Christian tradition offers us the language of lament—the spiritual practice of grieving honestly before God. Lament refuses to rush to resolution or theological justification. It sits in the dust with Job, weeps with Jesus at Lazarus’ tomb, and cries out with the Psalmist, “How long, O Lord?”. Lament creates space to “weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15), holding the cries of Gazan mothers alongside Israeli survivors of Hamas’ attacks. This lament must include both Israeli and Palestinian suffering, refusing to play a morbid calculus of comparative victimhood.
2. Prophetic Truth-Telling
Following Jesus requires naming injustices without partiality. We must condemn Hamas’ violence and call for the release of all hostages while also condemning Israel’s disproportionate tactics, blockade, and creation of famine conditions. This includes using accurate moral language—even when it makes us uncomfortable. When evidence mounts from numerous Holocaust scholars, genocide experts, and international bodies that Israel’s actions meet the legal definition of genocide, Christians must have the courage to name this reality.
3. Concrete Solidarity
Compassionate orthopathos must translate into orthopraxy—right action. This includes supporting humanitarian efforts, advocating for ceasefires, demanding our governments stop supplying weapons used against civilians, and welcoming displaced people. It means pressuring governments to “open windows for water, food, and medicine, without strings attached”. As Hill powerfully states, “We don’t bless bombs. We bless bread. We don’t sanctify oppression. We wash feet”.
4. Theological Reformation
We need to develop theological frameworks that transcend the partisan divides that have captured Christian witness. This requires rejecting the “us versus them” binary thinking that contradicts the inclusive vision of the gospel. As the Christians in Conversation on the Middle East group has modeled, we need spaces where “self-critique” and genuine listening can occur across theological divides. This theological reformation must center the image of God in every human being—Israeli and Palestinian alike—and recognize that authentic Christian hope “lies not in political solutions but in the Prince of Peace who will one day make all things right”.
The Courage to See Christ in the Rubble
The forced displacement of Gazans represents one of the great moral crises of our time—a crisis that demands Christian response rooted in the life and teachings of Jesus. This response begins with recognizing what Palestinian theologian Munther Isaac calls “Christ in the rubble”—the Christ who identifies with victims buried under the debris of violence . It continues with embracing a compassion that suffers with those who suffer, and it culminates in courageous action that protects life, demands justice, and refuses to choose between victims.
The way of Jesus—the way of the cross—invites us to stand in the crack where grief meets hope. It calls us to reject nationalistic idolatries and tribal loyalties that shrink our hearts. It challenges us to embody what Graham Joseph Hill calls “cruciform ethics” that “doesn’t shy from calling out abuses but does so without rhetorical weaponry”.
As the world watches Gaza’s displacement with either horror or indifference, Christians face a choice: will we be chaplains to power or sanctuaries for the broken? Will we bless bombs or bless bread? Will we sanctify oppression or wash feet? The answer will determine not only the credibility of our witness but the fidelity of our discipleship.
In the end, the question is not whether God is present in Gaza’s suffering—the Incarnation assures us God is profoundly there, buried in the rubble with the suffering. The real question is whether we will have the courage to join God there.
“Grief cracks the heart open wide enough to carry courage.
Pasifika Talanoa by a traveled ITaukei Fijian 