Tag Archives: America

Re-mything America

Most societies are built on myths —  symbolic tales of the distant past  that concern cosmogony and cosmology (the origin and nature of the universe), may be connected to belief systems or rituals, and may serve to direct social action and values. Our myths help tell us who we are and how we relate to the world around us. And, as Joseph Campbell wrote, when our myths are taken from us, when they begin to break down, the society structured around it begins to break down as well.

America (white America, in particular) is built on a myth. This myth is that this country was founded for the ideals of liberty and justice for all. These words are, after all, written into our founding documents. We believe that success is determined by hard work. If you work hard enough, you can accomplish anything. Our courts are fair, people are presumed innocent until proven guilty and, while there may be a few errors here and there in our criminal justice system, generally the outcomes of court proceedings are good and right. After all, the rites and rituals of the criminal justice system are also some of the rites and rituals that help us act out our belief in our story, in the American myth. Our nation is fair, because it was created by brilliant human beings (who in some cases we revere in ways close to reverence religions have for gods). The protectors of our myths (our priests) the police and judges and the military, have gone through tests to prove their worthiness, they are willing to sacrifice themselves in the name of our myth, and they can do no wrong.

The symbol for our myth is our flag, and when it is raised we praise it with promises of commitment (the pledge) and praise music (the national anthem). These have become (albeit recently) the rites and rituals of our myth, and to disrupt these rites and rituals disrespects the myth, and the priests, and scribes who attend to it.

Like the faithful who have never really had a prayer answered, there are many who are faithful to the myth of America who have never seen the fruits of the faith. There are many who have worked their fingers to the bone and yet don’t seem to get ahead, those who dream big dreams only to die poor and anonymous. But it is faith in the myth that keeps them pushing ahead, faith in the possibility that makes the hard work worth it, even if it may take generations.

It seems that there is a rather large racial divide in those who believe in the myth and those who don’t. To be sure, there are white people for whom the myth has proven to be empty, and people of color for whom the myth holds promise. But all in all, I would imagine that being born into a country that once saw your people as less than human (3/5 of a person), where your ancestors worked until they bled, and were beaten into working more, yet never saw anything come of that work but more work, would lead you to see the myth for what it is long before others might.

What I believe we are seeing now is a vociferous objection to this myth by those for whom the myth has never been seen as true and for those who have been listening to and learning from those who have not experienced liberty and justice. White people are hearing our brothers and sisters cry out that they have been working, working, working for generations only to see that it would take generations more work to catch up to the same amount of material wealth that white people have. Video recordings of police killing unarmed black people, of dogs being set on native people trying to protect what is theirs, are showing those of us who are white and willing to listen what our brothers and sisters of color have known for so long — the American myth is just that: a myth. It is a story we have told ourselves for generations both so that we might keep working towards an imaginary goal and so that we can blame those who do not reach their goal for their own personal failings. Believing in the myth ensures that those of us with power and privilege are not responsible for those who do not succeed. We are not complicit in the breaking down of the dream for another; it is their fault.

Yet there are others for whom this myth is so integral to the fabric of their being that to question the reality of the myth is to question reality itself, to question the core of one’s own being. If your life is inextricably tied to belief in this myth and this myth is being shattered, you have two choices: allow the myth to collapse and figure out a new story around which to find meaning, or fight like hell to keep the myth in place, facts and figures be damned. Many, many Americans are choosing the latter.

Myths are based in the past, not the future. They are creation stories and hero stories around which we guide the structures of our lives. We use them to guide our decisions, but always as a touch point in the past, not as a moment in the future towards which we aim.

The American myth is not a bad idea. To strive to be a nation that believes in justice and equality, that actually allows for everyone who works hard to get ahead is a wonderful goal. But it is that, a goal. It is not a reality, and it has never been. There is not point in the past to which we can point and say, “There! There is a time when the American myth was actually American reality!” And yet we gather around it as though it was. We focus our political and religious yearnings towards a time that never was, towards a myth that is as real as the stories of the Greek and Roman Gods. However, unlike the stories of the ancient Gods, this myth has potential. It is something we can strive towards if we are willing to let go of the myth and work towards it as a goal. If instead of looking to this point in the past (that does not actually exist) in which our nation was truly free for all, we work together towards a point in the future when this actually could be.

In order to do this, however, we need to find a new myth around which we can gather ourselves. We need to provide those for whom this myth is a defining life belief (those who have faith in this myth) another story. As it is, half of our nation is fighting the loss of this myth, fighting it with all their might. We have people absolutely irate at the perceived disrespect shows to our rites and rituals, to our priests and scribes.

We need to re-myth America.

These are just some things I have been thinking for which I have no statistical evidence. I am not an anthropologist or sociologist, I am a person who thinks a lot about myth and ritual. I am working this out. Feel free to add your own thoughts, we can all work this out together.

Advertisements

What it means to be bisexual in the world and in the church (and what LGBTQ equality means to me)

This is evil. This is hate. This is the attitude that drives  LGBTQ people to have a higher rate of depression and suicide than the general population. This is not the way of Christ.

This is evil. This is hate. This is the attitude that drives LGBTQ people to have a higher rate of depression and suicide than the general population. This is not the way of Christ. Also, I have yet to go to hell.

I remember the first time I really noticed women. I was 11 or 12 and traveling in London with my parents. There were these risqué postcards of late 80’s one-hit-wonder Samantha Fox all over the underground that piqued a little more than my curiosity. So it would go over the years, slowly realizing that I was not only interested in boys, I was interested in girls too. I remember driving around at 17 talking to one of my best friends and  coming out to one another as bisexual. Then we didn’t speak of it again until we were in college and both were dating women. It wasn’t a safe thing to talk about. At that time, in the mid 90’s, it wasn’t cool to be bi, girls weren’t passing around Polaroids (the 1990’s version of Instagram) of themselves kissing another girl for the reaction/titillation of the boys around them. It was considered gross (I actually heard a conversation between classmates that expressed nothing but revulsion at the idea of being bisexual, much less gay). In a world in which one of my high school desks had “Eat meat, drink beers, beat queers” carved into it, I knew that my best choice was to remain silent until I was in a place where I was safe — if that time/place ever presented itself.

I have been out in most of my relationships for some time now. My students know. My family knows. To some of you this might be news, for many of you this is in no way surprising, because you have met me. I have been thinking about writing this for some time now and, well, I guess I am ready. If the above paragraph wasn’t clear, I am bisexual. But this is only in part about me. It’s also about the LGBTQ community, the church, and society. It’s about us.

Travel with me, if you will, to the fall of 1999. I’m out watching a meteor shower with one of my best friends in the lovely Blue Ridge Mountains. This friend is a woman with whom I shared a tight bond because of our faith. We were both Christian in an environment where that was, shall we say, unpopular. We had both been raised at church camp. Her dad was a pastor, her mom worked for the church, and I wanted to be a pastor. As we lay there on the hood of my car talking about our futures, our desires, what we wanted out of a relationship, and watching the meteors fly overhead, we came to a realization. This was more than a friendship. We began to fall in love.

We prayed together, went to church together, led Bible study on our campus together. Until recently, I considered this woman the love of my life, the one who I foolishly let get away. It wasn’t lust (at least that wasn’t all it was), it wasn’t confusion, it was a deep and abiding friendship, a romance, a relationship of mutual respect, support and caring, unlike almost every other relationship (with men) I have had — before or since.

And yet this relationship, this relationship that was the ONLY relationship in which I have prayed with my partner, the ONLY relationship in which I attended church, studied scripture and talked theology with my partner was also the ONLY one I ever had to hide. It was the only relationship in which I had to be careful where and how we expressed affection (even/especially in church), the only one I couldn’t talk about in my church circles (and with some friends as well), the only relationship for which I was told I was going to hell. My marriage to an atheist man was far more acceptable in my church world than it was for me to be in love with a faithful woman.

In the fall of 2001, I entered seminary in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA). The ELCA was still years away from deciding it was okay for LGBTQ folk to become ordained or to be married in the church. It was still studying it (as Lutherans, we study things a lot). I was the object of study, but not the object of acceptance or unconditional love. Like some monkey in a lab, I was the subject of curious interest: kind of human, but not fully human. I could not tell anyone about my relationship for fear it would get around to my candidacy committee or someone else who thought that, in spite of hearing my call to ministry in the 8th grade and working towards it ever since, because of my sexual orientation I should not be allowed to lead a congregation, to preach and teach and administer the sacrament (never mind our theology that states that the person administering the sacrament played no role in its efficacy). I lived in fear of people finding out, of accidentally mentioning my girlfriend. When I did tell a small group I was in about my sexual identity, I then fielded a dozen really gross and intrusive questions from a classmate that would never have been asked of a straight person.

My girlfriend came to visit me on campus, and we had to keep a calculated distance from one another, emotionally  and physically, while in public spaces (which we had kind of gotten used to while living in the South — the calculating the safe spaces, never being too sure if we might get the shit kicked out of us for being in love — and it never stopped sucking). No one could suspect my secret. For this (and a few other reasons like distance and me being an idiot), we determined our relationship could not continue. There I was, in a relationship with someone I loved deeply, someone I respected and had a ton in common with, someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, to have children with, to grow old and grey and cranky with, but it had to end because it wasn’t going to work this way. We couldn’t have a relationship we would have to hide until the church and the world came to a different understanding of who we were and decided to let us fully take part (and holy shit am I overjoyed that we are coming to a place where this is becoming a real possibility).

In my first year of classes, one of my professors (whom I greatly admire) started talking about LGBTQ issues in our Old Testament class. He said, “You know, I get being gay. That makes sense to me. But I don’t get being Bi. We are only supposed to have one partner, not to have sex with many people at once. I believe in monogamy.”

I was flummoxed. What the hell? That’s not what being bisexual means, I thought. But to correct him meant possibly outing myself. So I sat there and listening to a few more minutes of wrong thinking about what it means to be bisexual.

There were people in seminary braver than I was, but they paid for their bravery. One of my classmates got outed by a supposedly “safe” internship site that interviewed her. They asked for her to be put up on heresy charges. Other colleagues left the ELCA for the Episcopal church, as they were quicker to decide to include LGBTQ folk on their ordained roster. To be gay in the church meant for many, and still means for far too many still, to have to hide who you are for fear of marginalization (at best) and/or outright hate and harassment.

I have watched as friends of mine who identify as LGBTQ get kicked out of their families. I have watched my ex girlfriend fret over her father’s desire to marry her and her partner of over ten years because she didn’t want him to pay a price for love (but they’re married now and I am so happy for them!).  I have watched people I love dearly get excluded from the one place that is theoretically all about love and grace. I have lost two people I care about dearly to suicide because they internalized the message that they not only didn’t fit in the church, but that God didn’t love them.

We have watched as the national spotlight has shone on the agonizing rate of suicide among LGBTQ youth, yet so many in the Christian community insist on continuing with the message that these people must change who they are in order to earn God’s love. This, in spite of the apostle Paul’s writing in his letter to the Romans that nothing can separate us from the love of God, in spite of the knowledge that Jesus did not come to condemn the world, but to redeem the world (Jn 3:17), in spite of my church’s focus on grace and love. Out of fear, we focus on hate and exclusion instead of the sanctifying love of God. We continue to drive people away from the church, away from that which is (in theory) the body of Christ, continue to push people who have SO MUCH to offer away from Christian community. While we worship a God who went out of his way to welcome outsiders (the woman at the well, Zacchaeus, most of the disciples), we instead create outsiders. We push people out of our doors.

Conversely, I have wept in joy at knowing my friends are finally able to marry their long time loves. I have seen those friends weeping as their love is publicly, legally, and sometimes religiously recognized. I have had young people willing to re-enter the doors of the church because of the good Christian folk they met working for LGBTQ rights. I have heard some of the most amazing sermons from colleagues who are members of the LGBTQ community, and know that their inclusion is a gift to us. I have been blessed to be the leader of a community in which many strong, young queer kids are able to find space for themselves and know that they are loved by others and by God.

I am a mixed up ball of angst and joy watching the conversations about LGBTQ inclusion in society and the church. Some of it is so beautiful, some so amazingly vile, fear-based and hate-filled. While I am hopeful about the future for the LGBTQ community, I’m also aware that publishing this could jeopardize my ability to get calls in certain places, but if they don’t want a minister who is a member of the LGBTQ community, I don’t want to be there anyway (aka, mom, don’t worry about me doing this. Yes, I did think it through).

One of the best ways to overcome fear is relationship (I recently heard Walter Bruggemann talk about how he no longer argues theologically for LGBTQ inclusion, because he knows that people’s issues are about fear not theology), but another can be knowledge. With that in mind, I wanted to use this as space to explain a little about what it means to be bisexual (at least for me, but I feel like most of these are pretty good generalizations) as well as to advocate for inclusiveness in the church. So, with that, here are a few things (in addition, here’s a great blog post on bisexuality, bi-phobia, bi-erasure, etc):

Being bisexual isn’t a phase, it doesn’t mean I am into flings or that I am just gay and can’t admit it. While it is true that many gay folk first come out as bisexual because either they are still figuring it out or because it’s just easier to ease one’s way into coming out as gay by first becoming bi, it is equally true that some people are just bisexual. End of story.

Bisexual people are attracted to/ interested in people regardless of gender. It’s just not a factor I consider. Like, were I to fill out a profile for Tinder, I would be open to both men and women and then find folk of either gender whom I find attractive with whom I share interests.

Bisexual does not mean polyamorous, nor does it mean a bisexual person will just sleep with anyone and everyone. Yes, there are bisexual people who are into open relationships, are in committed polyamorous relationships, or who just like to have a lot of sex. There are also straight people, gay people, and trans people who are into these things as well. Conversely, there are people of all orientations for whom monogamy is a chosen way of life. How many people one is in a relationship with at one time is in no way related to or limited by one’s sexual orientation.

Just because I am bisexual does not mean I am into you. Check your ego.

No I will not show you pictures. But now that you have asked, I know that you are not a person I want to be friends with, much less be in a romantic relationship with. Seriously, don’t ever ask this. I am not here for your entertainment, my life is not a porn movie, and I am not bisexual for your titillation. One of the reasons I started dating my now ex-husband was that he was the first person in a really long time to NOT ask me something along these lines.

Being bisexual (this goes for all members of the LGBTQ community) doesn’t make a person a pedophile or sexual deviant. One of the most terrifying things about publishing this is the fear that those for whom I have been a youth director or camp counselor will suddenly think I may have had untoward thoughts towards kids. This is not a fear straight youth workers (or people) have to live with (while we all have a sort of low-grade awareness that we have to be careful, it is very different when one is not straight). Kids are just that, kids. They are not sexual objects. Pedophiles are mentally ill and the psychology for pedophilia is very, very different from the biology of being LGBTQ. If you want some facts on the lack of relationship between sexual orientation and child molestation/pedophelia, check this out.

There is a privilege that comes along with being bisexual that the rest of the LGBTQ community does not have: I can live my life as straight and find partners with whom I can have a fulfilling relationship. I have largely done this for a wide variety of reasons. Make no mistake that one of the reasons is that my life is a hell of a lot easier when I date men, both in my career and in the world. Since publishing this, I have heard from bisexual people for whom not dating women would be a heartbreaking choice and would deny them the love of their lives (or of this time period anyway). I hear this. But I still think it is an easier closet to live in than the closet one lives in as gay, lesbian or transgender. That, however, is just my opinion from my experience. 

We are a church built on Jesus Christ, built on the idea that God came to earth as a human to love us deeply and to overcome hate with love, even to death. Our God looked out at the people torturing him and loved us anyway, forgave us anyway, and asked us to do the same to our brothers and sisters. We worship a God who time and time again crossed boundaries of gender, race, nationality, religion, status and more in order to love others. It’s about time we start doing the same. All the time. Everywhere.


A nation of Sodomites

The story of Sodom and Gomorrah in the book of Genesis is often cited as a story about how wrong homosexuality is, and God’s desired punishment for such “crimes.” The story has angels coming to Sodom, whom Lot welcomes into his home as honored guests. When the men in the village find out that Lot has visitors, they come to his house and demand that he send the visitors out so that the men of the village may “know” them (aka, have sex with or, in this case, rape). Lot refuses, the visitors pull him inside the house before Lot gets hurt and tell him to gather his family, for the Lord is going to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah “because the outcry against its people has become so great before the Lord, and the Lord has sent us to destroy it.” The common cultural understanding of this story is God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah because of gay sex. It is such a common understanding that laws outlawing sex between gay men (and sometimes just anal sex in general) are referred to as anti-Sodomy laws and one of the epithets hurled at gay men is “Sodomite.”

This understanding is wrong.

God did not destroy Sodom and Gomorrah because of gay sex. That’s not what this story is about.

Lot welcomed the visitors into his home — welcome being a high cultural value of the people of God, iterated again and again throughout the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament. This is Lot’s saving grace, his display of welcome. The men of the village destroyed that welcome. They were going to violate these visitors, running counter to culture, custom and the word of God. They were going to commit violence against the stranger, being about as unwelcoming as one can be.

The book of Ezekiel (16:49) makes the sins of Sodom plain, “This was the guilt of your sister Sodom: she and her daughters had pride, excess of food, and prosperous ease, but did not aid the poor and needy.”

God did not destroy Sodom because of gay sex. God destroyed Sodom because they had everything they needed

You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means. I mean, cool, you want to criminalize not caring for the poor, be my guest!

You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.
I mean, cool, you want to criminalize not caring for the poor, be my guest!

and more and did not help those who were in need, because the people of Sodom did not welcome the stranger.

Sound familiar?

As I think of the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, I think of the new law in Indiana that allows business to deny service to members of the LGBTQ community, I think we need to redefine the word Sodomite.

Those who would not show welcome to visitors, regardless of the differences they may have: those are the Sodomites.

As I read about continued efforts to kick people out of this country because they didn’t come here legally (even those who were brought here as children, those who did not have a choice), those who would not welcome the alien as the Bible commands (Ex 22:21, Deut 10:19, Lev 19:34, Rom 12:13, Matthew 25:40), those who exhibit the sin of the men of Sodom: those are the sodomites.

Those of us who would cut benefits to the poor provided by our government, who would tell those in need to fix themselves, who would deny help to those in need (particularly those of us who live in plenty): those are the Sodomites.

The God who revealed himself to us in Jesus Christ is a God of radical welcome. In the gospels, Jesus speaks of drawing all creation to him through his death on the cross. He tells his followers that that which you did to the least of your brothers and sisters, you did to me, to love your neighbor as yourself, to love your enemy and pray for those who persecute you. Our God is a God of radical welcome and inclusion, who will turn away no one who knocks on God’s door — and God asks us to do the same. Over and over again, throughout the laws, the prophets, the gospels, and the letters. Not showing this radical welcome and love was the crime of Sodom and Gomorrah, for which the punishment was death.

It’s not about gays. People who engage in sex with those of the same gender are not sodomites.

But far too many of us are. Far too many of us are willing to kick out those who think differently, and act differently, as well as people who we feel don’t “deserve” to be here. Far too many of us ignore the plight of the poor and the marginalized to aid our own gains. Every day many of us are indifferent or even hateful as we walk past others on the street who are in great need. We keep what is ours for ourselves. We prop up structures that benefit the privileged while we ignore, shun, demean and oppress those who have little. This is Sodomy.

We are a nation of Sodomites. Our public policy is Sodomy.

If I didn’t believe in the God who will bring all people to God’s loving grace, I might wonder: what will be our fate? Will the fate of a nation that consistently refuses to welcome the stranger and care for the poor end up like Sodom and Gomorrah? If angels were to come to take those who show radical love and hospitality to safety, how many of us would be invited to go with?

What would the God of the prophets have to say to us, as we continue the ways of Sodom and Gomorrah?

Maybe something like this:

Look, you serve your own interest on your fast day and oppress all your workers.

Look, you fast only to quarrel and to fight and to strike with a wicked fist.

Such fasting as you do today will not make your voice heard on high.

Is such the fast that I choose, a day to humble onself?

It is to bow down the head like a bulrush, and to lie in sackcloth and ashes?

Will you call this a fast, a day acceptable to the Lord?

Is not this the fast that I choose:

to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free and to break every yoke?

Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house, when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?

Then your light shall break forth like the dawn and your healing shall spring up quicklt; your vindicator shall go before you, the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard. Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer; you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am.”  ~ Isaiah 58


Who are our heroes?

A few weeks ago, I went to see Selma with my students. It is an amazing movie. Beautifully shot, well acted, excellent writing… It’s the kind of movie that, when you walk out, you are just quiet for a while, letting it all sink in. It was, at times, very difficult to watch. Selma is a reminder of how far we have come and how far we have to go, and an examination of the power of love in the struggle for justice.  This powerful film could bring about a time of soul-searching for an American. We have an ugly history when it comes to race relations, and there is still much work to be done.

I wish all of America would see this movie and be stirred into contemplation about racism, activism, and the power of love in making change. To date, Selma has made $48 million , and is currently being shown in only 566 theaters, down from a little over 800. People are not watching it on a grand scale. I imagine it is hard to watch, but moreover I imagine that people do not want to be challenged to think about race in spite of it being so very necessary RIGHT NOW to think about and talk about. But I wish more people would take the risk to be disturbed and inspired by this film.

When I was walking out of Selma, deep in thought about Dr. King’s calling out of white church leaders for their silence while black folk were being killed just for being black, I noticed another movie on multiple screens at the theater: American Sniper. American Sniper is the story of a sniper, American soldier Chris Kyle, in war and his struggles to readjust to life at home. By all accounts, it is also an excellent movie. Good acting, writing, directing. I haven’t seen it. I can’t stomach war movies. I cry and cry about man’s inhumanity to man, how we end up in war, our inability to see the other as a human being (which is necessary in war, I get it, but I don’t have to like it). I thought about going to see it so I could write this post, as I know it is dodgy to write about something I haven’t seen, but I am pretty sure I would be curled up in a ball for days on end if I did. But this isn’t about the movie, so much, as the idea of the movies, and what we value as a people.

american-sniper_612x380_1American Sniper, a movie about war, warriors, and facing violence with violence, a movie that from what I read in comments and chat rooms, leaves one with quite the strong Go America! spirit, has made over $300 million at the box office. It is still being shown in over 3,000 theaters.

And I am disturbed. Not that people want to go see what is, by all accounts, a good action flick/drama, but that so many more people would rather watch a movie about continuing war than working for peace. I am disturbed that Chris Kyle, a war sniper, can be so much bigger a hero than Dr. Martin Luther King, a man who shrewdly led a peaceful movement to grant freedom and equality to black Americans. I am disturbed that we would rather watch something that makes us tread deeper into blind and unbridled nationalism than something that leads us to examine the darker parts of American history so that we might work for a brighter future.

Who are our heroes? What is important to us as a nation? War or peace? Loving action or violent action? What kind of Christianity do we claim?

Chris Kyle was a Christian. He embraced the kind of black and white good vs. bad Christianity that seems to be everywhere today. He believed that the people he killed were evil, that Jesus would be okay with his kills. He, himself, felt like killing was no big deal. It didn’t trouble him to take a life. He believed that he was fighting evil individuals.

selmaDr. King and those who worked with him were (largely) Christian. Dr. King believed in using love to fight hate, he believed that inside every one of those racists who hurled epithets at his brothers and sisters, there was a shred of humanity, a little bit of God. He tried to appeal to a person’s better nature, to call that little bit of God out so it could take over a person and banish hate. He believed in evil, for sure, but not without a spark of hope.

We, it appears, would rather buy into the American Sniper view of the world. Everyone else is the enemy, violence wins, God would be cool with us killing. We prefer a world in which there are three kinds of people, “wolves, sheep and sheepdogs,” instead of the complex reality that there is a little of each in everyone, that we are all simultaneously sinner and saint. We would rather our heroes be strong warriors who go to battle with guns, kick ass and take names, shoot first, ask questions later, etc. than men and women who fight hate with love and patiently endure beatings without fighting back so they can reach an ultimate goal. We would rather soak in nationalistic fervor than take time to reflect on the darker parts of our history and ask question about who we are and how we can change. We would rather have black and white than gray (and we would rather a terrible movie about an abusive relationship than Selma as well, but don’t get me started on that one).

Is this who we want to be?

Moreover, for those of us who are Christians, is this who we are called to be? Those of us who follow a man who said to love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, is this who we were created to be? Our Savior and our scripture again and again command us to love above all else. Not to love until we feel threatened, then to shoot. Not to kill the evil (because God takes care of that).

I know this isn’t good foreign policy. I know war leaves little room for gray. But I also know that the revolutions that have lasted the longest and led to the most change, have been peaceful revolutions. I know that killing upon killing leads to more killing. And I know that God in Christ asks us to go against the grain and to love unto death.

And, ultimately, it’s he who is my hero and it is he who I will follow to my grave.