Colin Sheridan: 21st century would be incompatible with a modern-day Jesus

If Jesus were alive today, it is hard to believe his message would be well-received, writes Colin Sheridan

US president Donald Trump (left) speaks with Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu (right) at the Israeli parliament last year. Imagine how Netanyahu would respond to Jesus rejecting violence, preaching peace, declaring himself the Son of God, and building a following on teachings fundamentally antithetical to his rule. Photo: Saul Loeb/AFP via Getty Images

If Jesus were alive today, there is a very good chance he would find it even more difficult to be heard, trusted, and followed than he was back in AD 33 — and they crucified him then.

It shows, not how far we’ve come, but how far we haven’t. Some 2,000 years later, there are still Pontius Pilate types spewing misinformation and inciting hate. There are still leaders such as Caiaphas, the high priest who orchestrated the plot to arrest Jesus and presided over the kangaroo court that charged him with blasphemy. 

There are still Judases aplenty, straddling the line between disciple and deadly dissent, feigning empathy while eyeing up the silver. There is always a Barabbas: The notorious criminal and insurrectionist whom the crowd chose to release instead of Jesus when Pilate offered a Passover pardon. In modern-day America, they just call him Potus.

Jesus, as we know, was born in Nazareth, about 30km west of the Sea of Galilee: A freshwater lake, not a sea, but no matter. Back then, Nazareth was an isolated, unimportant rural village, home to an estimated 250-500 people. Along with Mary and Joseph, he practiced first-century Judaism, living according to the Mosaic Law.

Modern-day Nazareth is a city of about 80,000 people and is considered the Arab capital of Israel. 

Had Jesus been born there 33 years ago, he likely would have been raised Muslim or Christian. He might still be a carpenter, but given how his hometown has expanded, there would be far more opportunities to pursue work aligned with his ethos of service, community building, and working with his hands — as a contractor, a teacher, or a non-profit leader.

His opportunities, however, would hinge on how he — and the Israeli state — classified his identity. If categorised as an Arab-Israeli, he would not be conscripted into the Isreal Defense Forces (IDF), as Arabs are exempt (but can volunteer). Given that over 20% of Israel’s population is Arab — Muslims, Christians, and Druze — that exemption is pragmatic, considering most of the war the IDF wages is against fellow Arabs in Lebanon, Gaza, and the Occupied Territories.

If he identified, or was categorised, as Palestinian, he would face a different reality entirely: Movement restrictions, land confiscation, home demolitions, and unequal legal status. 

His daily commute could involve a dozen military checkpoints where — given his growing reputation as a preacher — harassment and detention would be routine. And that’s just in the West Bank. If he were born in modern-day Gaza — unlikely, given it’s roughly 300km from Nazareth — he would simply be designated a fighting-age male, and targeted as such.

Let us say, for argument’s sake, he was Jewish. In that case, he would be conscripted into the IDF from the age of 18, expected to serve 32 months.

Given Jesus was a turn-the-other-cheek kinda guy, he would likely seek exemption on the grounds of pacifism — requiring him to appear before a ‘conscience committee’ to prove a universal opposition to all violence, not just specific policies. Such exemptions are difficult to obtain and often result in imprisonment when denied.

So, regardless of identity, modern-day Jesus is not having a good run of it.

Assuming he preached the same message of peace, forgiveness, and love-thy-neighbour, it is difficult to see how he would build or sustain a following without placing himself directly in the crosshairs of the Israeli government and security apparatus.

If Pontius Pilate’s motivation for allowing the historical Jesus to be crucified was steeped in jealousy, then imagine how the current regime in Tel Aviv — invoking Amalek — would respond to a prophet rejecting violence, preaching peace, declaring himself the Son of God, and building a following on teachings fundamentally antithetical to his rule.

 It took until Thursday evening of Holy Week for Jesus to be arrested — four full days after arriving in Jerusalem on a donkey. If that were last Sunday in Jerusalem, he would’ve been in a cell by Monday morning.

Attracting a following

Another difference is that he might struggle to find a following at all. On that first Palm Sunday, crowds shouted “Hosanna!” — “Save us”. No such appetite seems to exist in parts of modern-day Israel. Discontent with their leader, Benjamin Netanyahu, is less about the morality of the wars he wages and more their inconvenience. 

“Finish them quickly” has replaced “Hosanna”. It points to a society less interested in salvation than in being spared the hassle.

Ironically, Jesus’s only viable platform might be social media. Choosing truth over trends, he would face the tension between rejecting performative virality —difficult when performing miracles is such postable content — and recognising that, for his message to land, he requires an audience.

For all its flaws, social media would at least allow him to reach beyond the confines of the state.

With help from more tech-savvy apostles — perhaps Simon the Zealot, whose past in political agitation suggests a grasp of messaging — Jesus might use short-form video for parables, YouTube for broader teaching, and live Q&As to engage directly with difficult questions.

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Rather than wading into online conflict, he would likely respond to hostility with grace, speaking into dark digital spaces and engaging those the institutional church often ignores.

Despite encouragement from more image-conscious disciples like Peter, he wouldn’t chase likes or virality. He would model restraint — stepping back regularly for prayer and reflection, a deity digital detox — demonstrating constant engagement is not the goal.

That would create friction, as it did 2,000 years ago, but, leaving ego aside, he would rise above it. Judas, chasing relevance, would likely abandon the project early and reinvent himself as an influencer in Dubai.

Even then, the Nazarene would need to tread carefully. Social media in modern-day Israel is subject to extensive monitoring. His prophecies would cause a stir. His card would be marked.

Inconvenient truth

And yet, even in that suffocating atmosphere of surveillance, cynicism, and division, you would hope the same inconvenient truth would persist: That the message would outlive the man, and the moment. 

Strip away the setting — whether a dusty outpost in first-century Judea or a hyper-connected, heavily policed apartheid state — and what remains is the same quiet disruption: A refusal to hate; a rejection of power for power’s sake; an insistence that dignity belongs to everyone, not just the chosen or the loudest.

That kind of message doesn’t trend. It resists slogans and threatens strongmen. It is slow, frustrating, and deeply unprofitable. But it endures because it asks more of us than outrage ever will.

The tragedy isn’t only that a modern Jesus would be silenced faster — it’s that many of us would scroll past him while it happened, mistaking noise for truth and power for righteousness. We like to think we would be among those shouting “Hosanna”.

History — and the present moment — suggest otherwise.