Inauguration Day Comments from the Interfaith Prayer Service

My reflections on unity and justice from this morning’s Standing with Our Neighbor interfaith prayer service are posted below. Now that I’ve heard Trump’s speech, I would amend my comments from this morning to add that true unity is rooted in justice, not allegiance.

I’m grateful to each of you for your presence here today, and the desire for unity expressed by your presence. Thanks also to the NAACP and Faith Voices.

In times like these, a commitment to unity may seem overly naive or idealistic. Part of this is because, a lot of times, we understand politics to be a zero sum game, with clear winners and clear losers. When it comes to political contests, winning and losing can carry the euphoria of victory, or the agony of defeat. In some ways it’s like the spectacle of a sporting event, when fans live or die with each play of the game, but with much more intensity, because of very real life implications.

​When it comes to elections, there are times when I’ve felt like a winner, and there are times when I’ve felt like a loser. I will say that as someone who believes in equal rights, economic dignity and race equity, this last election cycle has made me worry about the rhetoric—about the way we treat one another—in this nation.

For if we truly seek unity, then we have a responsibility to never normalize the disparaging treatment of anyone, including but not limited to women, the poor, immigrants, Muslims, people of color, or people in the LGBTQ community. This is not a partisan issue; this is a human issue. Unity never takes as its starting point a fundamental disrespect of the other. Indeed, to normalize a fundamental disrespect of other human beings is precisely what precludes unity.

Even if we are nice to one another in interpersonal exchanges, that’s all well and good, yet if we are nice to one another in interpersonal exchanges yet all the while support governing policies that do immeasurable harm to one other, then, fundamentally, we are still disrespecting one another.

If we are serious about unity, then we must also be serious about fairness and dignity and equality, justice and respect and compassion. True unity is only possible when everyone has an equal place at the table –> otherwise it’s just hollow, cheap, superficial rhetoric that masks hidden power structures in society that privilege some (the dominant group) at the expense of others.

And no matter which political party we may or may not identify with, no matter what our religious tradition may or may not be — If we live in a world with political winners and losers, let us be sure of one thing: we are in this boat together. We may love the euphoria of winning, but if winning means throwing out principles of fairness and dignity and equality, justice and respect and compassion, if winning means throwing all of these things out, then, in the end, all of us lose. The pledge—the one we teach our children—is for liberty and justice…for all.

Thank you very much.

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“An Open Letter to Muslims in America” — a response

I wrote this in response to a letter to the editor that appeared in today’s News-Leader, “An Open Letter to Muslims in America.”


It’s possible to share Bob W. Rush’s concerns about threats made against our nation, but it doesn’t mean we have to share his imprudent fear of Muslims (“An Open Letter to Muslims in America”).

When Mr. Rush paints the Islamic community with broad brush strokes and says that all Muslims are “subject to suspicion” until they can “teach us how to unmistakably distinguish a ‘good Muslim’ from a ‘bad Muslim,’” I wonder if he is aware of the tens of thousands of Islamic clerics around the world who’ve repeatedly condemned the actions of extremist Islamists? Contrary to Mr. Rush’s statement, they do not offer their “behest and approval” of “killing innocent people.” (See here or here.)

I wonder if he knows that, according to the U.S. Counter Terrorism Center at West Point, Islamist terrorism kills more Muslims by far than it does adherents to any other religious tradition, including Christianity? (Between 82-97% of victims of Islamist terrorism are Muslim.)

I wonder if he’s ever had a Muslim classmate, colleague, or neighbor? I wonder if he’s been part of the Interfaith Alliance of the Ozarks, which provides numerous opportunities to build bonds of friendship and solidarity with Muslim sisters and brothers in the Ozarks?

To be sure, extremist versions of Islam are a real problem and threat. Religious extremism in all its forms is a real problem and threat (for an excellent analysis, I recommend When Religion Becomes Evil, by Charles Kimball). There aren’t any good reasons to sentimentalize such evil, for extremist Islamist groups have been responsible for mass acts of terror, in the U.S. and abroad.

But here’s the thing. To think that the vast majority of Muslims are supportive of extremist versions of Islam is as myopic as thinking that the vast majority of Christians are supportive of the Ku Klux Klan (or similar white nationalism groups), whose adherents identify as white and Christian.

And lest we think violence in Christian guise is just a thing of the past (to say nothing of the long-lasting effects of avowedly Christian colonization and the historic legacy of slavery and institutional racism and misogyny), let’s recall the murders in 2014 at the Jewish Community Center in Overland Park by Frazier Glenn Miller, a KKK white supremacist from the Ozarks who said he “wanted to kill Jewish people before he dies.”

Let’s recall that Dylan Roof, who murdered nine black members of Mother Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church—all with the Confederate Battle Flag sown onto his jacket—was a member of a Lutheran church.

Let’s remember that just last year two major plots were uncovered in the U.S. that exposed white nationalists plotting to kill “scores of Muslims,” ranging from a radiation device described as “a weapon of mass destruction that would slowly and painfully kill anyone who walked near it” (the man who planned the attack, Glendon Crawford, is a member of the KKK); to a trio of white-militia terrorists in western Kansas who “were part of an anti-Muslim group called the Crusaders that plotted . . . to blow up” an entire apartment complex that housed Somali immigrants. According to USA Today, “the men openly discussed their hatred for members of the Muslim community, referring to them as ‘cockroaches.’”

Given these events, perhaps it shouldn’t be entirely surprising that over the last fifteen years, right-wing militia groups that largely identify as Christian have murdered more people in the United States than extremist Islamists have.

What’s more, from 2004-2013, the number of Americans living in the United States killed by all forms of terrorism is 313, compared to 316,545 deaths by firearm, which equates to more than a hundred 9/11s. But that’s a different topic for a different day.

I do wonder: How is it possible to tell the difference between a “good Christian” and a “bad Christian”? Were the Christian slaveholders in the antebellum south, who quoted the Bible to say it was their divine right to own slaves, “good Christians”? Or the founders of the KKK, responsible for the sweeping terror of lynching that still haunts our society today? What about the Christian segregationists, who said that God’s natural order demands that the races not mix? Or Steven Anderson, the contemporary Arizona pastor who preaches that “all gays should be killed”?

If a Christian responds, “Of course I don’t support any of the these things, nor the modern-day murderous actions of right-wing militia groups and/or members of the KKK,” then doesn’t one owe the same courtesy to the millions and millions of Muslims who don’t support Islamist extremism either—indeed, those who are much more likely to be the victims of Islamist terrorism?

It would be the height of naivete to try to determine which religion is responsible for the most violence. Down through the ages people have used religion to justify all kinds of terrible actions (e.g., the Crusades), just as they’ve used religion as inspiration to do great good (e.g., Martin Luther King Jr.).

But one thing is certain: The worst atrocities in the history of humanity—whether committed in the name of religion or not—have occurred when misguided assumptions and prejudices have been hurled at entire groups of people based on their particular religion, ethnicity, nationality, or race.

And this is something that all of us—regardless of religious beliefs we may or may not hold—have the responsibility to resist.



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#ProLife & the 1%

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Closing Thoughts on 2016

[Originally posted on Facebook]
1. After all of these years of dog whistling, especially on right-wing radio and Fox News (which are always on wherever I go in the Ozarks), I don’t know why I was so surprised by the outcome of the elections. After all, the misogyny, racism, homophobia, anti-intellectualism and crony capitalism that Trump represents has been valorized and maintained through subtly coded rhetoric (public and private) for as long as I’ve been an adult, and probably before, especially among the twin voices of far right Christian nationalism and right-wing authoritarianism. As a freshman at a Christian college in 1992, I remember Rush Limbaugh’s radio show being blasted on loudspeakers throughout the student union area of campus, both inside and out. It was inescapable. The far Christian right has lacked so much moral clarity for so long now that for the most part it’s become an utterly nihilistic enterprise, so much so that we shouldn’t be surprised that its unvarnished thirst for power and domination has put it in bed much more with white supremacists and misogynists than with lovers of democracy and equality and, I suggest, of Christ. The unwavering hegemony that the far right Christians seek has become a god; they’ve traded their birthright for a mess of pottage. I remember reading Bonhoeffer and Arendt in grad school; I didn’t expect their writing to become so pertinent for 21st century America. 

2. For those who keep trying to pitch the narrative that Trump’s success is due more to “white working class” economic concerns, and less with sexism and racism, please note that black and brown working class people also have economic concerns, and even whites in rust belt states who said the economy was their chief concern voted more for Clinton than Trump. I also submit as anecdotal evidence the ubiquity of Confederate flags and Trump bumper stickers that seem to go hand in hand. 

3. With that said, there are a lot of people I know who voted for Trump who don’t wish to hold the same kind of racist or sexist views for which he’s become known. And some of them rightly understand there’s a responsibility to speak against such views, and I’m grateful for them. Other Trump supporters may tacitly support a sexist candidate without explicitly endorsing the same beliefs (as was the case with Trump), but this can only be supported by either (1) the disavowal of said beliefs that comes with the candidate who believes for you, so you no longer have to feel guilty about believing such things yourself; or (2) thinking that supporting a candidate who acts in sexist ways is somehow not supporting sexism. I understand that in politics it’s always about the lesser of all evils, but lesser of all evils still means less evil, not more evil (and here I direct you to my comments about moral nihilism above).

4. Still others say they only voted for Trump because of the Supreme Court. But as I’ve written on several occasions, and has been documented in numerous studies, voting for GOP candidates (even during the age of Scalia) leads to more, not less, abortions (see my blog post at philsnider dot net for links). That’s not to say that Dems don’t have a long way to go in formulating a much better pro-life position, they do for sure, but supporting Trump from a pro-life perspective is myopic, naive, ill-informed, and disastrous (I will engage in dialogue about this if you take the time to read my post about this at my blog).

5. History is watching us, and all of us will be accountable for our actions. History does not look back kindly on those who aid and abet injustice. Nihilists may reject the judgment of God, but history will still recall their stories.

6. There’s lots of work to do, and always more justice to come. It would certainly be preferable to sit on the sidelines, but as MLK once said, “The ultimate tragedy is not the oppression and cruelty by the bad people but the silence over that by the good people…. It may well be that we will have to repent in this generation. Not merely for the vitriolic words and the violent actions of the bad people, but for the appalling silence and indifference of the good people.”

7. Which reminds me that there are lots of good people in this world. As J.K. Rowling writes, “We’ve all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are.” It’s never too late to act on the good. Let us hope that history remembers us well.

8. “So ring the bells that still can ring; forget your perfect offering. There’s a crack in everything; that’s how the light gets in.” – Leonard Cohen

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The Death, and Birth, of God (or, Religion in a Post-Truth World)

Second Sunday of Advent*
Isaiah 11:1-10
Matthew 3:1-12


I don’t know about you, but no matter how hard I try — and believe me, I have tried — I still cannot not think about the contours of the world — and the country — in which we now live. Last week I tried to give a sermon in which I didn’t explicitly “go there,” so to speak, as a kind of reprieve for so many of us drowning in the post-election malaise, as we find ourselves inhabitants of what is now described as – according to the Oxford Dictionary’s 2016 word of the year – a “post-truth” kind of world, a kind of world in which just a few days ago a CNN commentator acknowledged that, unfortunately, there’s no longer any “such thing…as facts,” and in turn we see that whatever is politically expedient gives way not to the higher virtues of collective human rights, responsibility, decency and dignity, but rather to our lowest base instincts of fear, manipulation, deceit and duplicity.

We once lived in a world in which people would say that you’re entitled to your own opinions, just not to your own facts. But now we seem to live in a world where one’s opinions constitute one’s facts, with no tolerance for age-old methods of rational inquiry or judicious discernment, particularly if it flies in the face of one’s pre-conceived ideologies (this is what led the comedian Stephen Colbert to coin his own word of the year several years ago: truthiness, meaning something is true because it feels like it should be true).

To be sure, we all have ways of viewing the world and developing our respective ideologies and perspectives, but nowadays it seems that any time a person encounters information that runs counter to what one already thinks, it is quickly denounced as untrustworthy or intentionally biased, and is then dismissed with a celebratory flair, often with a dose of hubris that would make even the devil blush. While a good bit of epistemological humility is always good thing, there’s a real difference between honest interpretive differences and sheer B.S. (science, for instance, isn’t just subject to the whims of whatever some dude on Facebook happens to think that day).

We now live in a country (maybe we always have) in which political opportunism (in contrast to political virtue) has led the most dominant group of Christians (not necessarily the majority of Christians but the most dominant group of Christians, a lot of times white Christians) to abandon virtues consistent with the Bible’s fruits of the spirit (described in Galatians as love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, kindness, gentleness, and self-control), in favor of virtues that are really not all that virtuous, unless you consider the love of power, money, and sex virtuous — going so far as to turn a blind eye to actions and statements that would’ve gotten any teacher, principal or pastor fired, so long as they weren’t seeking the highest office in the land.

Perhaps the greatest irony of ironies in the post-election fallout is that it is now the far right, which includes the Religious Right — the self-pronounced bona fide, born again believers — who for years and years railed against the cultural “relativism” of the so-called left, with its supposed moral depravity and its apparent lack of belief in all truth, objectivity and absolutes — indeed, its lack of belief in God — it is now many of these very same figures from the far right who are telling us there are no longer such things as objectivity and facts and absolutes.

Here you might want to stop me and ask how we could do away with such things? I mean, who are we to just casually do away with truth, objectivity and absolutes? Who are we to establish a post-truth world? In the words of the poet, “How could we drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What were we doing when we unchained this earth from its sun?” And how would this affect us? “[Doesn’t this make us feel like we are plunging], continually? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there still any up or down? Are we not straying, as through an infinite nothing? Do we not feel the breath of empty space? Has it not become colder? Is not night continually closing in on us? . . . Do we hear nothing as yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying God? Do we smell nothing as yet of the divine decomposition?”

These lines, of course, come from the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche’s parable about the Madman who announced the death of God – which in turn made Nietzsche both infamous and ubiquitous, for generations to come. After he acknowledged the death of objectivity and facts and absolutes in his own nineteenth-century “post-truth” context – which sounds an awful lot like ours — he goes on to ask, in poetic fashion, “How [do] we comfort ourselves, [if we’re] the murderers of all murderers? . . . [W]ho will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us?”

People assume Nietzsche was simply announcing his atheism in a provocative and attention-seeking way (it’s where his famous “God is dead” line comes from). But scholars tell us he was up to much more. Contrary to a lot of conventional assumptions, Nietzsche wasn’t just making some sort of argument for atheism. Instead, he was providing a warning of the risks involved when all claims to truth, to absolutes, to God, go by the wayside, in the post-truth kind of world he inhabited. For Nietzsche, this is nothing less than a traumatic experience. It’s like he’s asking, “You want society to be structured without truth? Without facts? Without absolutes? Without moral and ethical imperatives? This is what you want? Just know that I’m a seer here, and trust me, it’s not for the faint of heart — one doesn’t dance on the grave of God without acknowledging the dire consequences involved.”

Along the same lines, around the same time, the Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoevksky was credited with the paraphrase, “If God is dead, then everything is permissible.” Which you can just as well translate as saying, “If there are no truths, no facts, no absolutes, then everything is permissible.” This is why, for both Nietzsche and Dostoevsky, a “post-truth” kind of world is a traumatic reality, not a soothing one; it’s full of more death than life.**

And that is why I’m glad that Christmas is about the birth, and not the death, of God.

To be clear, I don’t mean that in the “gotcha” sense of “atheism = bad/belief = good” – not in the least! (those of you who’ve heard me preach over the years or have read my books know that’s not how I understand things) – but what I mean to say is that in the figure of Christ – “a vulnerable baby born to a poor teenage mother in a dirty animal stall,” as one pastor describes – in the figure of the Christ we find both an unconditional accountability and an infinite responsibility to the other – with the “other” being understood as other human beings as well as to the world itself. In the figure of the Christ, there is a very clear reference to what virtue looks like; what decency looks like; what ethics look like, and even in a post-truth kind of world what Christians would say truth looks like. 

For in the figure of the Christ, it’s precisely this unconditional accountability and infinite responsibility to the other that constitutes truth as truth. Here we see that truth is not some abstract idea “out there” to wrap our minds around but rather truth is found in the humanity of the other “right here,” which is inextricably wedded to our response to the other — to other human beings and to the world itself.

So in many ways it becomes a question of where one places one’s faith, one’s trust: In the figure of all that is harbored in the life of Christ (which I might add includes an inclusive kind of love that can still be very much alive even if one has never heard of Christ, or even believes in Christ), or does one place faith, place trust, in the vapid and vacuous yet all too influential truthiness that threatens the very fabric of our society, not to mention common human decency?

And regardless of what right-wing Christians may or may not say, or what any Christians may or may not say, when our gaze turns only to ourselves, when there is no accountability or responsibility to the other, when truth becomes an idea “out there” we can never agree on as opposed to a person “right here” that should be the first of all of our concerns, we live as if God is, for all intents and purposes, dead.

After all, Christmas tells us one simple truth: If God is born into the world in Jesus, then God is born into the world in love. And love demands unconditional accountability and infinite responsibility to the other.
Which means that anytime society tries to normalize or justify rhetoric and actions that incite hate toward the other, whether in a so-called pre- or post-truth kind of world, the birth of the Christ child offers a resounding, “No!” Not in the name of love. Not in the name of accountability. Not in the name of responsibility. 

Anytime society tries to normalize or justify rhetoric and actions of greed that exploit the other, the birth of the Christ child offers a resounding, “No!” Not in the name of love. Not in the name of accountability. Not in the name of responsibility. 

Anytime society tries to normalize or justify rhetoric and actions of racism toward the other, the birth of the Christ child offers a resounding, “No!” Not in the name of love. Not in the name of accountability. Not in the name of responsibility. 

Anytime society tries to normalize or justify rhetoric and actions of sexism toward the other, the birth of the Christ child offers a resounding, “No!” Not in the name of love. Not in the name of accountability. Not in the name of responsibility. 

Anytime society tries to normalize or justify rhetoric and actions that dehumanize the other – whether women, immigrants, Muslims, the poor, the disabled, or the LGBTQ — the birth of the Christ child offers a resounding, “No!” Not in the name of love. Not in the name of accountability. Not in the name of responsibility. 

If God is born into the world in Jesus, then God is born in love. And love comes with an unconditional accountability and an infinite responsibility to the other, otherwise it is not love.
This is at the heart of John the Baptist’s message, and it remains at the heart of the Christmas message today. If God is born into the world, God is born in love.

As Dietrich Bonhoeffer — the heroic German theologian imprisoned and subsequently martyred by the Third Reich – once wrote:

“Who will celebrate Christmas correctly? Whoever finally lays down all power, all honor, all reputation, all vanity, all arrogance, and all individualism beside the manger.”

Let us journey, together, to the manger.

To the glory of God, and for the sake of the other — other human beings, and the world itself. 

*This is like the “B” side of my sermon from Sunday morning, in which I include a few more things that I didn’t have a chance to mention or get into given the allotted time and context.

**It’s not lost on me that postmodernism (for lack of a better term) resists absolute truth claims and practices a rigorous hermeneutic of suspicion precisely in order to reject oppressive metanarratives — and all the while Trump’s surrogates are rejecting absolute truth claims in order to maintain hegemonic white cis heterosexist conventions at work in Trump’s very own absolute truth claims, which runs counter to so much of the good that’s been harbored in the name of postmodernism. This is just another way I can’t get my mind around the Trump phenomenon, and why it’s giving me no rest.



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It doesn’t matter who you voted for; God’s call for justice remains the same


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Reign of Christ Sunday
November 20, 2016

“Of Gods and Men”
Luke 23:33-43

One of the more obvious questions for us to ask on Reign of Christ Sunday, traditionally referred to as Christ the King Sunday (the last Sunday of the church year before Advent begins) is simply this: Why in the world did the church choose to pair a reading about Christ’s crucifixion with an understanding of Christ as King? I mean, wouldn’t it make more sense to assign a biblical passage that has to do with the triumphant Christ, riding in on a white horse, all-powerful and almighty? Why a passage that focuses on Jesus’ vulnerability and humiliation? What is kingly about that? It flies in the face of what we are conditioned to believe true kingship, or leadership, is all about.

Of course, that is the point: the way we understand leadership is often times a far cry from the way that Jesus understood leadership. One biblical scholar says that in this passage, Jesus asks the people,

“What kind of king do you want?” And the people reply that they want a different kind of king, one who is powerful, one who can save himself and others, one who can take vengeance on his and their enemies.

He goes on to wonder if Jesus’ question to us today is different? If not, “What kind of king?” at least, “What kind of leader?” And he wonders if in the last two weeks we – at least we who live in the United States – offered an answer quite similar to the one given in Jesus’ day.

After all, Jesus refuses to come in power and dominance but instead appears in abject vulnerability. He does not vow retribution on even those who crucify him but instead offers forgiveness. He does not come down off his cross to prove his kingly status but instead remains on that instrument of torture and humiliation, as the representative of all who suffer unjustly.

Jesus challenges all of our assumptions about what true kingship, what true leadership, looks like.

I’m reminded of the kind of leadership that we venerate today –> not the kind of leadership that we vote for, but that we venerate. We venerate the leadership of people like Martin Luther King Jr., Desmond Tutu, Malala Yousafzai and the Dalai Lama precisely because they model a more beautiful way of leading – they refuse to lead by dominance and coercion, but by love and vulnerability. And there’s a big difference between voting for a certain kind of leadership, and venerating a certain kind of leadership.

Over the last couple of weeks I’ve gone back to some of the writings that most influenced my faith; trying to make sense of where our world is, and how we can meaningfully act in it. I’ve also thought a lot about the Thanksgiving Day tables we’ll encounter this week, and how there will be many different perspectives shared by people gathered around the same table, and in the midst of all of this I wonder how we can meaningfully work toward reconciliation and unity in our relationships without losing sight of justice, for justice should never be sacrificed on the altar of unity (after all, if the world is not fair or just, then unity is impossible –> unity and reconciliation are possible because of justice, not the other way around).

And I’ve also felt very privileged thinking about all of this. I mean, as a straight cis white guy I may be wondering how we can face our families at the Thanksgiving Day table; yet all the while minorities, as well as many women, are wondering how they can exist in this nation. It’s one thing to be worried about your place around the table; it’s an entirely different thing to wonder about your place in the nation. To wonder if you have a place.

In 1967, following several major victories for the Civil Rights Movement in the United States, Martin Luther King acknowledged that we were still far from the promised land:

“I must confess, my friends, that the road ahead will not always be smooth. There will still be rocky places of frustration and meandering points of bewilderment. There will be inevitable setbacks here and there. And there will be those moments when the buoyancy of hope will be transformed into the fatigue of despair. Our dreams will sometimes be shattered and our ethereal hopes blasted.

We may again, with tear-drenched eyes, have to stand before the bier of some courageous civil rights worker whose life will be snuffed out by the dastardly acts of bloodthirsty mobs. But difficult and painful as it is, we must walk on in the days ahead with an audacious faith in the future. …Let us realize that the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”

When talking about the way that the world turns toward justice, Dr. King wasn’t naïve or sentimental. He said that naïve and sentimental attitudes about the course of history stem:

“from a tragic misconception of time, from the strangely irrational notion that there is something in the very flow of time that will inevitably cure all ills. Actually, time itself is neutral; it can be used either destructively or constructively. More and more I feel that the people of ill will have used time much more effectively than have the people of good will. We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the hateful words and actions of the bad people but for the appalling silence of the good people. Human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability; it comes through the tireless efforts of men willing to be co workers with God, and without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation. We must use time creatively, in the knowledge that the time is always ripe to do right. Now is the time to make real the promise of democracy and transform our pending national elegy into a creative psalm of brotherhood. Now is the time to lift our national policy from the quicksand of racial injustice to the solid rock of human dignity.”

Now is the time.

Let me be abundantly clear. This sermon is not about a particular political candidate or a particular political win. This sermon is not about party loyalty. This sermon, this call for justice if you will, is about our responsibility to have our compass pointed true north, regardless of what country we live in or what political party or candidate we may or may not have supported. As Christians following the way of Jesus, a king who showed that true leadership has much more to do with love and vulnerability than dominance and coercion, we have the responsibility to point our compass true north, to the moral law, to God’s law, which is rooted in love and justice and transcends every political party and candidate and nation.

All of us as Americans have a shared responsibility, no matter who we voted for. I know a lot of people who voted for Trump, but it wasn’t because they supported oppression or discrimination. Yet regardless of any of our intentions, it’s all about outcome. Let’s hope the outcomes are good. But in the same way one has a Christian duty to criticize Obama for his drone policies, and his continued use of torture in Guantanamo Bay, so too do we have the responsibility to resist injustice anywhere we see it. Regardless of who you voted for, and regardless of your intentions when voting, if the outcome is oppression then you have a Christian duty to resist it. Time is not neutral; You have a responsibility to shape the moral arc of the universe.

In a letter to Christians who voted for Donald Trump, Geoff Holsclaw writes the following:

I believe you are doing your best. I believe you want good for America.

As a fellow evangelical, a local church pastor, and a seminary professor, I believe you want to be true to the gospel — to the “good news.”

In supporting Trump, I believe you did what you thought to be right by trying to vote for the lesser evil.

I believe you are not a racist, a misogynist, or a white nationalist because you voted for him. I believe you try to love your non-white neighbors, your Muslim coworkers, and your gay family members. I know you feel marginalized and shamed for your values.

As Christians, we seek to follow Jesus, who was a blue-collar worker living far from a corrupt cultural center, and he was pushed aside by those in power. I believe you see your vote for Trump as a call for another way, even if it was a vote for the lesser evil.

I believe you.

But a spike in hate crimes and harassment since the election reveals the consequences of voting for the lesser evil.

The empowerment of hatred because of Trump is now being felt across America: A woman was groped in the aisle of a grocery store in Grand Rapids, Mich., Swastikas and Trump’s name were spray-painted on windows in Philadelphia; a Chinese American woman said she was harassed by a white man in Minneapolis and told to “Go Back to Asia.”

Trump was elected with the support of four out of five evangelicals — people of the “good news.” But countless stories since his election show that, for people of color, women, and Muslims, his election has been very bad news.
I believe enabling this hatred was not your desire. You were just voting for the lesser evil.

But if you do not confront racism, misogyny, and Islamophobia wherever you see it, then your vote for the lesser evil will become a vote for hate.
If you do not press for justice against hate crimes in your neighborhoods, then your vote for the lesser evil will become a vote for the oppression of people of color.

If you do not make your churches a place of respect for women, then your vote for the lesser evil will become a vote for sexism.

If you do not live in a way that proclaims the dignity of all people made in the image of God, then your vote for the lesser evil will become a vote for bigotry and xenophobia.

You voted for Trump on Nov. 8. How will you vote today and every day moving forward?

Will you vote daily against racism at work through your hiring practices and your conversations over coffee?

Will you vote daily against sexism in the respect you show to women and the messages you send your children?

Will you vote daily against bullying by calling attention to cruelty when you see it and by overcoming your discomfort in the presence of a gay person?

These votes are being tallied every day. What will they reveal?

Time is not neutral; The moral arc of the universe, the moral law, God’s law, still calls. And we must respond.

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In surprising announcement, Paul of Tarsus throws support behind Nero for emperor

CORINTH—In a stunning press conference that sent shock waves throughout the Roman imperial kingdom, Paul of Tarsus (formerly known as Saul) announced that “after much prayer and discernment” he will support Nero’s bid to replace emperor Claudius, “despite serious misgivings about the candidate’s character and unpredictability.” Paul made the statement on Wednesday while staying with friends in Greece’s southern city of Corinth.

“To state the obvious, Nero is far from being an ideal candidate,” Paul declared. “Yet even if he doesn’t provide a perfect path forward, he is at least the lesser of all other evils.”

Friends were quick to express their confusion with Paul’s statement. Not only has the controversial Nero earned a reputation of being cold, callous, and divisive, but several of his policies are in marked contrast to the ethical teachings prized by Paul himself. Paul’s friends said it wasn’t immediately clear why Nero’s policies were viewed as the lesser of all evils, if based on the criteria established in Paul’s own writings. 

“This endorsement is far from consistent with the person I know and love,” said Timothy, who served as Paul’s protégé for many years. “While I recognize that people are feeling a lot of anxiety regarding the state of affairs in our world today, it was Paul himself who once wrote a letter to me saying that ‘in the midst of distressing times, I should avoid people who are lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boasters, arrogant, abusive, unholy, inhuman, implacable, slanderers, brutes, haters of good, treacherous, reckless, swollen with conceit, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God.’ . . . Yet now it appears that my dear mentor is casting his lot with them.”

Peter “The Rock” Johnson has shared a long and at times contentious relationship with Paul that dates back to their mutual admiration for Jesus of Nazareth, a failed if not beloved Jewish leader executed for insurrection against Rome nearly a generation ago. The Rock expressed his bewilderment at Paul’s endorsement, saying, “Our Lord was the victim of state-sponsored torture, yet Paul is now okay endorsing a leader who not only lauds torture but wishes to expand it?” 

While the counter-culture movement widely associated with Peter and Paul has frequently been criticized for being far too idealistic in its valorization of non-violence, Peter—who tells us he hasn’t picked up a sword since his Lord told him to put it away many years ago after a brief but heated altercation with a high-ranking official—still doesn’t understand why Paul is willing to reject the movement by supporting a candidate who casually speaks of violence and retribution as if they are virtues to be cultivated instead of vices to be condemned. “It just goes against everything we’ve valued for so long,” he said. “I mean, whatever happened to loving your enemy? To not returning evil with evil, or insult with insult, but returning evil with good? To caring for the least of these, including the hungry and the homeless? If our Lord knew of Paul’s support for the vindictive policies championed by Nero—a man who has a heart trained in greed—he would be turning over in his grave.” After a momentary pause, The Rock quickly added, “If he was still in there, that is.”

According to anonymous sources within Paul’s network of trusted colleagues and friends, this is a decision that even Paul himself acknowledged he may live to regret. One contemporary scribe speculates that Paul has lost his faith, no longer believing that peace will come through justice, as his early writings suggest, but rather through violent victory — the way of Caesar and not of Christ.

“He isn’t proud of what he’s doing,” a source close to Paul disclosed on condition of anonymity. “Frankly speaking, like many others these days, he appears to have succumbed to the kind of fear and existential despair that leads one to abandon key principles that were once cherished.”

When pressed on whether or not his refusal to support Nero’s chief rival had anything to do with her gender, Paul abruptly ended the press conference. As he stormed out of the room, his spokesperson simply said, “No comment.”

This has led some observers to wonder if Paul—who was once a strong supporter of the leadership of women within the communities he founded—might revise his views related to gender and hierarchy in subsequent writings.

This is a developing story. Check back for updates.


Darryl Schafer contributed to this story from his office in downtown Springfield.


“Get even with people. If they screw you, screw them back 10 times as hard. I really believe that.” – Not Romans 12:17-20 or 1 Peter 3:9 or Matthew 18:21-22 but Donald Trump

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