God Created Wealth Inequality
Riches, Honor, And Other Things That Make Young “Christian” Progressives Sad
When people say “Christian Worldview,” they are referencing a once-commonly-held belief system that informed the philosophy of just about every Christian to varying degrees.
Of course there were always minor variances of a peripheral nature, but absolutely nobody in Christian history castigated the rich for—well, being rich.
James sees the irony when rich Jewish seekers, practiced in the art of anti-Mosaic financial exploitation, were shown favoritism when they’d drop into a Jerusalem meeting to see what all the buzz was about.
It wasn’t a critique of wealth inequality, it was a bewilderment at the church for giving a flying camel’s spit about external social strata, particularly the indecent kind. James saw Jesus let the Rich Young Ruler walk. No invite to Kingdom Builders, no private meet-and-greet with an accompanying greasy vision-casting that gives time-share-closer vibes.
Regarding Christian economics, there is no record of anything remotely resembling a critique of wealth inequality by any such meaning or nomenclature; early Christians were taught by Peter to loathe the love and pursuit of riches, and to live lives of radical generosity.
Making money in the ancient world was difficult—there wasn’t much economic mobility, and wealth was a rare thing. This is why God’s material blessing upon Abraham and his seed was such a big deal: it came as a kind of proof.
The Protestant Reformation reinvented entire economies—and to a degree, taught the world how common-born stock that aren’t born with a golden spoon in their mouth can build wealth. For example, the monasteries were the economic centers of Europe; they were fueled by undistracted single men who devoted themselves to honing science, design, horticulture, etc. And these hubs were the first universities and trade guilds that trained the common populace. Beloc suggests that 40% of a nations GDP in the medieval period was under the watchful thumb of Rome, with much of the increase going to build St. Peter’s or fund an army stamping out rebellion somewhere in the realm.
When Henry VIII, at the behest and design of Thomas Cromwell, parted ways with Rome over a woman, some 20 families seized 40% of the English GDP, instantly creating the English aristocracy and effectively signing the miserable financial and political choking-out of the Tudor line.
The seizure of the monasteries and confiscation of Catholic property and corresponding economic systems emboldened other countries to test the Protestant waters. European economics began to change rapidly.
Protestants were the first adopters of the modern banking system; Lutherans and Calvinists encouraged people to work harder than ever, calling work holy. Wesley says, in contrast to anything medieval or early church, “Earn all you can, save all you can, give all you can.”
The early Church wasn’t imagining stock portfolios or nonprofit status. They were getting fed to lions. The idea of their businesses being government protected, socially admired, and economically secure would’ve sounded delusional. The reality? If you wanted to get ahead financially in the Roman world, you had to be a friend of Caesar—kiss the ring, join the guild, bow to the idols, and numb your conscience. In places like Ephesus, this pressure was especially intense. Trade guilds weren’t neutral institutions—they were religious fellowships. The guild for silversmiths, for example, was headquartered in the Temple of Diana. If you refused to offer incense to her, you didn’t just get funny looks—you got blacklisted. No one bought your goods. You couldn’t sell at market. You were economically erased.
This is the community John was pastoring before his exile to Patmos. His elders’ meetings weren’t about color palettes or sermon series—they were about surviving the wrath of Rome and refusing to worship false gods. To lead in Ephesus was to lead an economic rebellion, a costly witness, and John paid for it with exile.
It’s no accident, then, that this is the context for Revelation’s most provocative warning: the mark of the beast. It’s not about barcodes or microchips—it’s about whether you’ll compromise your allegiance to Christ for access to the marketplace. Buying and selling become apocalyptic acts. To be faithful was to go without. To refuse the mark was to risk everything. In other words: discipleship had a price tag.
My point? The early church couldn’t imagine starting a thriving business; the medieval church owned the means of production; and the Protestant church returned means of production to the common man.
Nobody was against wealth inequality. They were against finances gained by wickedness.
Some of us have a problem with the rich, and that doesn’t come from the word of God. It comes from Satanic greed.
God’s first words to humanity were, “Be fruitful and multiply.”
Here is a short sketch of people God made wealthy in Scripture, in case you’re still hazy on where riches come from:
