In 2021, a group of Democrat lawmakers in Texas fled the state to block legislation they opposed. By removing themselves from the chamber, they denied the quorum required to pass the bill, and thus prevented a democratic vote from taking place. Their justification? They were protecting democracy.
This is not the first time such tactics have been used—Democrats in Wisconsin, Oregon, and even Texas before have resorted to physical absence to frustrate legislation they could not defeat through ordinary debate and vote. In each case, the majority was halted by the will of a minority refusing to play by the procedural rules. The ironies are plain to see.
Yet beneath the political theatre lies a deeper moral claim: that sometimes, in order to defend what is right, one must override what is legal. This logic echoes the civil rights era, where unjust laws were peacefully defied in pursuit of a higher truth. But we must ask: who defines what is right? For many on the political Left, moral justification is claimed by championing the disadvantaged. And in some cases, this is genuine. Yet far too often, it is a rhetorical cloak for gaining power, not serving the powerless. When a politician insists they are standing up for minority rights, we must also ask whether they are being honest about the facts—or simply exploiting them. After all, protecting the vote is a noble aim—but if that cause is driven by a refusal to acknowledge real vulnerabilities in electoral integrity, then it becomes something else: not virtue, but manipulation.
In a society untethered from biblical truth, the one who defines “what is right” is often merely the one with the loudest voice—or the most votes. And once that compass is severed from God’s Word, it will always be guided, not by righteousness, but by agenda. “Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness” (Isaiah 5:20).
Scripture warns us against expedience. In the wilderness, Saul presumed to act in Samuel’s place because it felt urgent (1 Samuel 13:8–14). In the courts, Pilate offered up Barabbas in the name of appeasement (Matthew 27:17–26). Even Judas, in some twisted sense, may have thought his betrayal would hasten the kingdom (John 13:27). Yet all of these were failures not just of morality, but of trust. They leaned on their own understanding (Proverbs 3:5), rather than waiting on the Lord.
Romans 13 tells us that governing authorities are appointed by God and are meant to be servants for good (Romans 13:1–4). But this is not a blanket endorsement of all governments in all circumstances. Paul was not baptising tyranny—he was reminding the Church that order is better than anarchy, and that God often works through flawed rulers to restrain chaos and preserve society. When governments administer justice in alignment with God’s moral law, they are to be obeyed—even if imperfect. But when they legislate wickedness or persecute righteousness, then the higher law must prevail: “We must obey God rather than men” (Acts 5:29). “Let God be true, and every man a liar” (Romans 3:4). Obedience in such cases may mean refusal, and submission may mean suffering for the truth.
This is no easy matter. There is tension. But God is not absent in the tension. He works through it for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose (Romans 8:28).
As Christians, we must remember that democracy is not sacred—but truth is. Process is not God—but God is a God of order (1 Corinthians 14:33). And the greatest threat to justice is not disagreement—it is when one side decides it alone embodies virtue, and is therefore entitled to override the rules for the greater good.
That is not how Christ leads. Before Pilate and the Sanhedrin, He did not seize power, though all power in heaven and earth belonged to Him (Matthew 28:18). He remained silent—not because He was helpless, but because He was obedient (Isaiah 53:7). He could have summoned twelve legions of angels (Matthew 26:53), but He chose the cross—for the joy set before Him and in fulfilment of the Father’s will (Hebrews 12:2). His submission was not to men, but to God. His restraint was not weakness, but sovereign strength.
This was not a model for passive surrender to evil, but the unique obedience of the Redeemer in His hour. And yet, it teaches us something profound: true authority does not need to grasp for control. It speaks truth, acts righteously, and trusts God with the outcome. So when we resist, let it be with clean hands and pure hearts (Psalm 24:4)—grounded not in rage or faction, but in righteousness. Turning the other cheek is not a universal call to accepting all things, but a reaction to personal insult. One does not turn the other cheek if someone is about to rape your wife or molest your children. We are not called to be doormats—but nor are we to become destroyers. “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” (Romans 12:21).