Somewhere between the Jedi Council and the United Church of Christ, a black hole has opened, sucking sound doctrine into a swirling void of cosplay theology, syncretistic gobbledygook, and racialized virtue signals wrapped in rice paper.

It is here, at the unholy convergence of the upcoming “Star Wars Sunday” and Pacific Islander & Asian American Ministries Sunday, that a new kind of worship service is being proposed—not Christian, not serious, not even spiritually coherent. Just a bloated, culturally appropriated disaster held together by a glue stick, a rainbow flag, and a dusty DVD box set of The Phantom Menace.

Let’s not sugarcoat this. This isn’t worship of the God of the Scriptures—it’s fan fiction with communion wafers.

Come this Sunday, in United Church of Christ congregations across the country, people won’t be gathered to hear the gospel of Jesus Christ. They’ll be welcomed by robed ministers waving toy lightsabers and saying, “May the Fourth be with you.”

And just when you think that’s the low point, someone dressed like a Sith Lord is set to waddle into the sanctuary to collect your offering under the guise of “Empire taxes.” Because, you know, nothing screams reverence and holiness like mocking tithes with a theatrical interlude straight from a third-rate Comic-Con panel.

But it’s not just the pageantry that reeks—it’s the theology, or what’s left of it. This entire pre-packaged service erases any distinction between Star Wars mythology and religious doctrine so thoroughly that by the time you get to communion, you’re half-expecting Obi-Wan to recite the words of institution.

When “the Netherworld of the Force” is mentioned in the same breath as Christ’s resurrection, it’s not just cringe-inducing—it’s rank heresy. If you’re wondering whether Jesus died for sins or just had a high midi-chlorian count, congratulations, you’re already knee-deep in the UCC’s theological soup.

And what’s their excuse for this madness? Cultural celebration. Inclusion. Diversity. The sacred trinity of progressive irrelevance. Because you see, Star Wars was influenced by Japanese samurai films, which means—somehow—this is now a legitimate platform for celebrating Asian-American heritage.

That’s like hosting a Super Bowl party to honor Roman gladiators because both involved stadiums and violence. It’s a stretch. A galactic stretch. A parsec-wide stretch across the star systems of logic and coherence.

Oh, but it gets worse. They didn’t just borrow imagery from George Lucas. They raided the Shinto shrine and walked out with a whole prayer from the Konkokyo tradition—complete with hand-clapping, ritualistic bowing, and invocation to “Kami,” the Japanese spirit deity. Yes, in a Christian service, worshipers are encouraged to clap four times and unite their hearts with Kami—because apparently the First Commandment was too exclusive for this interfaith improv hour.

This is not cultural engagement. This is theological surrender. It’s one thing to acknowledge a culture’s contributions—it’s another to co-opt their gods and sneak them into church bulletins under the guise of “inclusive liturgy.” The early church faced martyrdom for refusing to burn incense to Caesar. The UCC? They’d burn incense to E.T. if he brought gluten-free matzo.

And lest you think any of this is being done subtly, think again. This isn’t nuanced…or careful… or thoughtful. It’s full-throttle blasphemy with all the subtlety of Jar Jar Binks doing liturgical dance. The Lord’s Table is scheduled to be reduced to a campy mess of Force metaphors and pop culture parody. “Lift up your hearts” is to be met with “We lift them up to the Force.”

But the death of Christ is repackaged as the Master’s sacrifice until he returns “more powerful than you can possibly imagine.” One might expect a laugh track to follow. Or a lightsaber duel over the bread and cup. And perhaps that’s next.

Even the benediction reads like a caricature of Christianity—offering praise not only to the Risen Christ but to “Haku Iesu” and “the Chosen One,” with subtle nods to Polynesian folk religion thrown in for good measure. It’s not a benediction—it’s a spiritual smoothie made in a blender set to apostasy puree.

But what’s most sinister is how all of this is wrapped in the soft velvet of social justice. They didn’t forget the buzzwords. White supremacy, immigration status, colonization—all the usual suspects make their appearance, not as thoughtful reflections, but as sanctimonious confetti flung into the air to distract from the theological train wreck unfolding beneath it.

You don’t get to stand behind a pulpit, invoke the name of Jesus Christ, and then deliver a monologue that compares Peter’s repentance to Anakin Skywalker’s redemption arc without reducing the gospel to a screenplay.

You don’t get to preach salvation and then swap in “balance in the Force” as a working analogy without stripping Christ’s work of its singular, absolute, sin-destroying power.

And you certainly don’t get to elevate “the Force” to a liturgical entity and still call yourself part of the bride of Christ.

This isn’t a fringe congregation doing its own weird thing in a back alley of mainline Protestantism. This is the official worship plan distributed nationwide by the UCC itself. This Sunday, across the country, this is the nonsense they’re prescribing. The UCC has turned the sanctuary into a soundstage, the Lord’s Supper into sci-fi theater, and the gospel into a screenplay written by Sally Struthers on a bad hair day.

The gospel isn’t a metaphor, a moral arc, or an aesthetic. It’s the historic, bloody, victorious triumph of Christ crucified and risen. When that gets replaced with fan service and DEI-approved dualism, what’s left isn’t Christianity. It’s cosplay dressed in clerical robes, playing church for an audience that no longer fears God but desperately wants to be seen as spiritual.

You want a real “new hope”? Repent.

Not in the name of the Force, but in the name of the One who actually conquered death—not with a lightsaber, but with a Roman cross.