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.

August 2, 2020August 16, 2020

Finding Jesus After Church

It was hot yesterday, but we still enjoyed lunch on my back porch. My friend Lilah is usually cold. The warmth of the sun just lit up her smile. She and I used to sing together on our church’s worship team. Upon arriving for our Thursday night practices, I would go around opening the sanctuary windows. Just watching me made her button up her sweater. But we both loved to sing, alto and soprano, and we loved praising God together.

Only three people contacted me after Kevin and I recently resigned from our church; Lilah is the only one who kept in touch. She is bold and courageous. In these tempestuous days of COVID and Trump, there are many reasons believers are walking away from the Evangelical establishment. I harbor no hard feelings against those who let us go without a word. Most people are struggling just to live through the pandemic and make sense of this new world; at this point no one knows the right words to say. Life as we knew it has come undone.

Finding Jesus Through the Evangelical Family

Thirty-five years ago, in a seemingly simpler time, I was introduced to my first church family. Coming from a very small, non-religious, and isolated family of origin, I was simply gobsmacked by the love. Never in my life had strangers transformed into almost-relatives who cared what happened to me. For the first time I always had invitations to holiday dinners. People prayed for me. Women hugged me in the supermarket. Other moms shepherded me through raising my kids. Older believers offered wise counsel. We worshiped together, celebrated together, grieved together, prayed together, and shared our lives on a daily basis.

At this point in my life, I’ve been blessed to have been a part of several church families. In addition to community, these years have brought me into relationship with God. With no previous religious upbringing, I leapt wholeheartedly into Bible studies, learning everything I could about this Jesus of Nazareth. Ironically, knowing Him is what finally led me to leave. What used to be a spiritual home became a political bastion, espousing policies that run roughshod over our Savior’s teachings. My personal identity as a follower of Jesus Christ has never been stronger, but I’ve renounced my role as a family member in the Evangelical Church.

Finding Jesus Outside of the Evangelical Family

It’s strange, it’s odd, it’s disconcerting, it’s disconnecting, and it’s disorienting to be outside the sanctuary walls. The good thing is, I’m not alone out here. Out here is where I’m looking for my Lord, and out here is where I’m finding Him.

Jesus is hard at work through Red Letter Christians, whose “goal is simple: To take Jesus seriously by endeavoring to live out His radical, counter-cultural teachings as set forth in scripture, and especially embracing the lifestyle prescribed in the Sermon on the Mount.”¹

He’s ministering to the brokenhearted former Evangelicals through the Evolving Faith community. Their welcome told me:

“Here’s the good news: You’re not as alone as you think.

We’ve set a big rowdy table in the middle of the wilderness and together, we’re having a feast. We saved a spot for you. There’s bread and wine, stories and songs, wonder and curiosity, renewal and redemption, too. We can’t promise you resurrection but we can offer you companionship.”²

The Jesus-loving world outside the sanctuary doors is REALLY BIG. As simplistic as that sounds, it’s actually anything but. One of the simple things about Evangelicalism was knowing what to expect. Women were simply not permitted to preach. LBGQT folks might have been tolerated, but the idea of them being equal to the old white men who ruled the roost was simply laughable. The lists go on and on, from these big questions right down to acceptable attire, behavior, and political persuasion. We who protested were quietly tolerated, but just as quietly dismissed.

I should know. I was one.

So the good news is, we who stand up to the Religious Right political machine are not alone. The sad news is that I miss the people who make up their ranks.

I miss singing with the worship team. I miss potluck dinners. I miss the Sunday morning hugs and supermarket conversations. I miss being on the prayer team and interceding on behalf of those I love. I miss communion and reading the Sunday bulletin and rejoicing with those who rejoice and mourning with those who mourn. I miss little old ladies who would say, “how are ya, honey?” and old men who always forgot my name. I miss the smell of Sunday School classrooms (except for the middle school aroma of BO). I miss mediocre coffee and unhealthy doughnuts. In fairness, I do not miss business meetings.

I know Jesus is still in those places, at least some of them. I just can’t be a part of a mindset that supports Donald Trump while dismissing “the least of these.” So I’m out here on the fringes of Christianity, trying to make sense of it all while grieving my loss and letting go of my anger.

And every once in a while, Jesus stops by for lunch on my back porch in the guise of my friend Lilah. She still goes to church, and she still loves me.

Just like Jesus.

1 Taken from RedLetterChristians.org website

2 Taken from EvolvingFaith.com website

July 10, 2020July 11, 2020

What Gives Us Hope

“Only in the darkness can you see the stars.”– Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Twilight lingers for hours in this second week of July. God’s paintbrush softly tints our western Colorado sunsets in wispy peaches and pinks, while purple thunderheads rise in the distance. Colors fade slowly in the translucent sky. Hours seem to pass before the pale turquoise light gives way to nightfall, leaving stars to find their shimmer long after we’ve gone to bed.

Kevin and I have been watching these evenings unfold while camping in the San Juan Mountains. I’m always a little afraid of full-on nightfall because of the bears. Yep, they’re out there. I have an internal tug-of-war over wanting to watch the stars come out and knowing Yogi lurks in the shadows. I’ve had a bear sneak up on me before, and it’s not an experience I want to repeat.

But one of the perks of living in the Rockies is to watch the firmament of Heaven reveal itself after the fading of day. The Milky Way spills diamonds across our night sky. Shooting stars split the darkness. No man-made show rivals the glory of the Universe unveiled when the sun goes down. It’s worth staying up for. It’s even worth braving the bears.

The Dying of the Light

The process of living my last three years as an Evangelical Christian was like watching the light fade away. Because of Trump and the Religious Right’s political movement, I knew the end was coming. There was so much about that life that I loved, and it broke my heart to say goodbye.

But as Edmund Burke so famously observed, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” We could no longer support an organization that stands behind our current president. As spring turned to summer, we said goodbye to the life in which we had given our all. Years of worship and potlucks and prayer chains and teaching Sunday School and serving on committees and annual clean-up days and friendships and Bible Studies and small groups are now just cherished memories.

Also, I’ve been afraid of the dark. It’s only been two years since we moved three hundred miles from our community. As long as we were part of a church here, I knew we would have people in our corner. Leaving church meant we would be alone. Just us and the bears.

But the day came when we both knew it was time. We cleanly cut the cord with no idea of what would come next. Surprisingly, I feel better. I’m sad, but no longer angry. We just don’t believe the same things. And shockingly, I’m not scared. It may appear it’s just us and the bears in the dark, but I’m coming to find out there is light in the darkness I knew nothing about. And that’s where hope comes in.

Being firmly ensconced in church, I never looked beyond the sanctuary doors to discover other ways Christianity is being lived out. Sure, I knew there were other denominations, and that’s always a possibility going forward. But thanks to people much younger than myself, I’m learning there’s a whole world of Jesus-lovers doing their best to live out our Savior’s commands completely detached from the Religious Right’s political juggernaut. And they are rockin’ it.

I am finding hope in online communities like Evolving Faith and Red Letter Christians. I always find hope, and explanations for the difficulties of these times, in the Gospels. Young people are seeing the hypocrisy of speaking Jesus out one side of the mouth and espousing Trump from the other. My son and daughter-in-law have opened my eyes to a world of possibilities I never knew existed. These two dear ones are firmly based in the Word of God, and they have encouraged me to step into the world of today and take a look around.

And what I’m seeing is making me think.

No Longer Afraid of the Dark

I don’t agree with all the new ideas, just as I don’t disagree with everything the Old Order of Church believed.

I do agree with Jesus. I’m still on my year-long walk through the Gospels, studying with trusted commentaries on every step I take. Having our Savior’s teachings as the Gold Standard for belief, for behavior, and for love completely satisfies my deep need to know the Truth. And the Truth is setting me free once again.

Now the days are getting shorter, but I’m no longer afraid of the dark. Of course, the bears are still there. But I’m taking courage from knowing others are beating the bushes alongside me, searching for Jesus no matter what dangers lurk in the shadows. Communities exist in this brave new world, and I’ve been welcomed there. As a matter of fact, everyone is welcome there. And fewer daylight hours make it easier to watch the stars come out. The Milky Way spills diamonds across our night sky. Shooting stars split the darkness. No man-made show rivals the glory of the Universe unveiled when the sun goes down. It’s worth staying up for. It’s even worth braving the bears.

I want to watch the stars find their shimmer.

June 26, 2020June 27, 2020

The Dragon Ezri Sees

Wisdom on Faith, Danger, and Caring For Others

The “whoosh” gives it away. Actually, Ezri whining at the door is the first sign. Hot Air Balloon morning Only dogs can detect the shrill whistle of the burner, and she hears it long before the dragon looms overhead. She is terrified. Every day in summer, and on many mornings throughout all four seasons, visitors to Pagosa Springs rise at the crack of dawn and take to the skies.

Kevin and I love it! Who wouldn’t? Colorful characters come drifting over, dipping and lifting and giving visitors to our southern Rockies stunning views of the San Juan Range. At least twice a year, balloonists come from all over the country for festivals that fill our skies. Weekend warriors surprise us on random Saturdays with multiple launches. We keep lawn chairs in the garage so we can pull them into the driveway on a moment’s notice. Cool summer mornings, a cup of coffee, and a sky full of hot-air balloons. What could be better than that?

Even with her meager doggy mind, Ezri can think of a few things.

In fact, I believe she thinks we are probably idiots. She panics, each and every day. We’ve tried everything to calm her. Sadly, we cannot make her understand there is no danger. All we can do is take her fears seriously and pet her. This threat will pass in just a few minutes. We know this is nothing to be concerned about. I wish she understood plain English. All she knows is that there is a fire-breathing dragon just waiting for her moronic humans to step outside and risk incineration.

Whom Do You Trust?

I cannot help but see the parallels between the canine view of the world’s perils and my own. She knows nothing of Donald Trump, COVID-19, climate change, white supremacists, or any impending financial disaster. Her biggest concerns are:

“Are my food and water dish full?”

“Will one of them walk me soon?”

“Are my people okay?”

I once had a church fellow challenge me on comparing animal thought processes to ours, because humans alone are made in the image of God. While the Lord may have made us in His image, we can learn a lot about faith and devotion from our four-legged friends. Being human gives us some distinct advantages, including dubious choices about which of God’s commands to obey. Dogs, on the other hand, know a few good things for certain: chew toys, friendly playmates, food, water, playtime, nap time, and their people.

Hot Air Balloon Fire Ezri’s people are me and Kevin. She depends on us for food and water. She knows one of us will take her outside. In return, she offers unconditional love, unflagging devotion, and if necessary, the willingness to die to protect us should the need arise. She proved that one night when a drunk neighbor tried to walk into our house at 2 AM. We give her our best possible care, and she trusts us, her fallible, idiotic humans, to keep her safe from hot-air balloons.

We Trust Jesus

As humans, we have proof of God’s promise to care for us. When dragons are on the doorstep, we try to have faith that everything is going to be okay.

We trust that our food and water dishes will be full, because Jesus says, “Therefore, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink.”- Matthew 6:25 NIV

Because He said, “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age,” we know He will never leave nor forsake us. (Matthew 28:20 NIV)

The promises of God are numerous, gracious, and good. But what about His instructions to us? Here’s where it’s easy to fall short of canine behavior.

Do we really ask, “Are my people okay?”

In my prayers, I ask God to take care of my people. But the reality is, all my people are not okay. Even if my immediate circle of family and friends appear to be fine at the moment, our Savior was quite clear in His instructions. For followers of Jesus Christ, ALL people are our people. ESPECIALLY “the least of these.”

How do I know this?

Jesus said, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’, and ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.'” (Luke 10:27 NIV) When the expert in the law asked, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus responded with the story of The Good Samaritan.

In Matthew 25:31-46, Jesus gives clear instructions on how treat others in The Parable of the Sheep and the Goats . Our Savior used simple stories to illustrate moral or spiritual lessons. None of us have to be rocket scientists to understand how He wants us to treat, and protect, our fellow humans.

I could go on and on, listing dozens of verses on how the Bible says we are to treat aliens and strangers in our land; how we are to treat orphans and widows, the poor, and the least of these. If you have questions, you can ask Google or Siri to find Bible verses with these key words.

The reality is, our people are not okay. We have a Biblical mandate, spread throughout the Scriptures, to take care of all people in our Savior’s name. For folks who profess to be followers of Jesus Christ, this is NOT OPTIONAL. THIS IS MANDATORY. And in these uncertain days, we must pull on our big kid pants and fight Trump’s agenda: to terrorize and vilify refugees; to overturn the Affordable Care Act and snatch health insurance from 23 million Americans; to take from the poor and give tax breaks to the rich; to deny a worldwide pandemic because it interferes with his pep rallies; to withdraw federal money for COVID testing; and to protect white supremacists from justice. The list is endless; this just captures the headlines from today.

The terror Ezri feels over hot air balloons parallels the despair I feel over Trump. But then I remember: I am not distressed in the least over giant nylon bags of hot air. God is not in the least distressed over Donald Trump. While I cannot convince Ezri that the dragons are not going to incinerate us, I can trust God that He’s got the Trump situation in His hands. Before we know it, Donald will be a memory. The dragon will be slain.

The fire will be out.

And sadly, we’ll be on to the next challenge, because this ain’t Heaven. But if my dog doesn’t give up, I won’t either. Every stinkin’ morning at least one dragon will rise in her neighborhood. She’ll always believe her owners are idiots. She’ll panic for a few minutes, each and every day, until the danger has passed. We will take her fears seriously and pet her. We will pray for God’s Kingdom to come, for all people, and for the courage, strength, and wisdom to take action and stand up for what is right.

And we will thank God for it all. Amen.