Reclaiming Easter

Reclaiming Easter In My Heart

Ah, Easter. Green grass and daffodils, lilies and ham and asparagus. And snow. Colorado is famous for spring blizzards, and we were not expecting Kevin’s family to make it in time for the Easter Sunday service. They were driving in from Michigan, way back in 1983, and that morning they were white-knuckling their way over the Continental Divide. We couldn’t imagine that the whole pack of them- Mom and Dad, grown children and spouses and grandkids- could possibly pick us up by ten am. We figured we’d do the lazy thing and hunker down in our jammies. No, we wouldn’t make it to church, but they’d probably be here by lunch and we’d celebrate Easter then.

Those were the days before cell phones, but still, Kevin should have known better. After all, this was HIS family. Had I known more about their history, I would have at least put some clothes on.

Nor would I have been shocked when the car pulled up out front, encrusted in frozen slush and honking the horn at 10:00 am sharp. Nothing says embarrassment like being caught in your nightgown by your new in-laws. Never in their lives were they late to church on Easter, and they weren’t about to start now.

Easter Then

My husband was raised in a rather strict Protestant sect, and their lives revolved around church. By the time we met he had walked away from the church and his faith, with good reason. I was raised with no belief system whatsoever. In our lives as young marrieds, church was not something we did. Easter, maybe. Christmas Eve: absolutely. After all, we weren’t heathens! Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that church would become the loving family I never had. With all its ups and downs, personalities and peculiarities, weaknesses and strengths, I loved being part of a church. We changed a few times due to our kids’ needs and the seasons of our lives, but I always felt as though I had a home as long as we were part of The Body of Christ.

Easter was no longer about the bunny, or baskets with plastic green grass and marshmallow eggs. When I asked Jesus into my heart, the most sacred of seasons filled me with a joy I had never known. The tragedy of Good Friday was transcended by the joy of Resurrection Sunday. Now we had friends with whom to celebrate, and for the first time in my life sacrifice had meaning and passion had purpose. And I-the real me- I was loved, and I knew it. Even with the stresses of parenting young children and trying to make ends meet, I had found a level of peace that transcended understanding.

We never intended to become as involved in church as we did; it just happened. We wanted to raise our children to know Jesus. We wanted to be part of a community. Far from our families of origin, we needed love and support to wrap their arms around us and our kids. We found friendships with other parents when we volunteered to teach Sunday School. We created bonds with all kinds of folks when we hosted Bible Studies. No longer did we have to eat holiday meals alone- there was always someone willing to come over. Many kind people hosted us as well. Together we raised our children, figured out how to stay married to our spouses, prayed for each other’s families, shared cribs and bikes and baby clothes, and grieved when the worst happened. No matter what, we were never alone.

Easter Now

I’ve written quite a lot about my despair over the Evangelical Church’s devotion to Donald Trump. There’s no point in rehashing the heartache. Sadly, most of the people we have known over the years have fallen prey to the Religious Right’s political movement. That, in and of itself, is tragedy enough. But add in false conspiracy theorists who now occupy the pews on Sunday morning, and we no longer trust what we always believed to be true: that the primary mission we share as a church is obeying the teachings of Jesus Christ.

This will be the first Easter for just the two of us. Our kids have gone on ahead- one to Heaven; the other, with his wife and kids, to teach in Norway. We moved to a small town three years ago that is overwhelmingly Christian AND overwhelmingly MAGA. We did join a church when we arrived, only to find out the leadership was very partial to Donald. Though the congregation welcomed us with open arms, it was absolutely assumed everyone was Republican. The Stars and Stripes onstage spoke silently but clearly about American nationalism. We communicated our concerns to the leadership, and they politely blew us off. Then COVID hit town, and we were able to make a graceful exit.

There’s probably a church out there somewhere waiting for us; a place where they stand up to MAGA thinking and white supremacy. Where the teachings of Jesus are not just preached but acted upon. Where the LGBTQ children of God are as welcome as everyone else. Where women are not relegated solely to the kitchen and the nursery, but also encouraged to use the gifts given them by the Holy Spirit for teaching and preaching. Where the congregation believes that Black Lives Actually Do Matter, and are willing to take a public stand to that effect. I’ve got to say, it’s probably not in this little town, but I’m not going to let that take Easter from my heart.

Easter In Our Hearts

The tragedy of Good Friday has still been transcended by the joy of Resurrection Sunday. Christ’s sacrifice still holds the ultimate meaning of love, and His passion’s purpose saved me. I am still loved by God, and I know it. Even with the stresses of politics, the COVID pandemic, the betrayal of the Religious Right, Evangelical leaders selling their souls for presidential favor, and QAnons occupying the pews, I can at least aim for a level of peace that transcends understanding. “Christ The Lord is Risen Today” will surely be available on YouTube. The Gospel accounts of that first Easter morning will still bring tears to my eyes. I may have to cook up a ham dinner with scalloped potatoes and asparagus, and hustle down to the supermarket for a bunny cake. While the expression of our Christian faith may not look exactly like my husband’s childhood experience, we endeavor to live the life Christ called us to. We still pray without ceasing. We do our best to love our neighbors. When it comes to forgiveness, we give it our best shot, and we thank Him for forgiving us. And we trust that He will make all things beautiful in His time.

Happy Easter to all, especially to the spiritually homeless. This present darkness will not last forever.

Hallelujah! He is still risen, indeed.

February 10, 2021February 15, 2021

You Don’t Have to Go Home But You Can’t Stay Here

“You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”- ‘Joliet’ Jake Blues

You might be one of us. We love Jesus. We have at least a passing familiarity with what He told us to do. Therefore, we can’t wrap our heads around what has happened to our church. We are dumbstruck by the QAnon false conspiracy theory- not so much that it fooled Trump supporters, but that it fooled millions of Christians. We’ve pleaded with our tribe ’til we’re blue in the face. Many of us have left our churches. Now it’s time to move on.

This is so much more difficult than it sounds.

I’m not having a hard time leaving church; I grieved that loss last year. But I still feel the need to speak out so non-Christians don’t think we are all kooks. The events of January 6, 2021 carved a bloody cavity in our nation’s soul, and tragically, Evangelical Christians are largely to blame. Though I’ve tried to distance myself from those who supported Trump in the name of our Savior, I am ashamed of my people. Because like it or not, we still have our faith in common.

Hitting the Reset Button

Interestingly, I’m finding that some of them just want to hit the “reset” button, as if everything in Evangelical land is still hunky-dory. Since the insurrection, I’ve been fairly shocked that I’m encountering an uptick in resistance to my message. From what I can gather, many Trump devotees just want to gloss over what has happened. Here’s a sampling of what’s recently come my way:

“Stop watching the news.”

“Trump’s not so bad. Stop talking and just come over for dinner.”

“There are no QAnons in my church.”

“Just stop talking.”

“You are not like the rest of us.”

All of these came from fellow believers, folks I’ve respected and even loved. Some just dumped me. Others called me up and read me the riot act. I can completely understand those who unfriended me on social media- I encouraged them to do just that. But one person, without meaning to, succinctly summed up what they all alluded to.

“Trump is gone. It’s time to move forward. Don’t dwell on the past.”

Oh, that this were possible. All of us (white straight financially secure people) could go back to our happy lives.

What Would Have to Change?

Here’s the rub: we still have millions of false conspiracy theorists in the pews of our churches. Allowing a falsehood to just ‘slide’- not to stand up to evil- allows it to become ingrained in the people and in the society. And like it or not, we’ve become “woke” to the horror of white supremacy within our walls.

The other issue for some of us is that the Religious Right promotes Christianity as a conservative political movement, intent on closing our borders and limiting financial aid to the poor. That’s kind of a hoot, considering the Son of God was born a brown-skinned Middle-Eastern refugee, and grew up to be a homeless, itinerant rabbi. He preached feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, treating the sick, and sheltering the stranger. You can understand why this presents a problem for us.

I’ve known enough preachers personally to have compassion for their plight. Pastoring a church well is an extremely tough job. But some of us who have watched the ascent of Trumpism in the precious name of Jesus Christ have a hard time trusting people who failed to speak out against these evils.

So Maybe You Can’t Go Home, But You Still Can’t Stay Here

I imagine most people would love to recover from the last four years. Trump’s reign has divided families, destroyed friendships, and fractured fellowships. Letting go of the past and moving forward is a splendid suggestion. I’m just wondering how ministers and pastors will entice people to return to church. We saw how easily evil infiltrated our faith. Now we need to see how it is routed.

Joliet Jake said, “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.” Is it true that we can’t go home?

This is a decision that can only be reached by each individual as they seek direction from the Holy Spirit. Some of us might see the necessary changes in our churches, enough to shine a light of hope through the crack of an open door. Others may find that the last four years have only exposed what our churches believed all along, and it’s not a faith we can live with.

For those of us who can’t go home, what’s next?

The great news is that God knows. We ask, and he will show us. I’m going to ask Him to open the doors He would open, and close the doors He would close. I’ll do my best to listen to the Holy Spirit through prayer and His Word. And I’ll try to remember that “following” is an active verb. Joliet Jake was right- I can’t stay here forever.

January 28, 2021May 19, 2021

Too Soon For That Second Deep Breath

The Fight Is Not Over

Thank God for a successful, if not peaceful, transfer of power. I, for one, felt as though the weight of the world lifted from our shoulders as we watched our country’s deliverance from evil. I’m afraid, though, it’s too soon for that second deep breath. We have more work to do.

I wish I knew where to go from here. Even though many of us have left the Evangelical Church over their support of Trump, I hope with all my heart that we have not left Jesus. I know I have not. His actions and teachings as they are recounted in the Gospels leave us an almost impossible “to do” list. I don’t know how to forgive those who claim to follow Jesus and yet continue to support Donald Trump and his agenda of treason.

Prayer Is Always An Appropriate Response

There is one thing, however, we can all do. Honestly, I’m not up to praying for my enemies yet. But we can pray for those who have been, and are, in the midst of the fight that continues. Yesterday, the Department of Homeland Security issued a Domestic Terror Alert. Anyone who’s paying attention knows that Trump’s thugs were just getting started on January 6, 2021.

Like those who lived through the aftermath of the American Civil War, we have a tragic “new normal.” Treason seems to be acceptable, at least to many Republicans. My God. I simply cannot believe it is true, but it is. The majority of Republican Senators are ready to dismiss the accused criminal without even participating in our judicial process. Like rats, they are scurrying to save their political party, curry favor with their QAnon constituents, and avoid infuriating the evil man who set it all in motion.

So, dear readers, please forgive me for the snail’s pace of my recovery. I will bounce back, and I’m hoping our nation will do the same. We have always had evil elements afoot, as does all mankind. Cowards, villains, and heroes weave the tapestry of our human story. The Villain won’t be conquered today or tomorrow. His minion Trump will machinate from the golf course. The cowards will conspire to hold onto their power, truth be damned. But from among the Republicans, a few demonstrate courage, integrity, and honor. It is only right that we recognize them, and pray for them.

Pray For Those on the Front Lines

Ten Republican US Representatives, who bucked their party’s pressure and jeopardized their own safety as well as their careers, voted yes to the second impeachment:

Rep. Liz Cheney of Wyoming

Rep. John Katko of New York

Rep. Fred Upton of Michigan

Rep. Jaime Herrera Beutler of Washington

Rep. Dan Newhouse of Washington

Rep. Peter Meijer of Michigan

Rep. Anthony Gonzalez of Ohio

Rep. Tom Rice of South Carolina

Rep. David Valadao of California

Rep. Adam Kinzinger of Illinois

Five Republican US Senators who, as of Jan 27, 2021 declared their willingness to at least participate in the impeachment trial:

Senator Mitt Romney of Utah

Senator Ben Sasse of Nebraska

Senator Susan Collins of Maine

Senator Lisa Murkowski of Alaska

Senator Pat Toomey of Pennsylvania

Our Democratic Congressmen and Congresswomen who, by their very party affiliation, are targets of the right-wing Neo-Nazis, white supremacists, and false-conspiracy theorist QAnons.

Many of our state governors, who have endured intimidation by the Trump administration whilst trying to secure COVID-19 vaccines and economic assistance for their struggling citizens during a worldwide pandemic. A special shout-out to Colorado Governor Jared Polis, who’s doing a bang-up job for his constituents.

Dr. Anthony Fauci and Dr. Deborah Birx: Welcome back! We’ve missed you. They and their families are suffering persecution and threats for trying to save the rest of us.

Many Capitol policemen fought a brave fight against men and women acting like animals. Two have died in the aftermath of the insurrection on January 6: Capitol police officers Brian Sicknick and Howard Liebengood. Let us pray for their families, and for the others who faced what was surely a terrifying mob.

What Is God Calling You to Do?

In addition to praying for those in the fight, I encourage all of us to pray for God’s direction in what He would have us do. This present darkness is far from over, so we are not done. I would love to know what you are hearing from God, so please leave a comment at the end of this post. Let me know if you would rather I not post it publicly.

I thank you, my subscribers, for your support. I am praying for you, for the heroes in the fight, and for the United States of America. Some day we will be able to take that second deep breath. May God bless and keep us, and deliver us from this present darkness. Amen.

December 27, 2020January 18, 2021

God Is Doing Something New

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.”- Isaiah 43: 18-19 NIV

Hoppin’ John, a traditional good-luck dish eaten on New Year’s Day. Credit Quinn Brein & Sam Jones, The Old Farmer’s Almanac.

Pyrotechnics, black-eyed peas, and Scotsmen swinging balls of fire, arcing through the midwinter night. Around the globe, cultures and countries will soon celebrate the new year. Humanity can finally take a deep breath. For the special 24 hours when this particular midnight circles the globe, I suspect God will hear a collective sigh of relief.

“Goodbye, 2020; Hello, Hope.”

Of course, our problems will not disappear overnight. In the US alone, millions have suffered through COVID-19, and hundreds of thousands have died. The lunatic in the White House held the relief money hostage while he golfed; can you say, “let them eat cake”? Our country has been divided, our families have split, and our nation’s poor are played as pawns while the wealthy battle over power.

I’ve spent the last sixteen months using every resource available to me to protest this present evil. But after much prayer, I’ve decided to turn my face toward the rising sun of 2021 and begin a new chapter in my spiritual journey.

There’s no going back to the way things were. The political and social climate of Trumpism simply gave greater voice and power to the meteoric rise of the Religious Right. The churches that supported Donald Trump and his agenda will continue on their paths, and their people will continue in their beliefs. I have used this forum to grieve their divergence from the teachings of Jesus Christ, and I appreciate all those who have walked the rocky road alongside me. Thank you for your support, your insights, and your company.

Fresh Vision, New Direction

In 2021, I’ll be shifting my focus from protesting the adulteration of the Evangelical Church to exploring other expressions of loving our Savior. Those who subscribe to my newsletter will see the banner change to Faith After Church. I’ll keep The Christian Resistance site updated and the bookstore stocked.

Also, I’ll be sharing my search for a fresh vision of God. To that end, I will continue to list new books, websites, writers, and resources that I find along the way.

Ideas, Resources, Rebuilding

Lastly, I will continue to pray for you, fellow wanderers. I know that, for my sanity’s sake, doom-scrolling has got to go. I have no control over Donald Trump’s increasing insanity; I’m not going to wait until he actually leaves the building to live again. Instead, I’m adopting practices to nurture my mental health and to further the growth of my soul. In my case, I’m watching interviews and Ted Talks on YouTube with some of my favorite writers. I’m reading books by authors whom I used to dismiss because they swam outside the mainstream of Evangelical thought.

And the walls. You know, the walls we all construct around us. As I built my house of faith, I felt like I needed security against the storms “out there,” meaning “not Evangelically-approved.” Having been raised with no belief system whatsoever, I borrowed some windows here and some doors there from people whom I respected and admired. There was nothing wrong with that. But over the last thirty-five years, I’ve built a firm foundation from reading and rereading the Word of God. I’m ready to remodel the old house, strip her down to the studs, and rebuild upon the foundation with doors of a different color, and windows that let in more light.

My prayer for us all is a fresh vision of God. May we be able to wipe the grime of 2020 from our windows to let the sunshine in. May we be willing and able to let go of the hurt we have suffered from the loss of our church communities, and look for new doors to walk through. May we trust that God is making a new way for us; streams in the desert for us to follow.

May we hear His voice today, as we celebrate His mercies that are new every morning. Happy New Year to all!

October 26, 2020November 11, 2020

Hope’s Beautiful Daughters

Why The Election Won’t Fix American Evangelicalism

“Hope has two beautiful daughters; their names are Anger and Courage. Anger at the way things are, and Courage to see that they do not remain as they are.” -Augustine of Hippo

At this moment, evil is holed up in the White House, and still supported by an enormous contingent from the Religious Right. The old saying “you can’t go home again” will apply to many who have left the Evangelical Church over their support of Donald Trump. Even in these last days of his failures, Hate has found a new home. “Patriot Churches” are now a thing. In reading their propaganda, I see no Jesus. Their platform is just an extension of the Religious Right’s crusade to condemn the LGBTQ community and maintain the power of the status quo; a logical continuation of the evil that exists under the withering gaze of the Religious Right.

I believe the majority of Americans are just exhausted. It’s easy to give up hope. COVID has infected almost eleven million of us, and killed hundreds of thousands. Black people continue to be disproportionately murdered without consequence. Poor children continue to go hungry. The rich continue to grow richer, and many of us pray that Amy Coney Barrett won’t bring the hammer down on our health insurance.

What’s a Christian to do?

That’s what I will be exploring in the next few weeks. Certainly, the election results will elicit reactions from both sides. But as a follower of Jesus Christ, I should have a default behavior. Hope used to be my baseline response. I wore my innocence and trust in Christianity like a sparkly garment, woven from the shimmering threads of my relationship with Jesus and life as part of a church. After three years of believing the Evangelicals would come to their senses, Hope’s daughter Anger blew in from out of town. She surprised me with her power, ripping the fabric of my beautiful cloak away and exposing the reality of politics and religion. She and I left the shredded remnant hanging by the sanctuary door.

Months later, my church family is still married to Donald, and now birthing ugly stepchildren like Patriot Churches. Even if Trump loses, the massive damage to the Evangelical establishment cannot be undone. The wreckage of relationships smokes in the ruins. Sunday mornings are now spent at the supermarket. With COVID running rampant, it’s hard to form new social groups, and the loneliness is exacerbated by isolation. It’s tempting to throw in the towel on finding a new Jesus-based community.

However, I haven’t given up just yet. Recently I was listening to a podcast from a fellow Christian outcast, and he shared this quote: “Hope has two beautiful daughters; their names are Anger and Courage. Anger at the way things are, and Courage to see that they do not remain as they are.” -Augustine of Hippo.

Without meaning to, I had invited Anger to spend the last year helping me cope with this tragedy. Her power helped me reach beyond my technological limits and find ways to fight on a national level. She coaxed me out of my comfort zone as well as my tiny little town. I am grateful for the time we spent together, but I believe I have learned everything she had to teach me.

Now I’m inviting her sister, Courage, to come stay for a while.

Courage’s broad following is nothing new, but she’s breaking fresh ground among Exvangelicals. Many former believers have given up on Christianity, but we must fight devolving into sofa spuds. We who are still on firm footing with Jesus Christ must pray without ceasing for new direction. Young people are this disaster’s greatest casualties. Kevin and I hear from them all time: kids from our Sunday School classes, now in their twenties and thirties, who watch in disbelief as their parents continue to follow the pillars of modern Evangelicalism. All we can tell them is this:

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.”- Hebrews 13:8 NIV

“The Son is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being, sustaining all things through his powerful word.”- Hebrews 1:3 NIV

We ask them to keep talking to God. We urge them to keep reading the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ life and teachings. We pray for them. And if we don’t give up, hopefully they won’t either.

Leaving Anger for Courage

Also, I want to spend more time learning from people who lived out real courage. In searching for a quote, I discovered Mary MacLeod Bethune (1875-1955). Mrs. Bethune was an American stateswoman, educator, philanthropist, humanitarian, womanist, civil rights activist, and a national adviser to President Franklin D. Roosevelt. Known as “The First Lady of the Struggle,” this daughter of slaves changed the world in a time when women of color had no voice and seemingly, no power.

MM Bethune from NPS — Mary MacLeod Bethune, photo credit to NPS.

“We have a powerful potential in our youth, and we must have the courage to change old ideas and practices so that we may direct their power toward good ends.”

I suspect Mary MacLeod Bethune spent time in Anger’s company, but used what she learned with Courage against what must have appeared to be impossible odds. I, on the other hand, am a white middle-class American. To give up the fight, no matter how dark the forecast, would be a self-centered and lazy waste of of my God-given gifts and an insult to the brave warriors who have gone before me. The American Evangelical landscape appears littered with broken relationships, and our leaders have revealed their all-too-human quests for power. But Jesus is still King. His Word still stands. His glory still shines. His power still conquers. And most importantly, His grace still covers us- me, Religious Right leaders, Trump-supporting neighbors, estranged family members- all of us who have lost something in the fight.

The days are growing colder as we enter November, but I have sewn a new cloak to wear. This one’s not sparkly with the naivete of 2016. Instead, she’s heavier; woven with a fresher awareness of racism, threaded with dark strands of rebellion I wear in solidarity. Her rainbow buttons serve to remind me that all of God’s children deserve equal rights and to be part of a family. The collar is ratty and torn, stained with blood and ripped by barbed wire. The collar is made of garments worn by the desperate, running from gangs and violence in Central America. This isn’t a coat I would have worn to church four years ago.

But I should have. Jesus would love this coat, and His opinion is all that matters.

October 19, 2020October 19, 2020

Jesus’ Teachings Versus Evangelical Politics

What Jesus Said Versus Religious Right Theology

Never before have I integrated someone else’s writing into one of my blog posts. But what writer Christine Brinn had to say will resonate with so many young people who question the Evangelical Church over their support of Donald Trump. Today I share her thoughts and my own reaction in solidarity with other resistance fighters:

“Dr. James Dobson is basically my spiritual grandfather. I grew up listening to his familiar voice on the radio. Long road trips were passed listening to Focus on the Family’s audio drama, “Adventures in Odyssey.” As a teenager, I looked forward to the latest edition of Brio Magazine and I devoured all 800+ pages of Billy Graham’s Autobiography before I finished middle school. I was born and raised in evangelical America.

Today, my parents still attend the church I grew up in and I see many beautiful ways that my childhood community instilled in me (and still inspire) a genuine love for Jesus. The seeds of my Christian faith were planted within the small, sheltered world shaped by Chuck Colson, Jerry Falwell Jr., Franklin Graham, and so many others. I’m grateful for many of those seeds. I’m also grateful for the communities of faith that have since helped me discover my blind spots. In the years since “I Kissed Dating Goodbye” and “See You at the Pole,” I’ve been given the privilege of following Jesus in many different contexts, and have had to wrestle, evolve, integrate, un-learn, re-learn how I read scripture, how I read history, how I listen to human experience, and discern how to follow Jesus in our present global context. I’m indebted to communities of faith that have collectively shape my imagination (Hillcrest Chapel, Gordon College, Fuller Seminary, InterVarsity Christian Fellowship, IFES, Neighborhood Ministries, CCDA, Harbor Church, Urban Life, San Diego Refugee Tutoring, The Ruth Center, Epic Church, The Message Center, Venn Diagram, and many others).

So, what’s my point? Well, this week I read Dr. James Dobson’s heartfelt plea to his community (and my childhood spiritual family). He compelled his audience to protect and fight for religious freedom (aka, Vote for Trump). In his words, this fight is critical because we’re fighting for a God-ordained inalienable right that America’s founders “enshrined” in the first amendment. When I read that sentence, I stopped in my tracks. I realized with clarity why my faith in Jesus no longer fits into the values system that shaped me as a child.

What I’ve learned is this: Jesus didn’t live and die to “enshrine” religious freedom into our government structures. He didn’t impose his agenda on the Roman Empire – or on anyone for that matter. In fact, He did quite the opposite if we read the whole of scripture or through the eyes of the global church. Jesus says a lot about his relationship to Empire, and “enshrining” his ethics into government structures was far from his approach to redemption and healing of the world. The Jesus I follow today is not leading me to vote for a platform at the expense of basic human rights. I believe the Jesus I follow is in fact confronting the blind spots of the American Church and is exposing our possessiveness, our need for control, our dominance and our abuse of power.

I don’t have all the answers. I’m doing my best to listen to everyone’s experience. But, for all those in my spiritual family who are wrestling with this year’s ballot, I pray that we’d ask God to open our eyes to the blind spots we may have. Is “protecting religious liberty” or “voting for a platform” what Jesus lived and died for?

I follow Jesus because I find his invitation compelling: not to fight to protect an Empire, but in fact to consider first God’s deep love for all humanity. Check out Luke 4 – Jesus gives a great elevator pitch! How does your vote bring good news to the poor, the captive, the oppressed? [Side note: White evangelicals aren’t oppressed.].

I’m voting against white supremacy. I’m voting against bigotry and racism. I’m voting for human rights and the sanctity of all human lives. I’m voting for restoration of the earth. I’m voting for sustainability over profit. I’m voting for racial justice and equity. I’m voting for the prisoners, widows, orphans, refugees and immigrants. I’m voting because I believe these are the things Jesus invites me to prioritize. I hope you’ll join me! #vote2020“

Who Is Defying The Teachings of Jesus?

Christine, thank you so much for your words. As my mother used to say, “if everyone else goes and jumps off a cliff, are you going to do it too?” This woman succinctly recounts the pillars of her Evangelical upbringing. She must be about the same age my daughter would have been, considering the benchmark ministries and publications we faithfully followed and instilled in both of our kids. Who, in their right mind, would even guess that the giants of American Evangelicalism would buy into a mindset that so clearly defies the teachings of Jesus? I do believe it’s too late for some of the older folks. They are not willing to examine the evidence and compare it to the Gospels. And tragically, the younger Evangelicals see the hypocrisy and are leaving the church. Worse yet, they are LEAVING JESUS. And who is to blame for that? The pillars of American Evangelicalism, and their followers who lack the courage to OPEN THE BIBLE AND READ THE GOSPELS. There is a new world coming, and hopefully in God’s mercy Donald Trump will not be a part of it. This isn’t the first time the status quo religion of the day will be blown to pieces. Jesus will prevail. He is the Alpha, the Omega, the First and the Last. None of this would be happening if He were not allowing it. Kevin and I know that our job is to be there for the people we used to teach in Sunday School- those who now write to us in pain and sorrow. God will use this for good. My prayer is that God will have mercy on us, and deliver us from Donald Trump.

September 27, 2020September 27, 2020

This Current Darkness

Dateline Wednesday, September 23, 2020:

President Donald Trump declined to commit to a peaceful transfer of power following November’s election during a press conference on Wednesday.

Asked if he will leave the White House peacefully, if he loses the election, Trump responded, “Well, we’re going to have to see what happens. You know that…We want to have — get rid of the ballots and you’ll have a very peaceful, there won’t be a transfer, frankly,” Trump said. “There’ll be a continuation.”…”1

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, or getting your news from Fox, this is not news to you.

This Present Darkness Has Arrived

I am not at all surprised that Trump said it, but I am surprised he admitted it this early on.

His personal militia, comprised of the Boogaloos, the QAnons, and the white supremacists, has been gearing up for months now. Please do not think for a moment that they are not armed and ready to defend the Dictator-in-Chief.

So what are we supposed to do- we who refuse to buy the fabrication that Trump was sent by God to rescue our country from their sins? To establish a conservative, Religious Right order? Which means ‘to hell with America and everything she stood for.’

All I can say for certain now is that we cannot give up praying. There is nothing about this present darkness that surprises God. He sees the big picture, and this might, indeed, be the beginning of the end. Never could I have imagined I would be on the opposite side of a major conflict from the people I knew and loved among the Evangelical Church. But even Kevin, my peace-loving, don’t-mess-with-my-recliner-settings husband, is marching on Washington if Trump pulls this stunt.

Shocked? You could knock me over with a feather. But this man, who’s never hoisted a protest sign in his life, is dead serious.

We Will Fight Before We See Our Democracy Overthrown

Never before in our country’s history has a president tried to sow seeds of doubt about our ballot process to throw the election. Never has a president put a buddy in the charge of the postal service for that same reason. His plan to literally overthrow our democracy is wide-reaching, but there’s not much point in elaborating. We have evolved into a nation who either believes Trump and his personal network, Fox, or we believe scientists, national security experts, former distinguished Trump employees who refused to play ball, and every other news source in America.

Never has a president even hinted that he would not cooperate with the peaceful transfer of power, should he lose the election. Until now.

We’re living in a world I would never have envisioned. Personally, I pray every day that God will remove Donald Trump from office as soon as possible, according to His will. I guess I’d better start praying that somehow God will also intervene to prevent a civil war in November.

Because we will not take the demolition of our democracy lying down. It’s terrifying, it’s tragic, and I can’t believe it’s happening, but as Edmund Burke so famously observed,

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”

It’s time to stand up and be counted. We are ready.

^{1 ABC News}

September 18, 2020October 20, 2020

Scars of Honor

When I was little, I thought everyone’s dad had one. The scar was long and curved and deep, carved into my father’s back between his spine and his left lung. Because we lived in South Florida without air conditioning, he was frequently shirtless, and I just thought it was something all men had.

Then I went to my friend Linda’s house and saw her dad mowing the lawn without his shirt. Typical pale suburban dad back, but no scar.

So I asked my mom about it. Scarred lion

“Shush!! We don’t talk about that. Don’t say anything to Dad. Just ignore it.”

It was years before I discovered the truth. I knew my father had served in Europe during WWII. What I didn’t know was that he had been captured by the Nazis and tortured. That particular scar was the only one visible on the outside of the man they had broken. It was the internal scars that never healed; they were the ones that twisted him into a father who, in turn, broke his children.

I don’t write much about my father. Now that I am older than he was when he died, I think I can finally see him with some clarity and detachment. The best of him instilled in me an unshakable set of ethics. From him I inherited the knowledge of right and wrong, a profound devotion to the truth, a kick-ass work ethic, an unflagging honesty, a decided aversion to bullshit, a lifelong dedication to standing up for what’s right, and the absolute unwillingness to tolerate racism. When Miami schools were desegregated in the late 1960’s, the local PTA dads were sure they could count on my father’s support to protest the disruption in our little white bread neighborhood. My father had fought the Nazis, authors of white supremacy, so he clearly declined their invitation. Furious with his lack of enthusiasm for their plan, these local racists threatened harm to me and my brother Matthew.

Big, big mistake.

Evil Then

These men had a secret sign among them as a signal of their white supremacist leanings. Each of their porch lights glowed green in the night.

My father, who had been a sharpshooter, took out each of those green bulbs. One shot per bulb. That’s all it took.

Nobody bothered me or Matt after that. The other dads yanked their kids out of public school and put them in Christian school. Matt was bused to Brownsville, and my school (which was mostly Cuban) welcomed hundreds of Black students from Brownsville. And honestly, I never thought anything about it. This was Miami. We were a spicy gumbo of Cuban, Caribbean, South American, Black, and other miscellaneous influences. Folks like my parents had moved from the Midwest, and we were the minority. To me this was just life, and I was quite comfortable in this melting pot of humanity.

The long-term effects of my father’s brokenness played out in my life, as well as my brother Matt’s (1958-2007). I’ve spent a lot of time sorting the bad from the good. By the grace of God, and the healing that has come from my relationship with Jesus Christ, I believe I’ve been able to let go of much of the darkness that came from my childhood. Instead, I’ve allowed and encouraged myself to cling to the positive aspects of my upbringing. Above all else, I appreciate and celebrate the gifts my father gave me from an unbroken place in his soul:

The knowledge of right and wrong, a profound devotion to the truth, a kick-ass work ethic, an unflagging honesty, a decided aversion to bullshit, a lifelong dedication to standing up for what’s right, and the absolute unwillingness to tolerate racism.

My father taught me what is worth dying for. His many-times-great paternal grandfather Elijah was decorated for heroism in the American Revolution. His mother’s family home was a stop along the Underground Railroad. My family has stood up for independence from England, for civil rights, and against fascism. I come from people who fight for what we believe to be right.

Evil Now

Now honestly, I never thought I would have to stand up against my own people. I thought I was in with the good guys. But Donald Trump is not a good racism is not patriotism guy. He’s not even a decent guy. He is the epitome of everything my family fought to protect us from. Sadly, the crowd I was hanging with (Evangelical Christians) largely support him. Of course I had to go.

Consequently, many of my relationships with friends, family, and community members have become strained. Or worse. Yeah, mostly worse. Because I was conditioned, from an early age, to speak up when I see injustice, dishonesty, and racism. Recently I was mocked for writing that I would “fight against Donald Trump with my dying breath.” Clearly, the author doesn’t know me.

I have grandchildren. Would I give my life so they can have a future free of Trump’s legacy? I’d rather not, but if necessary, I will.

I wear a scar on my soul. It’s the price of being raised by a broken warrior; a man who gave his all for his country to fight the evil of fascism. It’s a battle scar that, for a long time, plagued me with the phantom pain of torture in Nazi Germany. Now I wear it with pride. The man who raised me would deserve to see it used to defeat evil once again. Whether Trump wins (God help us all) or Trump loses (the QAnons are armed and ready) we are in the fight of our lives.

I know what I stand for, and I’m ready.

*This article was published by Red Letter Christians in September, 20220

September 6, 2020September 11, 2020

The Tragedy of Evangelical Compromise

They pulled up in the campsite next to ours in a stylish, late-model sedan. Judy* and Jen*, as we later came to know them, unloaded their trunk and immediately set to work pitching their tent. We were only midday through a Tuesday but clouds were building in the distance. Thunder rumbled down the valley. Kevin and I were playing Scrabble after lunch, watching the storm blow in.

Since our site was close to camper services, everyone in the loop had to amble past us some point. As Judy came by we smiled and introduced ourselves. She accepted a Cheeto from Kevin which put her in his good graces right way. Coming from New Mexico, these two friends were on a road trip and looking forward to seeing Colorado. In these days of COVID we have very little contact with strangers, and she seemed to be a nice gal with a friendly smile.

Time passed, clouds covered the sun, and the thunder went from booming to cracking. Rain started spitting so Kevin and I took our Scrabble game and headed for shelter in our camper. Sitting down at the dinette, we saw Jen sitting in their car’s driver’s seat. Judy was sitting on the ground outside of the open passenger door. The top of her body was leaned in towards Jen. In the rain. In the lightning. In the dirt.

“They’re probably just having an argument. That happens on vacation,” Kevin observed.

Maybe so, I said, but we should pray. So we did.

It rained harder, and she didn’t move. Neither did Jen. We finished our Scrabble game and played cards, and they didn’t move. The lightning was right on top of us, the wind was thrashing everything in sight, and they remained frozen in place.

Obviously something was amiss, but we were at a loss as to know what to do. The campground host was quite a distance away. Was this any of our business? Were we our sisters’ keepers? Again we prayed, and waited for direction.

The gale reached a fever pitch and was threatening to blow our sun canopy into Utah, so we went out and tried to take it down. Fabric whipped around me and I was losing my grip until Judy and Jen came to the rescue. Together we collapsed the frame so Kevin could wrestle it into submission. As the four of us recovered, bracing ourselves in the maelstrom, Kevin and I introduced ourselves to Jen. I asked if they were okay.

In the Sacred Shelter of the Whirlwind

What happened next can only be described as a holy moment; not because it was a “come to Jesus” event, nor did a rainbow burst out from behind the clouds. Instead, waves of raw emotional pain seemed to roll off these women and over me, to the point where I started crying. We were there, the four of us in the dirt, the rain, the wind, the lightning. Jen mumbled something about being fine; Judy said she was exhausted. In the sacred shelter of the whirlwind, I told them we were there to help. I told them the truth- that Kevin and I had been all over the board in terms of life experience. We were not there to judge anyone; we were there to help. Then I took each woman into my arms and hugged the stuffing out of them. Twice. And though they were both taller than I am, they offered no resistance; rather, each melted into that love, COVID be damned. Finally, straining against the wind, they rescued their now-flattened tent, shaking the pine needles off and stuffing it into their trunk.

This time, they both climbed into their car. And there they sat.

Now I’m figuring it’s time to give up the ghost and go home. We had offered help, and they had declined. It was getting dark. The weather was miserable. I was thinking I’d rather sleep in my own bed than camp out another night. We heard their engine turn over, there was a knock at the door, and the car roared off into the darkness.

Judy stood outside with her sleeping bag, her suitcase, and two handguns.

Thelma and Louise versus The Old Jesus-Freaks Next Door

“Can I come in and sleep with you guys? Jen’s had a gun pointed at her head all afternoon. She wanted to drive us off a cliff like Thelma and Louise. I’ve been terrified. I finally got her to swap her gun for the car keys, but now I’m out here all alone.”

As she spoke, a gust caught the door and flung it wide open. Judy came in out of the dark, out of the wind, and out of the terror. We were miles from cell service. She made a choice to trust us. Now that I think back, I’m not sure what I would have chosen had I been in her place. The logical choice would have been the campground host. But something sacred had taken place in the midst of the maelstrom, so the three of us talked in the dark.

“Judy, we’re going home. Will you come with us? You can sleep on our sofa and we’ll help you make a plan in the morning.”

She strongly resisted putting us out. “I’m the person that people come to in times of trouble, not the other way around. I am so sorry. Why do you guys want to help me?”

“We didn’t know what was happening over there, but obviously you had trouble. We’ve been praying about this all afternoon. We’re glad you came to us.”

We’ve all experienced sacred moments, and we treasure them in our hearts and memories. Until dementia sets in, this will be one of mine. In Aunt Bea, our tiny, ancient motorhome, Kevin drove us over a rough dirt road twenty-five miles through the wilderness in the pitch dark while Judy and I talked about Jesus. She is a new-age Reiki master, life coach, and yoga instructor. She has hiked the Himalayas in search of God. She never understood why Jesus had to die for our sins. She actually had to cancel plans, due to COVID, for another spiritual quest in Nepal last spring. She is beautiful, accomplished, successful, and spiritual. But she had just spent hours sitting in the dirt, talking down a suicidal friend who was holding a loaded gun. She was terrified, hungry, thirsty, cold, tired, stranded, and alone. The old Jesus-freaks next door were looking pretty good right about then.

This, of course, is not the end of the story. By mid-afternoon on Wednesday I had driven her around Pagosa Springs to buy a phone charger as well as the special locking suitcase and the gun carrier she needed to check her bags. She took me to lunch and I drove her to Durango, dropping her at a hotel so she could catch a flight to Albuquerque the next morning. She had called friends back home about Jen’s precarious mental health, and found someone to pick her up at the airport. Back in civilization, she had her phone, her credit cards, and everything she needed to rescue herself from this dilemma.

But still we talked about Jesus. Between stores. At lunch. On the hour-long drive to Durango. Kevin had given her a small New Testament with the Psalms and Proverbs, and I had given her my copy of God Came Near. She told me she had prayed in the midst of the crisis- the word “help” tossed out there to “The Universe.”

Over lunch, I asked her about her spiritual beliefs. She practices a faith born of teachings from both Hinduism and Buddhism.

“How ironic that you were going to seek God in Nepal, and He answered your prayer in Colorado,” I laughed.

With that, her head snapped back slightly from her enchiladas.

“I don’t doubt for one second that Jesus was there. I want to know more about Him.”

Where the Wheels Fell Off The Bus

How rarely do we, as Christians, have the authentic privilege of sharing our faith? The surge of joy I felt for the moment was tempered by sorrow for the timing. These are the days of Donald Trump. The Evangelical Church has compromised the truth of Jesus’ teachings for the political power of the Religious Right. No longer can I, in good conscience, recommend that Judy seek out a Bible-believing church in her community. No matter how they dress it up in Christianese, no matter what high-and-mighty evangelist justifies it, and no matter what powerful news network promotes it, I see no Jesus in Donald Trump’s words, actions, or policies. I could not be more crushed by the betrayal of people who introduced me to my Savior in the first place, and taught me to love the Bible. And I am beyond heartbroken that the best I can offer Judy is my ongoing prayers, the story of Jesus through the Gospels, and my favorite Max Lucado book.

But it’s going to have to do. The damage to the church is done, and I can’t imagine it can ever be repaired. There are other churches who haven’t been drawn into the darkness; churches that preach Christ crucified and share His amazing, revolutionary teachings about social justice. Churches that don’t tolerate racism and sexism. Churches that stand up to white supremacy and bullies.

I hope they survive the Trump administration. I’ll be looking for these Jesus strongholds when the dust settles, if it ever does.

In the meantime, I’ve definitely lost faith in church, but not in Jesus Christ. The One who saved me reached through the storm to love Judy. He cannot be changed.

He will not be moved.

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.”-Hebrews 13:8

*Names have been changed to protect their privacy.

August 19, 2020October 22, 2020

Fire in the Sky

“I’ve seen it raining fire in the sky.”– John Denver, Rocky Mountain High

Every August for as long as I can remember, we’ve invited friends to join us in watching the Perseids Meteor Shower. Living high in Rockies, far from city lights, we enjoy amazingly dark skies. Sometimes clouds block the view; sometimes the moon is too bright. But every once in a while, we get a year like this one.

We were camping between the peaks in a meadow at 8300′ feet in the middle of nowhere. The moon wouldn’t rise until almost midnight. We had a great site overlooking the lake with an expansive view of the sky. All we had to do was stay awake. I was a little sad that, unlike years past, we had no one with whom to share the evening. We’ve only lived here two years. All the friends we made so far were at the church we just left. Only one stuck around.

“Loving Our Neighbors” Versus “There Goes the Neighborhood.”

Like most visitors in National Forest campgrounds, our next-door neighbors waved politely but kept to themselves. These days, it seems like we are all a little more wary of speaking to strangers. Are they Trumpers? Liberals? The quality of their outdoor toys told me they were far above our socioeconomic level; Texas license plates told me they were more than likely Trump supporters. Back in civilization, we’d never sit down to lunch together.

But here’s what I did know: a glorious display of natural beauty and God’s majesty was about to unfold, and they didn’t even know to look for it. I just could not keep this information to myself. Late in the afternoon, as they were sitting out and enjoying the view, I air-knocked in the forest and walked into their camp. They waved me on in.

“I just want to make sure you two know about tonight’s meteor shower. You have a perfect site to watch the show.”

As my words sunk in, their demeanor leapt from cordial/reserved to unbridled excitement in about two seconds flat.

“A meteor shower! Tell us more.”

Extraordinary Encounters and Sacred Memories

And so I did. Pointing toward a peak in the northeastern sky, my finger traced out where they would probably originate, and which way they might fly. As I hiked through the brush back to our campfire, I remembered other extraordinary encounters with strangers. The first time I saw a whale breach in Hawaii, jumping up and down with a woman who was similarly gobsmacked by the sight. The rays of a setting sun exploding through a crack between canyon walls, bathing worshipers in an other-worldly glow. These, and other times, live in my memory as golden moments; extraordinary events to be treasured for their sanctity.

The overwhelming beauty and majesty of God’s creation made them memorable, but to me, sharing them with other human souls made them sacred.

Eventually the sun set and dusk gave way to darkness. Stars came out one by one; then stars by tens, and stars by hundreds. The night grew so dark that the Milky Way glowed a faint green, something I’d never seen before. And finally, like quicksilver, they began to whisk out of the night, darting here and there- bright and faint, short-lived and long-tailed, arcing across the sky above the lake. Out of the corners of our eyes we’d catch movement and try to turn our heads in time. Every once in a while we’d be looking in just the right direction, straight on, and watch in amazement as they streaked along the peaks to the east. The sky would quiet for a while, with stationary points of light studding the darkness with diamonds. And we would wait.

Finally Kevin and I could stay up no longer, so we put the fire out and turned in for the evening. The neighbors were still out there, still watching, with the occasional “ooh!” and “ahh!” whispered through the cold night air.

As we were packing up to leave the next morning, guess who came “air-knocking” through the forest?

“Eddie woke me up at 2:30am to come back outside!” She was just tickled, and surprised. Tickled that she and Eddie (each in their seventies) would do something so spontaneous; surprised by the celestial light show orchestrated by God and shared with a stranger.

I never learned her name; I wouldn’t recognize her if I saw her on the street. I don’t know if she was a Republican, a Trumper, or an Evangelical Christian. These three categories of people have broken my heart and support a regime that threatens the very democracy my family fought to protect. It’s easy to resent the groups, but the groups are made up of people. And therein lies the problem.

The Problem Isn’t Us versus Them; It’s Them Pitting Us Against Us

Our country is at the boiling point in the divide between these two people groups. We listen to different news sources (Fox News versus everyone else) and make up our minds accordingly. There is a great evil that perpetrates false conspiracy theories with the intent to divide us. Foreign leaders use our high-ranking officials as puppets, also with the intent to divide us. Personally, I feel betrayed by the very people I trusted most, and powerless to stop the evil. It’s so tempting to take the low road. Fortunately, the words of Michelle Obama ring my ears: “When they go low, we go high.”

But ultimately, it’s the words of my Savior that are written on my heart. “Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.” “Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you.” The list goes on and on. Even though the Evangelical Church has betrayed the teachings of Jesus Christ, His Word stands forever. One of His own disciples betrayed Him. His closest friends turned their backs, and His own church murdered Him. And still He loved them, and gave His life for us all.

This Too Shall Pass

As hard as it seems at the moment, this time in history will pass. What now seems apocalyptic will, at some point, have scholars scratching their heads and saying, “what the heck was that about?” I’m old enough to remember the assassinations of JFK, RFK, and MLK. I remember Vietnam and Watergate and riots and Kent State. Throughout history we’ve been infiltrated by evil. This is the only instance in my lifetime where the church was blatantly responsible, but it’s far from the only time in history.

And still, He loves us. And He instructs us to do the same.

Everyone who knows me knows I will fight with all my strength to remove Donald Trump from office. I have no misgivings about this; rather, I would be a coward and remiss as a Christian not to do so. But I must endeavor, as I think we all should, to hate the evil and not the individuals. If our country is to survive, we will all have to forgive eventually. The least I can do today is try to resist the urge to go low, and to see the person rather than the policy.

If I succeed, that will be quite enough to accomplish for one day. Whether I do or not, I will try again tomorrow.

This post was published by Red Letter Christians.