The Saudi royal family owns us. They act like landlords, mortgage-holders, and drug-lords because they are. Like it or not, their power extends to the car in your driveway, as well as to the lighting and hvac system in your church, synagogue, and the New York Stock Exchange.
Also, like the conquering Normans (or perhaps Elizabeth and Lord Cecil), they dictate the terms of discourse with a slap of varnish from their religion for the respectability and approval factor from the world's newest theological high ground, Islam. Like it or not, you'd better know and practice a modicum of kowtowing to "Muslims R Us." Go along to get along. It is only our predictable codependent denial to the drug (oil, our idol of choice) that keeps us from seeing why, when Islamic imams say "Jump!" we keep asking, "How high and for how long, sir?" We are too afraid the dealer at the pump, power relay station, and refinery won't show up if we don't.
But Christianity? Get real. How many gallons of oil in reserve does the Pope have?
Is it any wonder that Islamic scholars are coming in peace delegations to the Vatican? They are gracious, civilized victors in the non-clash of civilizations. The junkyard-dog street rabble will make short work of stragglers on the fraying edges of the ghostly, sickly, oil-addicted West.
Resistance is futile. Or is it?