The Cross and the Chain

They built the church on stolen land and filled it with stolen bodies. Then they preached a gospel of love.

The story we are told is that Christianity is a faith of peace, humility, and liberation. The story we are not told is how the faith was weaponized. It became the single greatest tool for justifying slavery, colonialism, and genocide. It provided the moral cover for the greatest atrocities in human history. It blessed the chains. It sanctified the theft. It called the slaughter a mission.

This is not a critique of faith. Faith is personal. It is the relationship between a person and their God. This is a critique of power. It is the story of how an institution claimed the authority of God and used it to serve the interests of men.

The Curse of Ham was not an interpretation. It was a weapon. In the book of Genesis, Noah curses Canaan, the son of Ham, to be a servant of servants. For centuries, this passage was twisted to justify the enslavement of African people. The curse was used to argue that Black skin was the mark of divine punishment. It was preached from pulpits. It was written into laws. It was used to calm the conscience of the slaveholder. The enslaved person was told that their bondage was God’s will. The master was told that his ownership was God’s blessing. Theology became a prison.

The Doctrine of Discovery was not an interpretation. It was a license to steal. In 1452, Pope Nicholas V issued a papal bull that authorized the King of Portugal to conquer any lands not already owned by Christians. The doctrine declared that non-Christian lands were empty. The people living there did not count. The land was there for the taking. The bull was later expanded. It became the legal foundation for colonization. The Supreme Court cited it in 1823 to rule that Native Americans could not own land. The doctrine is still cited in legal decisions today. The faith that preached “love thy neighbor” provided the legal framework for the theft of a continent.

Manifest Destiny was not an interpretation. It was a death sentence. The idea that God intended for the United States to expand from sea to shining sea was preached as gospel. The indigenous people who stood in the way were not obstacles. They were heathens. They were savages. Their removal was not a crime. It was a divine plan. The Trail of Tears was baptized in holy water. The massacre at Wounded Knee was celebrated as the triumph of civilization. The genocide was not an accident of history. It was a theology.

The colonial project was global. The missions in Africa stripped away languages, names, and spiritual systems that had sustained communities for millennia. The conversion of the Philippines turned a population into subjects of two empires, Spain and the United States, both claiming divine sanction. The erasure of indigenous religions in South America was so complete that entire cosmologies were lost. The cross was planted in every continent. It claimed to save souls. It delivered nations into bondage.

The residential schools were the final stage of the genocide. The churches ran them. The governments funded them. The motto was explicit: “Kill the Indian, save the man.” Children were ripped from their families. Their hair was cut. Their languages were beaten out of them. Their names were replaced with Christian ones. They were forced to labor. They were abused in every way a child can be abused. The graves are still being found. In Canada, the ground beneath former schools is still yielding its dead. The last residential school in Canada closed in 1996. This is not ancient history. The people who ran these institutions are still alive. The systems that authorized them still stand. The church has offered apologies. It has not offered justice.

The economic driver was clear. Christianity did not create slavery. Slavery created the Christian justification. The planters needed a moral cover for an economic atrocity. The colonial powers needed a spiritual excuse for a material theft. The motive was profit. The alibi was God. The plantation owner read his Bible and saw a divine right to own human beings. The conquistador read his Bible and saw a divine mandate to steal gold. The missionary read his Bible and saw a divine calling to erase culture. The faith became a tool. The tool served the profit.

The psychological operation was deeper. The genius of the system was that it convinced both parties. It told the oppressor that they were doing holy work. They were not thieves. They were missionaries. They were not murderers. They were civilizers. The violence was recast as virtue. It told the oppressed that their suffering was divinely ordained. Resistance was a sin. Submission was salvation. The enslaved person who rebelled was not fighting for freedom. They were fighting against God’s plan. The colonized person who resisted was not defending their home. They were rejecting salvation. The psychological violence broke the spirit of resistance. It made the oppressed complicit in their own oppression.

The weaponization of gender was woven into the fabric. The faith that blessed the slave ship also blessed the subjugation of women. Eve was the original sinner. Her punishment was pain in childbirth. Her daughters inherited her guilt. The church taught that women were the source of temptation, the weak vessel, the gateway to sin. It denied them leadership. It called submission a virtue. It turned the control of women’s bodies into a sacrament. The same institution that claimed to protect life denied women the right to control their own. The same theology that preached love turned the pain of labor into divine punishment. The chain was not only for the enslaved. It was also for every woman told that her place was beneath her husband, that her voice was too dangerous for the pulpit, that her body belonged to the church before it belonged to her.

The wealth transfer was enormous. The missions were land theft. The plantations were labor theft. The Vatican is one of the wealthiest institutions on Earth. Its vaults hold art, gold, and artifacts looted from every continent. The churches in the American South were built with the tithes of slaveholders. The endowments of the oldest universities were funded by the trade in human beings. The gospel of love and peace was preached on stolen land with stolen labor. The wealth is still there. The apology is not. The institution has never reckoned with the scale of its theft.

The counter-claim will come. People will say that Christians also fought against slavery. They will point to the abolitionists. They will point to the Black church. They will say that the faith is about love. The exception does not erase the rule. But the exception reveals the choice. The Black church was born in the margins. Enslaved people took the story of Exodus and made it their own. They saw in Jesus a fellow sufferer. They sang of a deliverance that the slaveholders could not hear. Liberation theology in Latin America used the same text to challenge dictators and defend the poor. The faith that was weaponized for oppression was also reclaimed for liberation. This does not absolve the institution. It deepens the indictment. The text that blessed slavery also fueled abolition. The Bible that was used to forge chains was also used to break them. The weaponization was not inevitable. It was a choice. The institution chose power. The oppressed chose freedom.

The continuity is undeniable. The same playbook is still running. The language has changed. The mechanism has not. Christian nationalism now wraps itself in the flag and claims that America is a Christian nation. The Moral Majority, the Christian Coalition, the Family Research Council built a political machine that delivered elections, judges, and laws. The “traditional family” is used as a political weapon against women and LGBTQ+ people. The demonization of the other is used to justify borders, bans, and walls. The same faith that blessed the slave ship now blesses the detention center. The same theology that called the indigenous savage now calls the immigrant illegal. The cross is still being used to justify the chain.

But, the voices of the harmed are still speaking. The survivor of the residential school who still cannot speak their language. The woman who died because a Catholic hospital would not terminate a pregnancy that was killing her. The gay teenager who was told by their church that they were an abomination and believed it. The indigenous community whose sacred site was bulldozed for a pipeline that the church did not oppose. The enslaved person’s descendant whose ancestors were baptized into the faith that blessed their bondage. These are not hypothetical. They are the living testimony of the weapon.

The debt has never been paid. The land was stolen. The labor was stolen. The lives were taken. The culture was erased. The languages were lost. The trauma was inherited. The institution that blessed the theft still holds the wealth. The institution that preached submission still claims moral authority.

There has been no reckoning.

There has been no repair.

There has been no confession.

The church has not returned the land. It has not paid the debt. It has not acknowledged the full scope of its complicity. It offers prayers. It does not offer justice.

The cross was a symbol of execution. It was a tool of empire. It was a warning to anyone who challenged the power of Rome. The fact that the faith turned the cross into a symbol of love is a testament to the power of transformation. The fact that the faith turned the cross back into a tool of oppression is a testament to the power of corruption.

The cross and the chain are used together. They are laid on the same altar. They are blessed by the same priests. They are preached by the same men. The faith that could have been a tool for liberation became a tool for domination. The gospel that could have been good news to the poor, became a weapon against them.

This is not an attack on the believer. The believer who finds comfort in the story of Jesus is not the problem. The believer who feeds the hungry and shelters the homeless is living the faith. The problem is the institution. The problem is the power structure. The problem is the history that has been buried and the debt that has been unpaid.

The cross does not need to be destroyed. But the chain must be broken. And the church must answer for the fact that it was the one who forged it.

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  • Matt Stone is an independent journalist and author based in Northern California. His work examines culture, memory, and the moral weight of everyday life through a clear, grounded lens. Stone’s writing currently consists of fiction and poetry, often exploring the intersection of personal experience and broader social currents.

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