When Law and Order Eclipse the Image of God

By Pastor David Whitmore | Circus of Power | January 26, 2026

In the shadow of a federal building in Minneapolis, under a biting winter sky, a man's life ended in a hail of bullets. Alex Pretti, just 37 years old, a U.S. citizen born and raised in the heartland, was protesting what he saw as overreach in immigration enforcement. Legally armed with a handgun that was taken by an agent, according to video and reports, he was filming agents and helping a woman who had been pushed during a tense standoff with ICE agents. Moments later, he lay dead on the cold pavement. This wasn't a battlefield in some distant war; it was America, in the year of our Lord 2026, amid an operation dubbed "Metro Surge"—the Trump administration's aggressive push to root out what it calls threats to our borders.

As I sit in my study here in rural Tennessee, poring over the reports this morning, my heart aches with a sorrow that goes beyond the headlines. What does it profit a nation to secure its borders if, in the process, we lose our souls? The Bible reminds us in Proverbs 12:22 that "lying lips are an abomination to the Lord, but those who act faithfully are his delight." Yet here we are, witnessing not just a tragic shooting—the third such incident in Minnesota in three weeks, following the death of Renée Good on January 7—but a cascade of distortions that erode the very fabric of truth we claim to uphold. Pretti's parents, in a statement that pierced my soul, said, "We are heartbroken but also very angry. The sickening lies told about our son threaten his memory and our family's safety." Their words echo the grief of families I've counseled in my thirty years at Grace Community Church, where loss isn't abstract but a raw wound demanding honesty from those in power.

Let me be clear: This isn't about partisan finger-pointing. I'm a conservative through and through, raised on the values of limited government and personal responsibility. I vote Republican down the ballot, believing in the rule of law and the need for secure borders. But I cannot, in good conscience, ignore how the pursuit of enforcement has veered into territory that dehumanizes not just immigrants, but citizens like Pretti who dare to raise their voices. The administration's portrayal of him as a "violent rioter" tied to "criminal elements" rings hollow against the evidence. Video footage, now under federal investigation, shows a chaotic scene where Pretti was attempting to de-escalate by filming and assisting others, even after his legally carried handgun was confiscated—not the armed threat officials initially described. This pattern of exaggeration isn't new; it's a thread woven through the Trump era, where facts bend to fit the narrative of strength over vulnerability.

Consider the broader crisis unfolding. Operation Metro Surge has deported 1.2 million people since the 2025 inauguration, a figure that speaks to resolve but also to the human cost. The United Nations Human Rights Chief, Volker Türk, warned recently that "the growing dehumanization of migrants in the US is alarming—deaths in ICE custody rose 25% in 2025." Dehumanization doesn't stop at the border; it spills into our streets, turning protests into powder kegs. Riots have erupted in Minneapolis, prompting the National Guard's deployment, and similar tensions simmer in sanctuary cities across the Midwest. Democrats, led by figures like Senators Chris Murphy and Tina Smith, are calling this "state-sponsored murder" and tying DHS funding to reforms: mandatory bodycams, de-escalation training, limits on raids in sensitive areas. Republicans, including Texas Governor Greg Abbott, counter that sanctuary policies incite violence and demand a deeper probe into "criminal agitators."

As Congress hurtles toward a potential government shutdown by Friday—Democrats blocking funding without ICE overhauls, the White House vowing a veto of any "weak" bill—the stakes feel existential. A Pew poll from last year showed 62% of Americans oppose shutdowns, yet 55% favor stricter enforcement. We're a divided house, and as Jesus taught in Matthew 12:25, "a house divided against itself will not stand." But division isn't inevitable; it's fueled by leaders who choose power over persuasion, rhetoric over reconciliation. President Trump's recent call with Minnesota Governor Tim Walz hinted at a possible thaw, but words alone won't heal the breach. Even as a federal judge blocked efforts to strip legal status from 8,400 migrants from Haiti and Venezuela, citing due process violations, the machinery grinds on, treating people as statistics rather than souls bearing God's image.

This crisis strikes at the heart of my deepest concerns as a pastor and a citizen: our treatment of the stranger among us. Leviticus 19:34 commands, "The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt." My grandfather, who fought in World War II and liberated camps in Europe, often recounted stories of welcoming displaced families to our Tennessee farm after the war. "They weren't enemies," he'd say with that gentle drawl, wiping his brow after a long day in the fields. "They were folks running from horror, just like our ancestors fled persecution. God don't draw lines on maps; He draws 'em in the heart." Grandpa wasn't naive about borders—he believed in law—but he lived the biblical ethic of hospitality without compromise. Today, as we deport Russian asylum-seekers to Costa Rica under "third-country" agreements, stranding families without resources, or as 50,000 such cases pile up in 2025 alone, I wonder: Have we forgotten that refugees aren't pawns in a geopolitical game?

And here's where it grieves me most, as an evangelical watching my tradition twist under political pressure. Some voices in our circles frame ICE's actions as "biblical law and order," a bulwark against chaos. Pro-ICE statements from certain churches echo Christian nationalism's siren song, blending faith with flags in a way that idolizes the state over the Savior. But Scripture warns against this in Exodus 20, where the first commandment forbids other gods—including the god of national purity. Rev. William Barber, a civil rights leader whose words carry prophetic weight, ties these shootings to "broader racial injustice," a reminder that enforcement often falls heaviest on the marginalized. Even the Obamas called it a "wake-up call" for eroding civil rights, while Hillary Clinton urged us to "speak out against authoritarian tactics." On X, trends like #ICEShooting and #PrettiMurder explode with outrage—posts decrying "Trump lies" garnering thousands of shares, while others defend the agents as heroes. Elon Musk's feed, ever the mirror of our fractures, feuds over "woke" protests amid bigotry debates. Yet amid the noise, Christian posts split: some cry "faith under attack," others plead for compassion toward strangers, echoing Hebrews 13:2.

I mourn what evangelicalism has become in this era—not because I left the faith, but because the faith seems to have been co-opted by power's allure. We've traded the prosperity gospel's shiny promises for nationalism's iron fist, forgetting that true revival comes not from policy wins, but from humbled hearts. Micah 6:8 lays it plain: "What does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." Justice demands accountability for these shootings—a thorough investigation, not deflection. Mercy calls us to reform enforcement without abandoning security, recognizing that even in tense moments, de-escalation and proportionality honor life's sanctity. Humility? That's the hardest pill, urging leaders on both sides to negotiate past the shutdown brink, prioritizing the common good over ego.

There's hope here, if we're willing to grasp it. The March for Life this weekend in Washington reminded us of life's sanctity—VP JD Vance rightly noted policies saving babies daily, with abortions down 15% since 2022 per CDC data. But a true pro-life ethic extends beyond the womb: it safeguards mothers, immigrants, and protesters like Pretti. As Religious Freedom Day coincides with these events, let's reclaim faith as a force for liberty, not coercion. Imagine churches—mine included—opening doors to dialogue, hosting forums where conservatives and progressives lament together, pray for truth, and serve the vulnerable. My grandfather's generation built post-war alliances on such bridges; we can too.

America needs revival, not just raids. It starts with us, laying aside lies for truth, force for fairness, division for the dignity of every image-bearer. In this harsh winter, may God's warmth melt our hardened hearts. For in loving the stranger, we love Him.

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Pastor David Whitmore leads Grace Community Church in Tennessee and writes on faith, character, and the moral dimensions of public life.

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