About that hippie jesus…
There He is. On the wall of your local suburban Catholic parish: Hippie Jesus™.
You know the one. Hair like a 1970s shampoo commercial. Soft features. Dreamy eyes. Wearing a bathrobe in a muted earth-tone color palette, gently smiling like He’s about to ask if you’ve ever tried organic goat milk. He’s not holding a scepter. He’s holding a sheep. Or a rainbow. Or a child with ambiguous gender identity. And instead of saying “Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand,” He’s practically whispering, “You do you, man.”
Welcome to the modern Catholic Church—the only institution capable of taking the Lion of Judah and turning Him into a mood board for a vegan yoga studio.
And what surrounds this neutered Christ figure, stripped of majesty and masculinity? Felt banners. Everywhere.
Felt banners with butterflies. Felt banners with doves. Felt banners with abstract blobs that are supposed to represent “community.” Banners that say things like “All Are Welcome” in Comic Sans, as if the Eucharist is a neighborhood cookout. Banners in liturgical beige, the sacred color of irrelevance.
You’ve seen them. They flutter proudly next to altar servers in Crocs. They dance limply behind Eucharistic ministers who look like they just got off a PTA Zoom call. These aren’t just decorations—they’re declarations of war on beauty, transcendence, and Catholic identity.
Because somewhere around 1970, a committee of polyester-clad “liturgical experts” decided that what the Church really needed—after 2,000 years of majestic sacred art, Gregorian chant, and awe-inspiring architecture—was puffy paint banners and papier-mâché doves.
And from this liturgical “renaissance”, Hippie Jesus was born.
Gone was the Crucified Lord who conquered sin and death. Gone was the apocalyptic King from Revelation whose eyes are like flames and judges the nations with a sword (Rev. 19:11–16). In His place: a divine guidance counselor with a tambourine.
And don’t even think about trying to replace Him. Oh no. Suggest replacing Hippie Jesus with a proper icon of Christ Pantocrator and the parish council will shriek like you've suggested burning the parish food pantry.
“That’s not welcoming!”
“It’s too judgmental!”
“Jesus would never look so harsh!”
We know nothing communicates “merciful savior” like a dude who looks like he spent the 60s following the Grateful Dead and now volunteers at a Unitarian grief retreat.
This isn’t harmless kitsch. This is theological malpractice rendered in felt and faux-wood paneling. We’ve raised an entire generation of Catholics who think Christ is just a first-century Mister Rogers with better hair and a looser attitude toward sin.
Let me be clear: Hippie Jesus can’t save you.
Hippie Jesus didn’t drive money changers from the temple with a whip (John 2:15).
Hippie Jesus didn’t say “Go and sin no more.”
Hippie Jesus would never demand repentance. He’d pass you a cup of chamomile tea and ask about your “core childhood wound.”
Meanwhile, the real Jesus is over here—nailed to a Cross, risen from the dead, enthroned in glory, and ready to judge the living and the dead. But sure, keep projecting Him as your emotionally available big brother who just wants you to sing “Gather Us In” and recycle.
“Worship the Lord in the splendor of holiness.” (Psalm 96:9)
Not “Worship the Lord with hand-sewn felt and scented candles from Whole Foods.”
What the Church needs is a sacred purge.
Torch the banners.
Burn the guitars.
Ban the tambourines.
And banish “Hippie Jesus” to whatever neo-pagan spiritual gift shop he crawled out of.
Bring back Christ the King, the Pantocrator, the Sacred Heart blazing with divine justice and mercy. Bring back crucifixes that actually show suffering. Bring back artwork that elevates the soul instead of triggering memories of your aunt’s craft room.
Because the Catholic Church isn’t a retreat center for spiritual vagueness.
It’s not a safe space for moral relativism with a felt banner budget.
It is the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church, founded by the eternal Logos who took on flesh, died for sin, rose in glory, and commands us to repent and believe (Mark 1:15)—not “validate and vibe.”
So the next time you see Hippie Jesus with His soft gaze and ambiguous hand gestures, just remember:
That’s not your Lord.
That’s someone’s acid flashback.
Long live the King—not the cartoon.