There is poison in the holy water.
And this poison is lapped up like a thirsty dog, dying for a drink.

It’s poured into shiny baptismal fonts, lifted high in golden goblets, and sold in bite-sized devotionals with pink leather covers. It’s broadcast in worship music that stirs the soul but numbs the conscience. It’s whispered from pulpits and shouted in political rallies, wrapped in the name of Jesus but completely divorced from his heart.

This poison is supremacy.

Supremacy is the belief that one group of people—be it by race, gender, orientation, nationality, or theology—is inherently better, holier, closer to God than the rest. Supremacy thrives in certainty. In exclusion. In hierarchies. It thrives in the phrase:

“You can’t be a real Christian if…”
“You can’t represent Jesus when…”
“You cannot have a meaningful life unless…”

It shows up when a woman is told she’s not allowed to lead.
When a queer person is told they’re not worthy of blessing.
When a Black voice is silenced in white-led churches.
When people of other faiths are seen as enemies rather than neighbors.

And the wildest part? Most who are drinking it don’t even know it’s poison. They call it truth. They call it tradition. They call it “Biblical.”

But Jesus didn’t sip that poison.
Jesus flipped the cup over.

Jesus was anti-supremacy in every possible way. He rejected the religious elite who used scripture as a weapon. He welcomed the ones pushed out—the unclean, the outsider, the heretic, the sinner, the Samaritan woman, the bleeding woman, the woman caught in adultery (while the man went free). He told stories where the wrong person was the hero: the Good Samaritan, the tax collector, the prodigal son.

Jesus didn’t say “Blessed are the powerful.”
He said “Blessed are the poor in spirit.”
He didn’t say “Build a platform and call it your ministry.”
He said “The last will be first.”
He didn’t say “Establish a religion in my name.”
He said “Follow me.”

And he meant all of us. Not just the ones who fit the mold.

The poison of supremacy turns Jesus into a gatekeeper.
But Jesus was a door-opener.
A table-builder.
A line-crosser.

Supremacy builds walls to keep people out.
Jesus walked through those walls and invited everyone in.

So maybe it’s time we start naming the poison.
Maybe it’s time to admit that some of the most harmful parts of modern Christianity aren’t rooted in Jesus—they’re rooted in supremacy that’s been baptized, sanctified, and passed down like holy heirlooms.

We don’t need more religion soaked in poison.
We need healing. We need detox.
We need a faith that refuses to confuse whiteness with righteousness, patriarchy with holiness, or exclusion with godliness.

We need a better gospel.
One that looks like Jesus.