Do you see the difference? If we were merely necessary to God, if He were using us like pawns to accomplish His purpose, and if we were simply to be used up and discarded, He would would be no different than many human employers. Instead, because He loves us so much, He even tells us to take days off for rest and for soul restoration. When I heard what Craig Barnes said to Young Life Staff all those years ago, an important truth started taking root in me, that more than being merely necessary to God, I am so loved from beyond the end of the Universe, from beyond time and space in history, that all there is in this life is to respond proportionally to God’s love which is so total: the giving and hospitality of Creation, our own time and space in history, the lavishing of the blood of His only Son, the keys to the Kingdom, eternal life and our names written in the palm of His hand and in the Book of Life, the fruit and the gifts of the Spirit, and perhaps most importantly, the gift of the Spirit Himself, breathing that new eternal life into us when the Kingdom of God is born into us by the seed of the Word of God’s revelation of His loving character.

God understands our finitude intimately, as He became wrapped in the swaddling clothes of His own Creation’s time and space in history, to live and die as one of us, to reconcile us to Himself by stretching His arms of love on the hard wood of the cross, to pursue us all the way to the door of our hearts wherein His relentless love knocks like a tidal pulse of unending, amazing love. We were not worthy of this attention from our Divine Creator, but apparently, we were worth it. Worth it to Him in particular. You and me in particular were worth it to Him in particular. And because we are not merely necessary to God, we are loved, it means that we can rest in grateful response. We are allowed to get off of the hamster cage wheel of slavery in Egypt and rest in the knowledge of His love…the intimate knowledge of His infinite love, knowing His love in the biblical Hebrew sense of the word: He has poured His love into us in a baptism of cleansing water and purifying fire. Now it is ours to respond proportionally since He gave us all of Himself, He held nothing back. The only proportional response is total: all of who we are–and all that we have–offered back to Him in sacrifice, just as He sacrificed Himself for us, not as slaves, but as adopted children of the King, heirs through hope of His eternal Kingdom.

A much better theology than being necessary to God is that we are loved. It is much better news. It means we can take a nap, take a sabbath, take a sabbatical, we can find rest in Him, and from that place of rest and peace in Him we can offer something so much better to the world than our mere finite human capacity: from the overflow of His love poured into us, we can offer His love to others. From a place of peace and rest in Him, we can offer others His peace and rest, the gentle, unforced rhythms of the Kingdom of God. He neither retreats from the door of our hearts, nor does He kick the door in, but in an astonishing display of Divine humility, He stands at the door of each and every heart and knocks. He would still be worthy if He just left when we did not open. He would still be God if He kicked the door in; I mean, what could we, His creatures, do about it if He did? He’s God, and all powerful. Yet, we apparently have a God who waits and knocks, meets us in the clearing of our empty hearts with a flood of love if we just open the door a crack to see if He is really there, if He really loves us. I tell you the truth, if you just open the door of your heart to the inestimable love of God in Jesus Christ, He will flood you with His Spirit of love and you will know and you will be known by the God of the Universe, after which you can pray for God’s love to break your heart with His love for others, even as He saves us from the destructive power of self-infatuation or self-loathing.

He needs us not. All there is to do is respond to His love in kind, to believe in Him and His love and to allow His lovingkindness and relentless tenderness to transform the little fiefdom of our hearts into a franchise of His everlasting Kingdom. Know that you are loved. Respond to His love with commensurate gratitude. Our efforts at doing so are pathetic, but it is the “refrigerator art,” as my friend Allen Levi puts it, of our heavenly Father, who finds each effort to transform our world with His love so wonderful and adorable that He would stick it up like a picture on His heavenly fridge if He had one. Let’s not be too impressed with ourselves. Let’s not be so impressed with ourselves that we take ourselves too seriously, so seriously that we think we’re merely necessary. Conversely, let’s not be so unimpressed with ourselves if the God of the Universe, our Creator, loves us so. We are so loved.

It is a choice to live in that love daily, and it is a choice to hold it at bay. Choose love this day, and the next, and you’ll never be sorry. Walk in love in the “gentle, unforced rhythms of the Kingdom of God,” as Eugene Peterson translates it in the Message. He even gives us His love to love others with. Grace, mercy, and peace, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ be yours today as you walk in love, as dearly loved children.

I have a friend who had a 365-day-a-year discipline of doing one good turn for another person every day…. every.day. This sort of discipline (with disciple being the root word) creates all sorts of opportunity for God to use us in the lives of others, which is precisely the reason he gave each of us a self in the first place: to serve others in His Name.

So what if we were to create space for God by taking something up after giving something up? We might give up binge-watching Netflix for the fast so that we have the time to take up writing thank you cards to friends, not for anything specific, just a thank you for the friendship, telling them what they mean to us before we end up speaking over their earthly vessel at their funeral. Perhaps instead of looking at our phones at night, we go to bed one hour earlier so that we can wake up one hour earlier to “prayer-walk” the next morning. Perhaps instead of reaching for our phones first thing in the morning, we reach for the Scriptures, and spend time in meditation and prayer journaling after. There are all sorts of things that can be given up that create space for God, but I think the things He likes most are the things we do for others in His Name.

What if we were to give up self-focus altogether? What an extraordinary amount of time that would create for most of us in this culture. Do we have an idolatry of self-focus like everybody else around us in our culture? Here is where we get into the seven deadly vices and the seven virtues with which they correspond. If we struggle with lust and the many different ways that can manifest itself in our society and on the internet, what if we were to fast from it manifesting and instead use that abstinence for worshiping God and adoring Jesus? What might that adoration look like? An easy and free way to do that might be going onto YouTube to look up your favorite worship music whether hymns, Psalms, or spiritual songs, and just keep clicking on the next worship song (with lyrics) that catches your eye. The danger there is that being on YouTube is a distraction that might take you in other directions. The less easy and slightly more expensive way is to create a playlist of songs that you know and can sing along with and some you would like to know on Spotify, Apple Music, or Pandora. If you are learning an instrument, perhaps you can spend the time learning worship music so that you can internalize the songs. You’ll be amazed at the power of adoration of Jesus over the power of lust. Set Him before your eyes instead of the alternative. For women, it may be less visual and more subtle sometimes, like romance novels or inappropriate emotional relationships outside one’s marriage. Withdraw your investment from that (fast), and spend the time in adoration, which is the antidote and a spiritual feast.

Perhaps you struggle with gluttony. Many if not most in our culture do. We feast every night, with access in the middle and upper class in this country to every food and fruit at our massive grocery store chains. Even our poor in this country have access, if not always the money, to eating healthy. However, few of us choose to do so. Perhaps by choosing portion sizes that are more appropriate to one human being, we can use the rest of our goods and resources to fill the local food bank to overflowing, just as it says in Isaiah 58 to do. How much money per month would it be if you gave up your daily Starbucks? Donate that to a charity that feeds the poor.

If you struggle with greed, if you have an idolatry of materialism, if you are jealous of the Joneses, perhaps you might see what sort of margin for generosity you might create for yourself and your family. Calculate everything in your budget that is a fixed cost, then calculate the left over. Make a withdrawal of that amount and put it in a large jar. Pray as a family how best to use it for God’s glory. See what need your children might become aware of as a result, and see what sort of margin for generosity they will make for the rest of their lives as they become a joyful giver as a disciple of Jesus. You’ll be amazed at what God will do. If you don’t have the margin because of debt, make sure you are giving a portion of your firstfruits to your local church, and–just for lent–pay the minimum on your debt and use the margin for generosity to get the discipline going where you are more concerned with your beneficiaries than you are with yourself.

Oftentimes sloth comes from exhaustion from overwork. You may have seen me write about this in other articles, about burnout, when you are working so hard because of a performance-based identity that you don’t save any capacity for serving your family at home, the most important relationships in your life getting your leftovers. By over-extending your capacity, you are actually diminishing your capacity and motivation for your primary relationships with God and others. You end up coming home, mentally checking out with whatever favorite method you choose, whether the boob tube or your phone, insulating yourself from relating with your family, and by doing so you are teaching your children to be slothful and to resort to friends online and virtual instead of the people in front of them. You are cultivating a culture, an ecosystem that naturally forms them without intending to do so. So by intention, create boundaries for productivity and boundaries for relaxation that do not include blue screens which exhaust the brain even further. Be intentional, such as “for my first hour awake, I’m going to spend time making breakfast for my kids to sit down and enjoy first thing as a family, instead of waiting to wake them up at the very last second for school and rushing through a standing breakfast or making them take breakfast in the car.” If your whole family is doing teleworking and virtual learning, set severe boundaries on screen time, make sure you create margins for play together–board games and such–and perhaps create family times of reading together, whether everyone is just sitting together and reading something different or whether you’re going through a book together as a family. The key to diminishing sloth is by maximizing productive hours, with the root word of productive being “produce,” or fruit. Being a good steward of the time God has given us means to be fruitful for His Kingdom, not merely being a productive widget in the commodification culture of the global economy.

If you are angry, wrathful, and vengeful all of the time, perhaps your diet of the 24-hour news cycle that stirs your spirit into a frenzy isn’t the healthiest. We might recall in the Lord’s prayer that we are forgiven as we forgive others, the block in the logjam being our unforgiveness of others, whether something in our past personal history or something in more current events. Some of us can’t even forgive Republicans or Democrats for merely holding to a different political philosophy than us, whether to over-centralize resources in government or over-decentralize resources away from the federal system…. and remember, sometime in the last 160 years, the parties traded speeches. I know friends in Rwanda who have forgiven those who murdered their family members, and we have trouble forgiving the wait staff at the restaurant or the barista at the coffee shop for a lack of expediency in service or getting our order wrong. One need only go onto social media to see just how angry everybody seems to be…. the antidote is mercy and forgiveness, and patience with people and with God. If we are waiting on the Lord with entitlement to receive the things we want, we may be disappointed with His definitive answers that are designed to relieve us of our entitlement mentality and replace it with His own will for us and for others as a grace. When we give up the hardcore desire to have our needs met, and drop all of our white-knuckled idolatries, then we have created space for Him to turn us into those who meet needs in His Name, and as a side effect, He will meet our needs and our spiritual cup of joy and gladness will be filled to overflowing. Make a steady diet of waiting on the Lord, patient for Him to answer with good gifts (better than you had imagined) for His children, and you will find yourself less angry, less vengeful, and generous in spirit even toward rivals and enemies.

The antidote for envy, rampant in our 24-7 advertising culture, is kindness. Envy is a constantly exhausting activity. Kindness is a state of being that is cultivated by God’s Spirit within you. This is all a difference between being a carnally driven Christian or a Spirit driven Christian. If our flesh–soul and body in the New Testament biblical conversation–and its cravings are dominant in our lives, we are missing out on the abundant life that God would be producing in us through and by His Spirit, one of the greatest gifts there is: intimacy with the Living God. THAT brings a contentedness that would crowd out envy. But the desires of our flesh that have death-dealing power are given the quarter within us to dominate the rest of us. This can be displaced by the Spirit affording us the same spiritual power that raised Jesus from the dead to overcome our flesh from within our very selves IF the Spirit of God resides within us. If He does not, there is zero hope of overcoming the flesh. This is not a battle that can be won in our own strength. We lose every time without the Spirit. However, WITH the Spirit within us, we have access to spiritual fruit, spiritual power, the keys of the Kingdom, and the ear of the King as adopted sons and daughters who can waltz right into the throne room of grace and ask for anything. Anything for which we ask on behalf of others in His Name and according to His will is granted… perhaps not in our timing, for He knows how best to handle others in their sanctification process, but He loves to give good gifts to others. Being moved with His compassion for others by His Spirit within us whom we have given greater space…. this will release the floodgates and reduce the logjam of envy to an obliterated obstacle.

Finally–but firstly–we have humility in exchange for pride. I include this last because it is first. Why should humility be the rarest commodity among Christians if our Christ was willing to “Philippians 2” Himself? If the author and perfecter of our faith came in such humility, how is it that we should think that we are above our master? He got on a trajectory in which the 2nd person of the Trinity emptied Himself of all that to which He was entitled, and because He did so, even to the point of death on a cross, being obedient to the Father so that we might be saved…. well, the only proportional response to God giving us Creation, giving us time and space in history that is ours to steward, giving us the shed blood of His Son, pouring His Spirit into us, giving us adoption as heirs through hope, giving us the fruit of His Spirit, giving us the keys to His Kingdom…. the only proportional response is total: all that we are, all that we have, at His disposal, to do with as He wishes. But how do we move from pride to humility? How do we get from here to there? For some of us, it will not come “naturally,” it will have to be a rebirth induced by the Spirit over which we have little control except our complete surrender. Humility comes through drawing near to God. Nearness to God induces humility within us, for we recognize ourselves when we are exposed by His light, and it would be humiliating to the point of obliterating death were it not for seeing the way He loves us. That brings us to a place of neither pride nor humiliation, but humility. We have not loved Him with our whole heart. We have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. We have not loved as we have been loved by Him, and this should cause us to bend the knee in His throne room in recognition that He is the perfect King, and we are His imperfect creatures. But by the power of His Spirit within us, we can be re-aimed at a new mark, and He cannot miss, as He is without sin. He always hits His mark.

What are some practical ways to induce humility as a disciplined disciple? They are to be found by putting the other virtues into practice: chastity, temperance, charity, diligence, patience, and kindness/compassion. Notice each of these is directed away from self and toward love of God and others. Some believe that “Love God, and love neighbor as self” means that love of self is a necessary step, and while this is true, some of us define these terms incorrectly. Love of self is to see self as God sees us, as a vessel for His love for others. We are to love neighbor as though neighbor WERE self, and that is what a self has been given to us for. Ask God to break our hearts with His love for those with whom we come into contact, beginning with our actual physical neighbors.

Let’s read Isaiah 58 again to remind ourselves that it is not a bunch of noisy liturgical observances that He is after, but our hearts turned outward from self toward the needs of others in His Name. A true fast is a fast from lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride. Love of self is not to give our leftovers to others after we ourselves have been satiated, for that is the offering of Cain. The offering of Able is acceptable to God because He gave His firstfruits. God deserves our firstfruits in worship, and if we offer the space of our inner selves to God to fill to overflowing with His love for others, we will find out what love of self truly means: to be directed in our aim outward from self toward the needs of others.

Perhaps this lent, we can give up merely giving up chocolate, and we can take up creating space for God to meet the needs of others in His name through all the means at our disposal, especially these empty jars of clay that He can fill to overflowing.

Unfortunately, in our culture, we have been told the opposite. We have been fed the lie that we are to give from our leftovers to God and to others once our own cup is full. We have been told that what life is really about is getting as much as we can in this lifetime as a monument to our own blessedness, as if God loved us more than others because we have been so blessed. It is not so. With great blessings comes a double-edged sword: we are blessed to be a blessing, and woe is us if we do not conform to His image. It blesses the heart of God when we conform to the image of His generous person. He sees us reflecting the image of His Son as our primary responsibility, especially in Christian generosity. Others see a generous Christian as a witness to our Gospel of grace, and they see a stingy hoarding Christian as a mixed message, someone who says they believe in one thing but behave very differently. The standard is not 10% to God and 90% to blow on ourselves. The standard is a life that reflects that all that we have is from God, and as our Lord, all that we have at His disposal for His work when it is in the stewardship of His people.

Tithing is a great discipline when it is practiced differently than many of us do: by giving a representative sample from our firstfruits, we train ourselves that all of the rest of what we have is from the Lord, that He—not we—is the provider, and creating greater margins in our generosity in time, talent, and treasure is precisely the work of a maturing and mature disciple. We pray that we all would reflect this kind of generosity in giving to family, friends, neighbors, and community. Reflecting the glory of God in giving has its own intrinsic value: you will be called the sons and daughters of God.

The celebration of Christmas is, at its heart, the celebration of the Incarnation—the Word made flesh, dwelling among us (John 1:14). It is the joyous recognition that God, in an act of unfathomable generosity, gave His only Son to redeem fallen humanity. While secular narratives often reduce Christmas to mere sentimentality or consumerism, the Church has long understood it as a profound mystery of divine love and the cornerstone of Christian generosity. To fully appreciate the true meaning of Christmas, we must revisit its origins in the ancient Church, dispel persistent myths about its relationship to paganism, and consider how the Incarnation shapes Christian practice today, particularly in the American context.

The Origins of Christmas and the Myth of Pagan Syncretism

The choice of December 25 as the date for celebrating Christ’s Nativity has often been misunderstood and misrepresented. A popular but unfounded narrative suggests that early Christians appropriated a pagan festival—such as the Roman Saturnalia or the feast of Sol Invictus—to establish Christmas. This argument fails to account for the historical and theological foundations of the celebration.

Early Christian writings reveal that the date of Christmas was not chosen arbitrarily or as a mere replacement for a pagan holiday. By the fourth century, Christians had already been reflecting deeply on the chronology of Christ’s life. A common tradition, rooted in Jewish thought, held that prophets often died on the same date as their conception. This led some early theologians to place the date of Christ’s conception, the Annunciation, on March 25. Adding nine months, they arrived at December 25 as the date of Christ’s birth. Far from being an act of syncretism, this calculation underscores the theological conviction that Christ’s Incarnation was a real, historical event that sanctified time itself.

Additionally, the early Church celebrated Christmas not as an isolated feast but as part of the larger liturgical calendar, emphasizing the unity of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection. The focus was not on displacing pagan traditions but on proclaiming the truth of the Gospel: that God had entered human history to redeem it. To dismiss Christmas as a mere repurposing of pagan customs is to ignore the rich theological intent of the Church Fathers and the vibrant faith of the early Christian community.

The Incarnation as the Model of Christian Generosity

At the heart of Christmas is the Incarnation, the ultimate act of divine generosity. God the Father gave His Son, not merely as a teacher or moral example, but as the Savior who would bear the sins of the world. This gift was not given to the deserving but to a fallen and rebellious humanity. It was a gift of grace, freely given and entirely unmerited. Furthermore, the Holy Spirit continues this divine generosity by indwelling believers, empowering them to live lives of faith, hope, and love.

Christian generosity, then, is not an abstract ideal but a direct imitation of God’s self-giving love. The apostle Paul reminds us in 2 Corinthians 8:9: “For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich.” This pattern of sacrificial giving is embedded in the very fabric of Christian discipleship. At Christmas, we are reminded that our acts of generosity—whether material, spiritual, or relational—are rooted in the Incarnation and reflect the divine love we have received.

The Legacy of Christian Generosity in America

The influence of Christian generosity extends far beyond individual acts of kindness. It has profoundly shaped the social and cultural ethos of nations, particularly the United States. While the modern narrative often seeks to secularize America’s origins, it is undeniable that Christian principles played a foundational role in the establishment of the nation. Central to these principles was the conviction that human beings are made in the image of God, possessing inherent dignity and worth. This belief inspired a commitment to religious freedom, as the founders recognized that faith, to be genuine, must be freely chosen.

The decision not to establish a state church in America was not a rejection of Christianity but a reflection of Christian generosity. The founders, many of whom were devout Christians, understood that imposing a single denomination would violate the spirit of the Gospel, which calls for freedom of conscience. Instead, they sought to create a society where faith could flourish without coercion. This model of religious liberty, grounded in Christian thought, has allowed people of all faiths—and none—to live and worship freely.

Moreover, Christian generosity has been a driving force behind America’s culture of philanthropy and altruism. From the earliest days of the republic, Christian communities established schools, hospitals, and charities to serve the most vulnerable. These institutions were not merely humanitarian endeavors but expressions of a theological conviction: that to serve others is to serve Christ Himself (Matthew 25:40). This legacy continues today, as countless churches and Christian organizations work tirelessly to address poverty, injustice, and suffering both at home and abroad.

The Challenge and Opportunity of Christmas Today

In contemporary America, the meaning of Christmas is often obscured by materialism and secularism. While festive decorations and gift-giving are not inherently problematic, they can easily overshadow the true significance of the season. For Christians, the challenge is to reclaim Christmas as a time of worship, reflection, and generosity that flows from the Incarnation.

One practical way to do this is by prioritizing relationships over possessions. The God who became flesh in the person of Jesus Christ calls us to embody His love in tangible ways, particularly through acts of hospitality, reconciliation, and service. This might mean reaching out to a lonely neighbor, volunteering at a local charity, or simply taking time to listen and pray with those who are hurting. Such acts are not merely seasonal gestures but reflections of the ongoing work of the Holy Spirit in the lives of believers.

For those who do not identify as Christians, Christmas still offers a profound invitation. The generosity that permeates the season—whether in acts of kindness, charitable giving, or moments of shared joy—points to a deeper reality. It is a reminder that humanity’s longing for love, peace, and justice finds its ultimate fulfillment in the God who became one of us: Jesus Christ the Righteous. Even if the theological underpinnings are not embraced, the fruits of Christian generosity can and ought to be appreciated as a gift to all.

The True Meaning of Christmas

The true meaning of Christmas lies in the mystery of the Incarnation: that God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life (John 3:16). This divine generosity, freely given and without measure, is the foundation of all Christian practice, including the celebration of Christmas. From the ancient Church’s careful theological reflection to America’s enduring culture of religious freedom and philanthropy, the legacy of Christmas is one of self-giving love.

As we celebrate this holy season, let us remember that our acts of generosity—whether great or small—are not ends in themselves but reflections of the love we have received in Christ. And let us pray that this love, which is transcendent of all minimization of our limited human understanding, may continue to shape our lives, our communities, and our nation for generations to come. For in the gift of the Son and the Spirit, God has given us not only the reason for the season but the very hope of the world.

I am always telling my kids that repetition is the key to honing their skills in soccer or other sports. Repetition works it into muscle memory: the technique, the situational awareness, the ability to receive and deliver the ball expediently. Almost everything works this way. I have told them their whole lives that if they want to be better, good, or great at anything, all it takes is repetition. Having guided repetition, the right repetition, may require a little coaching or tutoring, but most of the hard work is done on one’s own, between organized practices, putting in the effort out front at the basketball hoop or out back in the yard dribbling, juggling, trapping.

If repetition is the key to so much of the rest of our lives, then perhaps we shouldn’t be too quick to think that spontaneity is the key to the spiritual life. For certain, space ought to be made for intimacy with God and being in the moment, and if our prayer life is only repetition, we may need to make changes. Lex orendi, lex credendi is a phrase that means the law of prayer is the law of belief, meaning that the way we pray causes us over time–through repetition–to believe the biblical and apostolic revelation of who God has revealed Himself to be as the lover of our souls/bodies and the savior and redeemer of the world. In other words, only spontaneity doesn’t quite work as a catechetical, or teaching, tool. Repetition in prayer causes us to have the timeless truths–about God’s redeeming work and desire for intimacy with us–worked into the folds of our minds and hearts, with which we are then able to gratefully respond to all He has done for us.

The Church Calendar, the Sunday and Daily Office lectionaries, the spiritual disciplines encouraged by the Church to work the content of the faith into the folds of our minds…. these are not the enemies of spontaneity or intimacy with God. Quite the opposite, they work together to edify the members into a unified body of believers who all have had the same communal access to the biblical revelation of God, a saturation with the Scriptures, to ensure that none of the sheep are wandering outside the boundaries of God to justify their own self-actualization, as though they needed no Good Shepherd to guide them.

The design of the Church Calendar should cause us to refresh and repeat the true stories of God’s divine intervention in the salvation of the world, the work He renewed by Covenant throughout Israel’s history, and in, by, and through them in the New Covenant through the Son of Abraham and David, Yeshua Josephson, or as we now know Him, Yeshua Hameshiach in Hebrew, which means Jesus the Anointed King, or in the Greek translation: Jesus Christ, the King. The name Yeshua itself means God IS salvation, so the stories of God’s saving work through Covenant, through Law, and culminating in Gospel is ultimately about our deliverance from our sin and into the boundaried pastures of our Good Shepherd. The Church Calendar, and the lectionaries therein cause us to be reminded, as the repetitive reading and singing of the Psalms did for Israel, of the fulfilment of the Covenant to bless all Nations through Israel and the New Covenant that Jesus made with those who are being saved in Him.

Advent, the beginning season of the Church Calendar, means “the Coming,” and it refers to the fact that Jesus HAS come to inaugurate His Kingdom and that He will come again to consummate it fully with a New Heaven and a New Earth, a new Creation. We are in that in-between time of already and not yet during Advent. We rejoice that Christ has come into the world as its savior–not “world” in our connotation, but rather in the Greek connotation of the whole of the cosmos, all of Creation. John 3:16 says, “for God so loved the COSMOS that he gave his only begotten Son….” The implication of God’s love for all of Creation is that He is going to do something about it, to redeem it from its fallen state.

The story is retold in Advent of Jesus’ first coming and the story of His Kingdom coming in full is foretold. This great news, not that our names are merely written on some parchment called the book of life or that we’ll live in some disembodied cloudland called “heaven,” but that He is coming back resurrect us into renewed bodies, to make all things new in New Creation, where sin and death are crowded out and with finality banished into hell where God is absent. God will be present as He is now by His Spirit within us–the foretaste of the coming Kingdom God poured into His Church at Pentecost–but at the consummation, He will be present round and about us, when He pours His Spirit into His temple/palace the Cosmos. We will be re-embodied in the resurrection to live in communion with Him and others throughout the cosmos, and yet without sin rupturing those relationships. As a Kingdom of priests, we will serve continually before Him in a temple not made with hands, a mere copy of the true one, but in the City of God where He reigns and rules.

The only reason I am aware of all this is because of the renewing of my mind by saturation with the Scriptures over the years. If you want to get swole, you cannot just go to the gym once, have a spontaneous interaction with weights, and expect to win a body-building contest. The Church Calendar, the lectionaries–where by intention we are saturated with the Scriptures, washed with the water of the Word, drenched to the point where it soaks into us and renews our minds–the repetition of the story of God’s saving work in human and cosmic history: these are the things we can’t do without. Left to ourselves and the roller coaster of human emotion, we will always be bold in the attempt to put ourselves on the throne of our own hearts.

There cannot be any pride in this, as if those who keep the Church Calendar and its lectionaries are somehow über Christians in comparison to members of other denominations, as we often see in those who are newer to this brand of the faith. That would be sort of akin to someone saying in the early days of New Year’s resolutions, “Look at me! I’m in the gym!” as we often see in social media, which by implication is to suggest that others are, in fact, not in the gym. It is as if we think we can win a body-building competition on day one. In fact, those who have been keepers of the Church Calendar and its lectionaries will know that God is not puffed up with pride and neither should we be. He could have come at first as a conquering hero, but He was willing to become a man, to be swaddled with the clothes of our humanity, as a baby born in humble circumstances, to relate to the most insignificant of us, to shepherds and Samaritan women. We are not greater than our master. Jesus himself in fact said that hierarchies in His Kingdom function the opposite way than the human economy, with greatness measured not by lording power over others, but by becoming a humble servant aimed at the betterment of the condition of others, especially the least, the last, and the lost.

Over time, the saturation with the Scriptures embedded in the keeping of the Church calendar, has the impact of Body-building, to keep us from erring against the truth due to either ignorance or arrogance, to keep us in community. In fact, in the Song of Solomon, when the bride is restless because she has been made “Keeper of the Vineyards,” and it probably says that on her Hebrew business card, she admits, “my own vineyard I have not kept.” Then she asks the one who knows the answers how to get back to her original feeling of intimacy with Him, and He surprisingly does not recommend constant spontaneity in the bridal chamber, but rather to “follow in the footsteps of the flock, feed your little goats, beside the shepherds’ tents,” or to get back into relating in accountability to the community of faith, to take care of one’s God given responsibilities–as He is not the one who made us keeper of the vineyards (plural) to the extent that we cannot even keep our own vineyard–and then to do so under God-inspired authority of shepherds, those who are keeping the flock moving from pasture to pasture, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, within the boundaries of their care. The sheep are neither to be overfed to the point that movement from pasture to pasture becomes impossible, nor are they supposed to be driven in mission to the point that they collapse. We are invited, as Eugene Peterson has translated, into the gentle “unforced rhythms of the Kingdom of God.”

The worldwide Church, across denominational lines, unified as the mystical union of the Body of Christ without division, could use a little repetition in our spiritual disciplines. Those that have fallen into ONLY repetition could use a little intimate spontaneity, to be sure. However, those of us that have fallen into ONLY an immature desire to be constantly spontaneous might need to consider adding a little bit of repetition. The Scriptures are living word and therefore life-giving. The Word is food for our souls. Without the Word of God, our souls are starving to hear, mark, learn, and inwardly digest it. As Jesus said, “man cannot live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.” And we are told by the prophet that His Word goes forth like rain to accomplish the task of watering and renewing the earth. Again we are told that the seed of the Word of God comes into us, goes off like an explosion of new life, and then over time grows us into the likeness of the Son of God Himself, and this is the telos, or the endstate, toward which God has been tending all things, to restore all things to right relationship with Himself, and restore us all to right relationship with each other. How are we as the Bride of Christ to really know Him, know ourselves as His beloved, and know each other in the light of His love? It is by prayer (communing with Him); fasting from being overfed by the world (to create space to commune with Him); and by repeating to ourselves and others–because we so often forget–the story of His love and movement toward us in intimacy through Covenant and New Covenant, through Law and Gospel, because of His desire to love us, to know us and be known by us, and for us to know and be known by Him and each other.

The kind of demon our generation has can only come out by much prayer and fasting, as it is the result of a massive plank of a trinity of idolatries: money and stuff; power and positional authority; and celebrity and youth. We would be wise to allow ourselves to return from chasing after the world and its priorities–as though after another lover–and to be restored to right relationship with God and others, to follow in the footsteps of the flock, and feed our little goats, beside the shepherds tents. This might frustrate the individuality and independence we have so cherished in the West, but we were not created simply to be individuated. We were created for communion with God and our brothers and sisters.

Let’s use the beginning of this Church calendar year to insulate ourselves with the promises of God from the distraction of the ever present fear on offer from the news cycle. Let’s take up the Scriptures again, together, as an opportunity to gain wisdom from the Spirit of God in Christ in others. Let’s take up prayer again, in constancy, to learn what is on the heart of God so that we might join Him in the work He most cares about in our community, which has historically throughout salvation history to work for the benefit of those who cannot repay, to demonstrate the generosity of God to the world. Worship, spiritually formative disciplines, koinonia community, flowing into outreach and mission: these are the gentle, albeit repetitive, rhythms of the household of God.

(Republished from an article written in 2021 © Chris Cairns)

I recommend two opportunities to be daily in the Scriptures, to marinate our hearts and minds in the priorities of the Kingdom:

www.dailyaudiobible.com is where my friend Brian Hardin does a great job keeping us focused on the Kingdom of God and His Righteousness

or my personal favorite, because I helped my best friend the Rev. Michael Jarrett start it: www.thetrinitymission.org, which is a use of Scripture in an ancient form of prayer.

These podcasts give those of us who are overly busy no excuse, as we can listen and hear the Word of God, the reliquary of the Holy Spirit, be washed by the water of the Word, and be given the promises of God and have the character of God commuted to and through our souls by the Spirit. Expect it to be transformative!

The Speedwell getting and the Mayflower in Dartmouth Harbor, by Leslie Wilcox.

Thanksgiving: A Reflection on Providence, Gratitude, and the Pilgrim Journey

Thanksgiving stands as a moment in time when we pause to consider not only the blessings of the harvest but also the bountiful grace and providence of God throughout history. For Christians, it is more than a day for feasting; it is a time to acknowledge the steadfast love of our Creator, who has given us every good gift—life, salvation, and the promise of a new creation.

As a lineal descendant of one of the Pilgrims who sailed on the ill-fated Speedwell, my Thanksgiving reflections are deeply tied to the legacy of those who sought to honor God in all their ways. The story of the Speedwell is a profound reminder of God’s sovereignty, even in apparent disappointment, and serves as a lesson in gratitude that transcends circumstances. Those Pilgrims who were forced to remain behind in Leiden, Holland, after the treachery of their ship’s captain, did not lose hope or faith. Instead, they gave thanks, trusting that God’s providence would unfold in His perfect time.

The Speedwell and the Providence of God

In 1620, the Pilgrims prepared to leave Holland, longing for a place where they could worship God freely and establish a community devoted to His glory. Two ships, the Mayflower and the Speedwell, were to carry them to the New World. The Speedwell, however, proved unworthy of the journey. Its captain, unwilling to undertake the arduous crossing, feigned mechanical failures to force its return. Thus, the Pilgrims faced an agonizing choice: remain behind or press on with diminished numbers.

My ancestor was among those who stayed in Leiden, seemingly thwarted in their quest for religious freedom. Yet Scripture reminds us, “The steps of a man are established by the Lord, when he delights in his way” (Psalm 37:23). What seemed like a setback was, in truth, an integral part of God’s plan. The ten years that followed in Leiden were not wasted. They were years of refining, community building, and spiritual preparation. Perhaps the Lord was sparing these individuals from death, for the voyage and first winter in Plymouth were perilous. Or perhaps He was ensuring that future generations—including me—would one day exist. We may never know the specific reasons behind God’s providence, but we can trust His goodness and wisdom.

Thanksgiving in Leiden: Gratitude in Every Circumstance

For those Pilgrims who stayed in Leiden, their first Thanksgiving was not marked by the abundance of a New World harvest but by the faithful provision of God in their present circumstances. They were far from their ultimate goal, yet they trusted that God’s purposes were being fulfilled. This kind of gratitude reflects a profound understanding of God’s sovereignty.

The Apostle Paul writes in 1 Thessalonians 5:18, “Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” Gratitude is not contingent upon our immediate circumstances but upon the character of God, who provides for His people in ways seen and unseen. The Pilgrims in Leiden understood that their hope was not ultimately tied to a physical destination but to the eternal promises of God.

Their perspective challenges us today. Do we thank God only when our lives align with our plans, or do we trust Him enough to give thanks even in seasons of waiting or disappointment? The Pilgrims’ story reminds us that God’s blessings are not confined to material abundance but are most profoundly revealed in His presence and faithfulness.

The Embarkation of the Pilgrims [on the Speedwell], painting by Robert Walter Weir.

The Infinite Goodness of God

As Christians, our gratitude is rooted in the recognition that God has withheld nothing from us. He has given us our very being, creating us in His image and placing us within the time and space of His creation. He has given us His Son, Jesus Christ, whose life, death, and resurrection secured for us the forgiveness of sins and the hope of eternal life. Paul declares in Romans 8:32, “He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?”

Furthermore, God has given us the gift of His Spirit, poured into our fragile “jars of clay” (2 Corinthians 4:7). The Spirit equips us with His gifts and bears fruit in our lives. Galatians 5:22-23 reminds us of the fruit of the Spirit: “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.” These are the marks of God’s transforming work within us, enabling us to live in gratitude and obedience.

God has also entrusted us with the keys of His Kingdom, making us heirs through the hope of the resurrection. He has held nothing back, pouring Himself into His creation and promising to renew all things. In the consummation of His Kingdom, He will dwell fully with His people, crowding out sin, evil, and death. Revelation 21:3-4 proclaims this glorious future: “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more.”

A Cosmic Perspective on Gratitude

The ultimate promise for the Christian is not tied to a specific place—neither Israel nor the New World—but to the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come. In the new heavens and the new earth, God will fully inhabit His creation, transforming it into a temple-palace where His glory will dwell eternally. This renewed cosmos will be a place of unending discovery and joy, as we explore the infinite depths of God’s nature and creativity. As C.S. Lewis suggests in The Last Battle, it will be “further up and further in”—a journey into the inexhaustible mystery of an unchanging yet infinite God.

Even now, the finite but expanding universe serves as a mere point of reference for God’s majesty. Every moment of our existence is a gift, every breath a reminder of His sustaining power. The Pilgrims understood this, even in their trials. Their gratitude was not limited to a successful voyage or a bountiful harvest; it was rooted in the reality that God was their provider and sustainer.

Living Out Thanksgiving Today

As descendants of faith-filled men and women, we too are called to live lives marked by gratitude. Thanksgiving is not merely a holiday; it is a posture of the heart, a daily acknowledgment of God’s goodness and provision. In a world often fixated on scarcity and fear, the Christian is called to embody abundance and hope.

This Thanksgiving, let us remember the example of the Pilgrims, both those who sailed on the Mayflower and those who remained behind. Let us give thanks for the visible blessings of family, food, and freedom, but let us also thank God for the unseen ways He is working in our lives. Let us trust that His providence is perfect, even when we do not understand His purposes.

Above all, let us remember that our true promised land is not of this world. It is the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come. This hope enables us to live with gratitude and joy, no matter our circumstances.

Conclusion: The Pilgrim Heart

The story of the Speedwell reminds us that God’s plans are not thwarted by human treachery or failure. Those Pilgrims who returned to Leiden could have despaired, but instead, they chose to trust in the God who orders all things according to His will. Their faith, perseverance, and gratitude stand as a testament to the power of trusting in God’s providence.

As Christians, we are all pilgrims, journeying through this world toward our true home. Along the way, we will face setbacks, disappointments, and trials, but we can give thanks knowing that God is with us. He is our provider, our sustainer, and the giver of every good gift. This Thanksgiving, may we lift our hearts in gratitude to the One who is able to do immeasurably more than all we can ask or imagine, and may we live as heirs of the everlasting Kingdom, proclaiming His goodness until the day of His glorious return.

The topic of illegal immigration occupies a contentious space in public discourse, often pulling Christians into polarized camps that either champion open borders in the name of compassion or demand strict border control in defense of national sovereignty. As with many complex issues, the truth lies in a nuanced balance that reflects biblical principles and practical realities. For Christians, the challenge is not to default to one ideological extreme but to adopt a both/and approach, embracing the biblical mandate to care for the stranger while affirming the legitimacy of secure national borders and lawful immigration policies.

Drawing from Scripture, personal experience, and the responsibilities of a modern nation-state, I argue that border security and compassionate outreach are not mutually exclusive. Instead, they represent complementary components of a coherent Christian response that honors God’s commands, serves the vulnerable, and upholds the rule of law.

Biblical Principles: Compassion for the Stranger

From the earliest pages of Scripture, God reveals His concern for the vulnerable, including the foreigner. In Deuteronomy 10:18-19, God describes Himself as one who "executes justice for the fatherless and the widow, and loves the sojourner, giving him food and clothing." The Israelites were called to reflect this divine compassion, remembering their own status as sojourners in Egypt. This theme continues in the New Testament, where Jesus teaches that care for the stranger is a marker of authentic faith: “I was a stranger, and you welcomed me” (Matthew 25:35).

These commands leave no room for indifference to the plight of migrants. Many come to the United States fleeing poverty, violence, or political instability—conditions I observed firsthand as a child growing up in Peru. Living among communities with limited access to education, healthcare, and basic resources impressed upon me the urgency of helping the marginalized. Later, my work on the U.S.-Mexico border, constructing homes for impoverished families, and my leadership of Esperanza del Barrio in Chattanooga deepened my understanding of the challenges immigrants face and the importance of extending Christian love to them.

Yet, while Scripture calls us to care for the stranger, it does not mandate open borders or the abandonment of lawful governance. The tension lies in integrating compassion with order—a task to which we now turn.

The Necessity of Order: Secure Borders and the Rule of Law

The Bible affirms the legitimacy of government and its role in maintaining order. Romans 13:1-7 teaches that governing authorities are instituted by God to restrain evil and promote good. Secure borders are a practical necessity for any nation, enabling governments to protect their citizens, manage resources, and ensure that migration occurs in an orderly fashion. Far from being antithetical to Christian compassion, secure borders can serve to prevent human trafficking, exploitation, and the dangerous conditions that often accompany unregulated migration.

In my time working along the U.S.-Mexico border, I witnessed how unregulated migration often exacerbates suffering rather than alleviating it. Migrants frequently fall prey to smugglers, extortionists, and predatory employers. Similarly, during Chattanooga’s rapid influx of Mayan-descended Guatemalans in the late 1990s, I saw how a lack of legal documentation left many vulnerable to financial exploitation and social marginalization. For Christians, affirming the importance of border security is not a rejection of compassion but a recognition that disorder often harms the very people we seek to help.

At the same time, an overemphasis on security without regard for human dignity contradicts the biblical call to justice. Immigration policies must balance enforcement with accessibility, ensuring that migrants can enter legally without undue hardship and that those already living among us are treated with fairness and respect.

A Both/And Approach: Balancing Security and Compassion

A coherent Christian response to immigration must embrace a both/and approach, combining secure borders with compassionate outreach and advocacy for fair immigration policies. This approach rests on three pillars:

1. Compassionate Engagement: Churches have a critical role to play in meeting the immediate needs of immigrants, documented or undocumented. This includes providing food, shelter, legal aid, language classes, and job training. Just as importantly, churches offer a community where immigrants can experience the love of Christ and hear the Gospel. As I saw in my work with Esperanza del Barrio, practical assistance often opens doors for spiritual conversations and meaningful relationships.

2. Advocacy for Reform: Current immigration policies are often inefficient and inequitable. Christians should advocate for reforms that streamline legal immigration, expand access to work visas, and create pathways to citizenship for those who have established lives and contributed positively to society. Such reforms not only reflect biblical justice but also strengthen the social fabric by allowing immigrants to integrate fully into their communities.

3. Support for Border Security: Compassion does not negate the need for secure borders. Effective border security prevents exploitation and ensures that migration occurs in a controlled and lawful manner. It also allows nations to prioritize resources for those most in need, such as refugees fleeing persecution.

This balanced approach mirrors the biblical principle of justice tempered by mercy. It acknowledges the legitimacy of government authority while ensuring that this authority serves the common good.

Personal Reflections on Immigration and Ministry

My own experiences have shaped my understanding of how the principles of compassion and order can coexist in practice. Growing up in Peru, I encountered poverty and cultural richness in equal measure. Later, building homes on the U.S.-Mexico border introduced me to families whose resilience and hope inspired me to pursue broader community-based efforts. As the Executive Director of Esperanza del Barrio, I worked with a population for whom Spanish was often a second language and education was limited. Despite these challenges, I saw remarkable potential in these immigrants to contribute meaningfully to their new communities.

These experiences convinced me that immigration is not just a political issue but a deeply personal one. Every immigrant represents a story, a family, and a future. As Christians, our response must reflect this reality, treating each individual with dignity and compassion.

At the same time, I have seen the consequences of policy failures on both sides of the spectrum. Unregulated migration creates vulnerability and chaos, while overly restrictive policies breed fear and division. The need for a both/and approach has never been clearer.

The Role of the Church in Shaping the Conversation

In addition to direct outreach, the Church has a unique opportunity to influence the national conversation on immigration. This involves challenging both the fear-driven rhetoric that dehumanizes immigrants and the utopian idealism that ignores practical realities. By rooting our advocacy in biblical principles, we can offer a vision of immigration that respects the rule of law while reflecting the heart of Christ.

Furthermore, immigration presents a remarkable mission field. The influx of immigrants into American communities provides unprecedented opportunities to share the Gospel and build relationships across cultural boundaries. Rather than viewing immigration as a threat, we can embrace it as a chance to fulfill the Great Commission.

Conclusion: Justice and Mercy in Harmony

Illegal immigration is a complex issue, but the Christian response need not be divided into simplistic binaries. Secure borders and compassionate outreach are not mutually exclusive but essential components of a biblical approach to immigration. By advocating for a balanced system that upholds the rule of law while providing pathways to opportunity, Christians can reflect the justice and mercy of God in the public square.

As someone who has lived and worked among immigrant communities, I believe this both/and approach offers the most faithful response to the challenges and opportunities of immigration. It allows us to honor the sovereignty of nations while extending the love of Christ to the stranger in our midst. Christians need to insist our legislatures mind us on policies of border security as well as compassionate hospitality in our legal immigration system. May we, as the Church, lead with wisdom, humility, and courage, seeking a future where justice and mercy walk hand in hand.

I was irritated by this meme that went by on my social media feed, by Stephen Colbert, and I believe his “truthiness” in this case warrants a response.

Stephen Colbert says, “If this is going to be a Christian nation that doesn't help the poor, either we have to pretend that Jesus was just as selfish as we are, or we've got to acknowledge that He commanded us to love the poor and serve the needy without condition and then admit that we just don't want to do it.” It’s a clever remark, and perhaps on the surface a fair one, aimed at exposing a contradiction between Christian ideals and practice. But, as usual, a quip like this says more about the speaker than the issue. It lacks any real depth on how aid has historically been done and why, and it also ignores the profound shortcomings of entrusting charity to distant, impersonal bureaucracies in Washington. And most glaringly, it spares people like Colbert himself from having to confront how often “compassion” is merely an expression of voting preferences rather than actual personal engagement on one’s own with the very people of our communities who are poor.

In America, we’ve arrived at a point where for many, “helping the poor” means checking a box at the ballot and hoping that federal agencies—known for wasting a generous portion of every dollar they receive—somehow lift people out of poverty. Lyndon Johnson’s “Great Society,” for all it’s trillions spent, has been a failure. For too many who profess to care about poverty, personal sacrifice, the kind that stings and disrupts and involves our own sleeves rolled up, has become the government’s job, leaving the voter to sit back, assured of their own benevolence by virtue of casting a vote for the “right” policies. If this isn’t the height of moral complacency, it’s hard to know what is. The prophet in Isaiah 58 called on His followers to personally feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and tend to the afflicted. Where in that passage does He absolve anyone by saying, “Delegate this to the distant halls of government, where inefficiency reigns and the poor become statistics”? Where does it say in the New Testament that we ought to “centralize resources and trust that Caesar will have the care for the poor, the widow, the orphan, or the stranger” foremost in mind. We have been duped by politicians who say they give a rat’s behind about the poor, when all they really care about is entrenching themselves in power.

For nearly two centuries, it was communities and people of faith who shouldered the burden of poverty relief. Churches and local charities were the backbone of aid, and they didn’t merely hand out supplies. They built relationships, understood needs, and offered compassion that fostered genuine dignity and human connection. These groups worked at close quarters, knowing those they served as people with names and stories, rather than as clients or cases in a bureaucratic ledger. This approach was both efficient and deeply humane, and it was rooted in the Scriptural call for each person to serve and sacrifice, not to delegate and defer to the State or even non-profit organizations.

Today’s centralized welfare state—instituted primarily during the New Deal—was born of crisis, and perhaps even necessity. But now, eighty years later, it has become the moral scapegoat that allows people like Colbert to talk about “helping the poor” while doing absolutely nothing about it themselves. Instead of building soup kitchens, organizing clothing drives, or investing their time and energy in local relief efforts, too many Americans throw all their hopes and tax dollars into federal programs that seem to specialize in squandering opportunity and resources. A 2018 report from the Government Accountability Office found that federal welfare programs spend around 10% or more of their budgets on administrative costs alone. That’s 10%, at best, going to bureaucracy instead of directly to people in need. And the government only amplifies this inefficiency by layering programs over programs, agencies upon agencies, all of which funnel money through multiple levels before it even reaches the community. What finally trickles down is often only a shadow of the original amount, and yet we’re to believe that this is “helping the poor.” While the Left complains about trickle down economics, they practice it themselves, with a government installed oligarchy getting rich off of the spending of politicians, just like the $1 Billion spent on celebrities by the Harris campaign.

More troubling than inefficiency is how this model erodes personal responsibility, turning charity into a distant, impersonal transaction instead of an active, local mission. The whole Scriptural foundation of charity centers on community and accountability. Helping the poor is not merely about feeding mouths; it’s about engaging hearts, instilling hope, and investing time in those on the margins, and most especially, entering ourselves into community with the least of these. The relationships formed through true charity help the giver as much as the receiver, softening hearts and broadening minds in a way that paying taxes simply can’t accomplish. When charity becomes synonymous with paying more into federal programs, we strip it of its moral core and convert it into a bland, soulless exchange, devoid of the compassion and humanity that the very concept of “charity” demands.

Colbert’s remark seems to imply that the solution is simple: if Christians cared about the poor, they’d just endorse policies for increased federal spending on welfare. But here’s the rub: if all it takes is a few dollars in taxes to solve the problem, why haven’t these programs succeeded? The truth is, federal programs are simply incapable of addressing the unique, complex issues that communities face. A blanket policy from Washington doesn’t consider the needs of individual towns, let alone individual families. It doesn’t adapt to local economic challenges or respond to cultural differences. It doesn’t have the flexibility to provide a warm coat to someone in New York in the same way that a hot meal is needed by someone in New Mexico. The local church does, the community center does, the food bank down the street does—but Washington, D.C., does not!

In Isaiah 58, the Bible makes clear that true charity is a personal calling. “Share your food with the hungry, provide the poor wanderer with shelter,” it commands, without ever mentioning government or taxes or policy. This is a call for active, engaged compassion, not passive delegation. The text doesn’t let anyone off the hook because they pay their taxes, or because they voted for the party that promised more social spending. It calls each person to serve, to step into the messiness of people’s lives, and to build community through direct, personal action.

And let’s be honest: voting doesn’t absolve anyone of anything. The idea that people can discharge their obligations to the poor by casting a vote and supporting a federal program is not only absurd but also corrosive to genuine community charity. Imagine if every person who says they care about poverty actually spent time working in a shelter, or even once a month volunteered at a food bank. Imagine if those same people, instead of advocating for more federal spending, organized their neighborhoods to provide directly for those in need. How much more impact would that have than funding an administrative behemoth that scarcely touches the lives of those it’s supposed to serve?

If Stephen Colbert, or anyone else, truly believes that America should care for its poor, then let them be the first to step into the breach. Let them spend their weekends with those in need, not lecturing on TV but rolling up their sleeves and doing the work they claim others should do. Let them start in their own communities before casting stones at others. Because here’s the truth: our ability to love and serve the poor has never depended on federal funding. It has always rested on our willingness to put ourselves in the line of service, to look our neighbors in the eye, and to shoulder the responsibility personally.

This isn’t a call to dismantle federal programs or abandon the social safety net entirely. Of course it isn’t. Rather, it’s a call to remember that charity’s essence is personal and local. The efficient allocation of resources may demand some government involvement, but the primary responsibility for caring for the poor rests with each one of us, in our own communities. Until we reclaim that role, no federal program will ever be enough, and no number of votes will suffice.

In the end, Colbert’s statement ignores the deeper problem: not that we have failed to create enough government programs but that we have increasingly relied on government to do the work we were commanded to do ourselves. And as a result, we have distanced ourselves from the poor, casting them as nameless “cases” to be handled by bureaucrats instead of as neighbors to be served by each of us personally. The solution lies not in “pretending Jesus was selfish” or admitting we “just don’t want to do it.” It lies in remembering that compassion, to have meaning, must be lived out person-to-person, right here in our own communities, in the way Christ intended.

If anyone feels convicted by Colbert’s comment, let them consider how they personally have failed to serve their neighbors, and then let’s all of us get to work.

On September 16, 1813, Dr. Timothy Dwight, then president of Yale College, delivered a sermon before the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions (ABCFM). His words expressed a vision resonant with the evangelical zeal of the Second Great Awakening: he believed the Gospel was destined to be preached globally and that people across all continents would embrace Christianity. Dwight’s sermon encapsulates the ambition and certainty of northeastern evangelicals, who saw all “heathen” peoples—far and near—as fitting recipients of the Gospel’s transformative power. This enthusiasm, however, was not without a heavy cultural bias, laced with the superiority of European civilization over Indigenous cultures.

The ABCFM, founded in 1810 primarily by Congregationalists from Massachusetts and Connecticut, soon saw involvement from Presbyterians and Dutch Reformed Calvinists, giving it a broad denominational backing. This ecumenical spirit was aimed at advancing the Gospel’s reach, though ABCFM remained focused on a more narrowly defined religious mission compared to contemporaries like the American Bible Society. Early plans focused on distant lands, such as India, but practical obstacles—including opposition from British colonial authorities—redirected their attention closer to home: to the Indigenous tribes of the American Southeast.

By 1816, the ABCFM was actively planning missions among the southeastern tribes, particularly the Cherokee and Creek nations. This decision wasn’t purely spiritual; it was also political, shaped by America’s expanding frontier and the national aspiration to “civilize” Indigenous people as a means to facilitate westward settlement. With backing from the U.S. government, which saw these missions as aligning with its own agenda, ABCFM representatives, including Rev. Cyrus Kingsbury, found a sympathetic ally in Washington. The Monroe administration, following the War of 1812, perceived Christian missions among the Indigenous as a solution to reducing conflict as settlers moved westward. Civilizing the “southeastern tribes” thus became intertwined with American expansionism, as missionary and political goals became two sides of the same coin.

The Brainerd Mission, named after the revered missionary David Brainerd, was established in Chickamauga (present-day Chattanooga) and became a model of the evangelical missionary approach. There, students were taught vocational skills like farming and smithing, and were given English language instruction, often with an undertone of erasing Indigenous culture. These missions, though often grounded in good intentions, operated under a paternalistic framework aimed at assimilating Native students into Euro-American customs and values. Yet, the Cherokee people were no passive participants. Their response was informed by centuries of trade and diplomatic relationships with Europeans, which had resulted in Cherokee leaders of mixed heritage. This cultural hybridity helped forge some common ground with missionaries like Kingsbury, who saw their work as creating Christian “citizens” of the Cherokee youth.

Nevertheless, cultural tensions soon surfaced. Cherokee parents voiced objections to certain aspects of the missionary program, especially corporal punishment and agricultural labor for boys—both foreign to traditional Cherokee culture. Converts within the Brainerd community struggled to discern which Cherokee customs were permissible and which the missionaries deemed incompatible with Christianity. For instance, missionaries wrestled with practices like polygamy, unsure how to navigate such complexities. While Rev. Ard Hoyt believed a Cherokee man with three wives was sincere in his faith, the ABCFM prudential committee insisted he separate from all but one—a requirement that Hoyt found practically impossible to enforce. This level of consideration for cultural nuance demonstrated the missionaries’ emerging sense of advocacy and connection with their Cherokee brethren.

The relationship between the missionaries and the Cherokee evolved within a shifting political landscape, marked by mounting settler pressure on Cherokee lands. Initially, U.S. government policy, supported by Christian reformers, aimed for Indigenous assimilation through peaceful coexistence. Yet, the political tide shifted dramatically with the rise of Andrew Jackson. By the 1820s, Jackson’s influence steered national policy toward forced removal, culminating in the Indian Removal Act of 1830. Jackson, a man of the frontier, held little sympathy for the Cherokee Nation, despite their efforts to adopt European ways, which included the establishment of a democratic government and constitution modeled on the United States.

Amid this charged atmosphere, missionaries like Samuel Worcester and Rev. Daniel Butrick emerged as staunch defenders of the Cherokee. They helped amplify Cherokee voices through the Cherokee Phoenix newspaper, edited by mission-educated Elias Boudinot, which published in both English and Cherokee. Through the Phoenix and other avenues, the Cherokee presented a nuanced critique of American expansionism. They questioned the inherent inconsistency in a government that preached democracy and justice yet undermined the rights of Indigenous nations. Chief John Ross, a steadfast advocate for his people, appealed to the Supreme Court, culminating in the landmark case Worcester v. Georgia, which upheld Cherokee sovereignty. Yet, Jackson refused to enforce the decision, famously stating that Chief Justice Marshall should be the one to enforce it.

The missionaries themselves struggled with the political and moral implications of forced removal. As the government persisted, some missionaries, including Worcester, advocated reluctantly for Cherokee relocation, reasoning that it might be safer than resisting the inevitable. However, Chief Ross and the vast majority of the Cherokee held firm against relocation, leading to the tragic signing of the Treaty of New Echota in 1835 by a small faction without official Cherokee government endorsement. The treaty ceded Cherokee lands and triggered the forced removal known as the Trail of Tears. The signing, and subsequent removal, underscored the profound failure of the American government to honor its commitments to Indigenous nations, despite the Cherokees’ remarkable adaptation to American social and religious structures.

The removal was brutal. The conditions of forced marches, malnourishment, and the abuse the Cherokee suffered on the Trail of Tears devastated the nation. Missionaries like Butrick, who accompanied them, bore witness to their suffering with a profound sense of disillusionment. Butrick’s journals reveal the deep inner conflict of a man who once believed in the American promise but now saw it as complicit in a grievous injustice. His reflections cut through the veneer of manifest destiny, condemning the moral hypocrisy of a nation that preached freedom but practiced exploitation.

The Brainerd Mission, initially founded to spread Christianity, became emblematic of the conflicting ideologies at play in American society. The missionaries who remained with the Cherokee saw their mission transform from one of simple conversion to one of advocacy. Figures like Worcester and Butrick grew disillusioned with the U.S. government’s treatment of the Cherokee, ultimately questioning the fundamental contradictions in American society. In 1838, the ABCFM prudential committee finally concluded that continued efforts among the southeastern tribes were futile, a grim acknowledgment of the mission’s dashed hopes.

The Cherokee response to these events reveals their resilience and capacity for adaptation. Despite the missionary agenda’s limitations and the U.S. government’s betrayals, Cherokee converts maintained their faith, embodying the spiritual resilience that missionaries like Butrick had once sought to instill. The tragedy of the Trail of Tears did not obliterate Cherokee culture or faith; instead, it highlighted the Cherokee’s steadfastness and moral clarity, even as they suffered under an unjust system. The missionaries who accompanied them, and who bore witness to their endurance, were themselves irrevocably changed, grappling with their complicity and the limitations of American evangelicalism.

In the final assessment, the American missionary endeavor in the southeast failed to protect the Cherokee from removal, yet it left an indelible mark on both the missionaries and the Cherokee themselves. The evangelical witness provided by figures like Evarts, Worcester, and Butrick underscored the contradictions in America’s identity and foreshadowed later religious critiques of government actions. This legacy of advocacy, emerging from the complex relationship between missionaries and Indigenous communities, remains a testament to those who dared to challenge their society’s norms and stand for justice, even when their own institutions faltered.

To appreciate why the First Amendment was designed to safeguard free religious speech in the public square, we must first consider the historical circumstances in which this provision was conceived. The framers of the Constitution were keenly aware of the abuses that occur when religion and state become entangled, having witnessed or learned from Europe’s history of religious conflicts and state-imposed faiths. The experiences of religious minorities—whether Quakers, Baptists, Catholics, or others—under governments that either enforced religious conformity or persecuted dissenters were fresh in their minds. Many of the early American colonies themselves were founded by those seeking freedom from religious oppression, and the legacy of this struggle made its way into the core ethos of American governance.

James Madison, often regarded as the “Father of the Constitution,” drew heavily from these experiences and from the influential writings of John Locke on religious freedom. Madison’s advocacy for religious liberty as a fundamental right found resonance in the First Amendment, which declares that “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.” The language is straightforward: the government is prohibited from establishing a state religion, and equally prohibited from interfering with the free exercise of religious beliefs. These two clauses, working in tandem, ensure that religion has a protected place in the public square, free from state endorsement and free from state censorship.

Yet, the contemporary debate often seems to misunderstand the significance of this dual protection. The Establishment Clause is invoked by some to argue that religious speech must be confined to private spaces, as though the public square were meant to be a bastion of secularism free from any religious presence. Such an interpretation creates an imaginary secular sanctity that the First Amendment never intended. Indeed, the concept of a secular public space sanitized of religious speech is an ahistorical construct, not reflective of the intent of the framers or the lived reality of early American public life. Public spaces, from the colonial meeting houses to the town squares, were often forums where matters of both civic and religious importance were openly discussed.

It is crucial to recognize that the separation of church and state, as articulated by Thomas Jefferson in his famous letter to the Danbury Baptist Association, was not meant to wall religion off from public influence. Rather, it was intended to prevent the government from exercising control over religious affairs. Jefferson wrote of building “a wall of separation between Church and State” precisely to reassure religious communities that their rights to freely express and practice their faith would be secure from governmental interference. The metaphor has been taken out of context by many modern interpreters, who seem to believe that religion must remain hidden, quarantined from public view. However, the wall was always meant to be a one-way protection: shielding religious institutions and expression from state power, not excluding religious voices from participating in the public discourse, although almost all religious people in America, save perhaps recent immigrant adherents to fundamentalist Sharia Islam, would find religious control over the State in a theocracy to be anathema to what they would find acceptable. Never mind, vocal opposition to free religious speech in the public square, and the inspiration of faith in those in public office, must be some nascent effort to establish theocracy under the epithet of “Christian Nationalism.” Nonsense.

Biblically speaking, the public proclamation of religious truth is integral to the life of faith, particularly in Christianity. Jesus himself ministered openly, engaging with people in synagogues, marketplaces, and public gatherings. The early Church carried forward this tradition, preaching and teaching publicly, even in the face of persecution. The First Amendment preserves this same right for American believers. When the framers enshrined protections for religious speech, they were not envisioning a world where faith would be relegated to the shadows, but rather one where religious convictions could be expressed freely and contribute to the public good.

Indeed, it is this contribution to the public good that makes religious speech in the public square both necessary and beneficial. Religion, for many Americans, is not merely a private conviction but a comprehensive worldview that informs their understanding of justice, morality, and the common good. To strip public discourse of religious voices would be to impoverish that discourse, removing from it the depth and richness that religious thought has to offer. From the abolition of slavery to the civil rights movement, religiously motivated speech has often played a prophetic role in American history, challenging injustices and advocating for moral reform. If religious speech were to be confined to private spaces, one can only imagine how much moral clarity and courage our society would lose.

The concern, of course, is that a strong presence of religion in the public square might lead to the establishment of religion or to religious favoritism. But the Establishment Clause is more than adequate to address this concern. It serves as a guardrail, ensuring that the state remains neutral in matters of religion, neither promoting nor inhibiting religious expression. As long as the government does not privilege one religion over another, or religion over irreligion, religious voices are free to speak, just as secular voices are. This neutrality does not mean that the state must cleanse public spaces of religious content; rather, it ensures that these spaces remain open to a diversity of voices, religious and secular alike.

The reality is that religious speech will often make some people uncomfortable, just as secular ideologies will inevitably discomfort others. Yet, the purpose of the First Amendment is not to provide comfort but to safeguard freedom, even when it comes at the cost of ideological discomfort. Religious believers have the right to express their views on moral and ethical issues in the same public forums where secular citizens express theirs. The government cannot and should not attempt to adjudicate which perspectives belong in the public square and which do not.

A biblical understanding of human society underscores this principle of free speech. In the Christian worldview, God created humanity with the ability to reason, to debate, and to pursue truth together in community. Just as the Apostle Paul reasoned with philosophers in the public squares of Athens, Christians today are called to engage with the broader culture in meaningful, respectful dialogue. This is not an act of coercion but of faithful witness. It is a testament to the dignity of the human person, made in the image of God, that we are allowed—indeed, encouraged—to engage one another in the public exchange of ideas, religious or otherwise.

At the same time, there must be a balance. Christians who seek to contribute to public life must remember that the gospel compels not only proclamation but also humility and love. The First Amendment protects the right to speak freely, but it does not absolve us of the responsibility to speak truth with grace. The call to be salt and light in the world means participating fully in society while respecting the rights of others to hold and express differing views. The freedom of religious speech in the public square is not an excuse for domination but a call to faithful, prophetic engagement.

The First Amendment’s protection of free religious speech in the public square is a vital part of our democratic heritage. It reflects a vision of a society where diverse voices can contribute to the common good, where religious believers are free to express their faith without fear of government reprisal, and where the state remains neutral yet open to the richness that religion brings to public life. Misunderstanding the purpose of church-state separation risks eroding these freedoms, diminishing both religious and secular voices in our collective discourse. It is imperative that we recover and preserve this understanding, not only for the sake of religious liberty but for the health of our democracy.

In the summer of 1787, fifty-five men gathered in Philadelphia with the immense task of forging a new nation. This Constitutional Convention would ultimately shape the structure and future of the United States of America, but the debates and discussions that took place over those months were anything but simple. Among the delegates were men of different backgrounds, political views, and even faith traditions. The religious composition of the convention is often overlooked, but the influence of Presbyterian, Episcopalian, and Congregationalist delegates can be felt throughout the foundational framework of our government. Each of these denominations had their own distinct polity—systems of governance shaped by centuries of theological and organizational evolution. When their adherents arrived in Philadelphia to draft a Constitution, these church traditions informed the delegates’ perspectives on authority, representation, and balance of power. Despite their differences, these men came together to forge a federal system of government that would protect both individual liberties and the collective interests of the states.

It’s no coincidence that the delegates at the Constitutional Convention came from religious traditions deeply engaged in debates over authority, governance, and individual rights. The very word polity, which means the structure or system of government, has its roots in the Greek polis—the city-state. But in the context of the Christian church, polity refers to how the church organizes itself for the common good, for the benefit of its members, and for the flourishing of the faith community. Presbyterian, Episcopalian, and Congregationalist traditions all held distinct views on how authority should be distributed, who should hold power, and how the church—or the government—should balance the needs of the individual against the needs of the whole. And just as these denominations had wrestled with these questions within their own church structures, the delegates at the Constitutional Convention would wrestle with them in shaping the new American republic.

1. The Religious Roots of Political Thought

Let’s start with the Presbyterians. Presbyterians, with their representative form of church government, believed deeply in the shared distribution of authority. In their polity, no single individual held too much power. Instead, authority was divided among elected elders (presbyters), who represented the congregation at local, regional, and national levels. Sound familiar? The Presbyterian system of governance was a natural fit for a representative democracy, where power would be dispersed across various layers of government, ensuring accountability and preventing tyranny.

Take James Wilson and John Witherspoon, both staunch Presbyterians and influential figures at the Convention. Wilson’s advocacy for a strong, centralized government was tempered by his belief in representation—where elected officials serve at the will of the people. The Presbyterian tradition, rooted in representative councils of elders, influenced Wilson’s vision of a government that would balance federal authority with democratic principles. And Witherspoon, one of the few clergy members at the Convention, brought with him the Presbyterian belief in the necessity of checks on power—a belief that would shape the eventual structure of Congress and the executive branch.

Next, the Episcopalians. They came from a tradition that emphasized hierarchy and strong central leadership. Episcopalians had a system of governance where bishops held significant authority over their dioceses, though still subject to certain checks and balances within the broader church structure. George Washington and Alexander Hamilton, both deeply influenced by this Episcopal background, carried with them an understanding that a strong executive was necessary for national stability. Yet they were acutely aware of the dangers of unchecked power.

Washington, in particular, embodied this delicate balance. A man who could have easily become a king—if he had wanted it—Washington understood that the president should have sufficient power to lead but must remain constrained by the Constitution. This Episcopalian sense of hierarchical yet accountable leadership shaped the presidency as we know it today: a strong executive, but one that must answer to both the legislative and judicial branches.

Lastly, the Congregationalists, who came out of the Puritan tradition, emphasized local autonomy and participatory governance. Congregationalists believed that each individual congregation was self-governing, accountable to its members and to God, but not subject to any external authority. This bottom-up approach to governance resonated with those at the Convention who feared the overreach of central power and advocated for the rights of states and localities. Delegates like Roger Sherman and Oliver Ellsworth, both Congregationalists, played crucial roles in ensuring that the new federal government would allow the states significant autonomy within the union. This belief in local control would become the foundation of American federalism, with the states retaining their own sovereignty even as they joined a larger national government.

2. The Three Branches of Government: Reflections of Church Polity

What emerged from these theological and political discussions was a structure of government that mirrored the ecclesiastical systems familiar to the delegates. The Constitution’s separation of powers—legislative, executive, and judicial—bears striking similarities to the systems of governance used by the Presbyterians, Episcopalians, and Congregationalists in their respective churches.

The Presbyterian model of distributed authority and shared governance influenced the creation of a bicameral legislature, where power would be divided between the House of Representatives (representing the people) and the Senate (representing the states). Much like the layers of elders in Presbyterian polity, the legislative branch would be accountable to the people while maintaining checks on its own power.

The Episcopalian model of a strong but accountable executive shaped the presidency. Just as bishops led their dioceses but were subject to broader church governance, the president would have significant powers, but those powers would be checked by the other branches of government. The Episcopalian understanding of hierarchy, tempered by accountability, ensured that the president could lead the nation without slipping into the tyranny of monarchy.

And the Congregationalist emphasis on local autonomy and participatory democracy found expression in the federal system itself. The states would retain significant rights and powers, much like individual Congregationalist churches retained their independence. This local control, paired with a national government, created a balance between centralization and decentralization that would define the American federal system.

3. Forging a Federal System That the States Could Ratify

One of the most remarkable outcomes of the Constitutional Convention was not just the structure of the government that emerged, but the fact that it was a system that all the states could eventually ratify. The debates over centralization and decentralization—over how much power the federal government should have versus how much power should be left to the states—were not easy. These debates were, in many ways, a continuation of the theological and political arguments that had shaped the colonies from the beginning.

The Federalist Papers, written by Hamilton, Madison, and Jay, articulated the need for a strong national government with checks and balances, echoing the Presbyterian and Episcopalian models of governance. At the same time, the Anti-Federalists, many of whom came from more Congregationalist traditions, argued for greater protections for local control and individual rights. They feared the centralization of power and wanted assurances that the states would retain significant autonomy.

The result was the addition of the Bill of Rights, a compromise that ensured that individual liberties and state powers would be protected, even as a strong federal government was created. This balance—between federal authority and state sovereignty, between individual rights and collective good—was precisely what allowed the Constitution to be ratified by all the states.

4. The Legacy of Denominational Polity in American Government

In the end, the Constitutional Convention was more than just a political gathering. It was a coming together of different worldviews—shaped by different religious traditions—to create a system of government that could hold together a diverse and often fractious nation. The Presbyterians, Episcopalians, and Congregationalists who were present at the Convention brought with them ideas about governance, authority, and representation that would shape the very fabric of the American Republic.

The genius of the Constitution lies in its ability to incorporate these different perspectives into a single, functioning system. Just as these denominations had learned to navigate their theological differences for the sake of a common faith, so too did the delegates of the Constitutional Convention navigate their political differences for the sake of a common nation.

As we continue to wrestle with the balance between federal and state power, between individual rights and collective responsibility, we can look back to the ecclesiastical debates that helped shape our government. The tension between centralization and decentralization, between authority and representation, remains at the heart of the American experiment—just as it did for the Presbyterians, Episcopalians, and Congregationalists who helped lay its foundation. And today, as ever, we are called to navigate those tensions with the same spirit of compromise and cooperation that brought forth the Constitution itself.

Since the Constitutional Convention, we have been in a struggle with respect to American polity and identity. The root word of polity and politics is simply πόλις, or “polis,” the Greek word for “city.” When used as a root for polity and politics, the connotation means how people organize for getting things done for everybody’s benefit, implying that for a city to function, for an organism or organization to function, people of varied giftings and perspectives must come together to contribute their offerings of value to their fellow citizens for their mutual benefit. There are age-old disagreements about how best to do this, since the beginning of recorded time. One of the oldest stories of a disagreement occurs very early in the biblical record of the relationship between two brothers, one who is jealous of his brother, so he murders him.

In our own history of identity, the New World—which we all know by now was not new—became impregnated with two colonies, the Plymouth Colony, where religious refugees from one of the most powerful State Churches of Europe, the Church of England, cut a deal to be the colonists Great Britain needed to populate what would prove to be a very difficult colonial experiment in exchange for religious freedom. One can make equal and opposite arguments about the Puritans, whose connotation has a one-sided and ahistorical perspective, and as one who is descended directly from the Putnams who catalyzed the Salem Witch Trials, I am not a little sympathetic to the knee-jerk reaction people have to the term. However, the original Pilgrims had a bit more of a polity focused on right living in community, where the colony would be focused both on the rights of the individual and the benefit of the whole. I also have ancestors who were on the sister ship of the Mayflower, the Speedwell, which had to turn back due to a manufactured problem by the Captain who did not want to go, that made them return to England. Those who did not consolidate onto the Mayflower were forced to go to Holland for the next ten years, sheltered by Dutch Reformed Christians until they could return in 1630. The Pilgrims wanted to start a new kind of community, based on the biblical principles of their new found and newly established Reformation Christian faith.

Another colony, under Captain John Smith, was ostensibly established in Virginia for the same reasons, but underlying priorities had a struggle between the idea of a new kind of community free of the constraints of the English caste system of nobility and the hunt for gold and glory. The latter pursuit, in spite of the religious overtones of converting the natives to Christianity in Captain Smith’s letters to the crown, dominated in Virginia. We can see these two twin siblings, fighting like Jacob and Esau in the womb, until becoming fully birthed in the establishment of the United States of America in the wake of the American victory over the British Empire, and I have 18 antecedents who fought in the Revolution, in addition to one ancestor who involved himself in the Continental Congress, the Constitutional Convention, and the organization and administration of the City of Philadelphia as the Treasurer of the City.

What crystalizes in the Articles of Confederation and the ensuing Constitutional Convention becomes an established tension and struggle between the American distrust of the centralization of decision-making and resources, a federal government, and the decentralization of decision-making and resources to State governments and localities. When Republicans and Democrats argue about finding the right sweet spot between these two, we find that they have swapped speeches about it between the 1860s and the 1960s. In the lead up to the Civil War, Democrats believed in States’ rights. Beginning with President Roosevelt in the 1930s, and creeping toward the Great Society of Lyndon Johnson in the 1960s, we see the Democrats beginning to love the centralization of power in the federal government, especially since they owned power in the House of Representatives for most of the 20th Century, my own maternal grandfather, the Hon. Donald H. Magnuson serving from 1952 to 1962, as the Congressman at Large from Washington State, shot through the sleeve as recorded in Speaker Tip O’Neill’s memoir and calling his old employer the Seattle Times immediately to give them the scoop.

Now we have the rights of the individual to free speech being challenged by the very party who made it an issue, with Democrats dominating the American Civil Liberties Union for the latter part of the last century, and giving way to calls for the censoring and censuring of individual free speech under the guise of misinformation, disinformation, and malinformation. And yet, if one were honest, regardless of partisan leanings, we could all note that the tension between centralization and decentralization, instead of propelling the Nation forward like the pedals of a bicycle, with a priority of finding the sweet spot for the pendulum swing, we find an emotional connection to tribal politics trumping solutions for the benefit of individual rights and the country as a whole. John Locke and Edmund Burke, with a side of de Tocqueville, are increasingly relevant reads. Locke points out that for the benefit of the whole, certain civil rights must be ceded to the central government. Burke pointed out that “the effect of liberty on individuals is that they will do as they please…. We ought to first see what it will please them to do.”

For our representative majoritarian democratic Republic to function to protect the rights of the individual on the one hand while protecting the collective rights of others from individual pursuits that would harm their person or property on the other, we are going to have to recognize that the tribalist partisanship is precisely the factionalist danger that de Tocqueville warned us about, where rather than pursuing solutions through the compromise of perspectives, we just want our tribe to emerge the victor in policy disputes and elections. We are at a precipitous precipice at this moment in our history, and it will only be those with a sufficiently strong love of country beneath the debris of our partisan hubris that will see us through to the other side before the arguments between the twins of our original identity subvert the American experiment.

The twins are these, and they are the original colonies: learning to live in harmony with one another through our polity, or learning to personally benefit through gold, glory, and political power. These two competing identities were engaged in a life or death struggle in the American Revolution. These two competing identities were engaged in a life or death struggle when the Jacksonian partisans won in the Senate by one vote the justification for the Removal of the Five Civilized Tribes to reservations beyond the Mississippi. With Jackson standing to personally benefit from in land speculation in West Tennessee, I’ll let the reader to figure out in the Easter Egg hunt for toddlers which twin sibling he represented. He sent Winfield Scott, the future hero of the Mexican War and the officer who offered command of all of the Northern Armies to Robert E. Lee at the start of the Civil War, to go down to present-day Chattanooga to assemble the Cherokees by force of arms and at the point of a bayonet. The Cherokees had received a win in the Supreme Court to keep their land, from Chief Justice John Marshall, known for establishing the right of judicial review of the Executive Branch by the Judicial, who gave them the win in Cherokee v. Georgia, but the fraudulent Treaty of New Echota was all the excuse Jackson needed to use the power of Washington D.C. to drive them out.

I think we can all agree at this point that the Trail of Tears was the moment that one of the twin sibling identities won out in the name of gold, glory, and power for the next century. Only recently have we engaged again in a conversation that could be healthy about which of the identities America needs to be going forward. Like the Brainerd Mission in Chattanooga, with blacks, whites, and Native Americans (most Latin Americans are of mixed Native American heritage by the way), all worshiping in the same congregation from 1817-1836. One can still go to the churchyard cemetery there near what was once the land near the Chickamauga village of the Cherokee, on a tributary of the Tennessee River, and see blacks, whites, and Native Americans, all buried in the hope of a uniquely American experiment: a disestablished faith community living in racial and ethnic harmony for the benefit of all and the glory of God.

That Mission, that was aborted by Jackson, ostensibly in the name of “preserving Native culture,” by the “Great White Father” in Washington D.C., could have emerged as the America we would all prefer to be living in now. We are a nation of Native, slave, and immigrant populations, of mixed genealogical heritage, joined in an epic struggle for identity and national vocation. I would recommend Burkean “conservative reform” to driving headlong one of the two ditches on both sides of the road, with collectivist extremists on the one hand, or anarchical libertarian or fascists on the other. Could the 70% of the country in the middle not take the 15% of each extreme in a rush, retake the country in the name of our ancestors, who fought, and bled, and even died that we might be able to continue the American experiment, where we settle our differences with rational argument and political theory dominating our discussions in our legislatures, State and National? Or will we choose violence out of sheer tribal rage because of the perceived violence the other tribe has done to us in riots?

We have a trajectory fraught with dangers, but We the People have a closing window of opportunity to retake the country’s decision-making apparatus, with clear-eyed and clear headed “sky is blue” thinking waltzing straight back into the belly of the bureaucratic beast, where “sky is green” thinking has become normative. For this to work, it is time for us to define “we” differently than we have been, as Americans, as opposed to the group think originating from intersectional politics and Marxist victimhood theories of oppressor and oppressed. We are Americans. I cannot resist including Ronald Reagan’s “We are Americans” speech with the following YouTube link. While I served as an Army Chaplain from 2013-2023, I would often see a Soldier’s morale on the wane, and I would stop by to give them a morale boost. If they had lost sight of what we were preparing to fight and win the Nation’s wars for, I would send them the link to this portion of a speech, and all discouragement would be banished. All acute frustrations would be subordinated to the National priority of protecting the right of all Americans to their freedoms, whether their families arrived like my father’s antecedents did in the 1630s, or whether their families arrived like my mother’s antecedents did in the 19th and 20th Centuries, or whether they have just arrived in legal immigration and become naturalized citizens. Americans from all races and ethnicities, although I only subscribe to the idea of one race, the human one, as our fundamental identity, should have their rights protected, even the ones with whom we adamantly disagree, and even the ones whose use of their freedoms are destructively self-focused, like the spiritual descendants of John Smith’s colony, on gold, glory, and power. While preserving their right of freedom of speech and freedom of assembly, we may also challenge the crazy partisans of our country. As a wise mentor of mine whom I met while I was serving at the Falls Church Anglican in Northern Virginia said of his organization: “we have our crazies, but they don’t run the place.”

We must learn to put our fellow Americans first, not as if America is some nebulous thing, but as a very real and living organism that we must not allow to be killed, the representative, majoritarian, democratic Republic, and the symbols for which it stands as one Nation, under God, and indivisible by the extremist political factions that would tear us apart. We.Are.Americans.

My family has served the nation for the last two hundred and forty eight years in its defense, albeit with one Confederate in the attic, and for the last 107 years and counting since my great grandfather, we have had an unbroken streak of Active Duty in the family. All of my antecedents, including my late mother, have since been buried in Arlington National Cemetery. My father, a Vietnam Veteran and Silver Star recipient will join them, hopefully many years ahead, along with a couple of his first cousins. I served as a Chaplain from 2013-2023 as my way of giving back. While I only qualify for a nook for my ashes at Arlington rather than in ground burial, I too could join them one day.

Before I do, I hope to contribute to the fight against the infighting that is going on, irony noted, to divide Americans, amplify differences, and split them apart as a crises that either Marxists or Fascists will try not to allow to go to waste. My fellow American, there are ditches on both sides of the road of this American trajectory into preserving a more perfect union. We must seize the opportunity. I implore you to participate in your local, state, and federal polity and elections. People with the people in mind must reenter civic participation to sideline the noisy loudmouths advocating for stupid detours into the ditches. American need not drive into one or the other of the ditches, but that will take participation among people who annoy us terribly with their ill-thought-through knee-jerk emotionalist perspectives. With the soothing tones of NPR commentators, we must show up and advocate for a return to normal norms, moored to moral reasoning we all have in common regardless of faith or lack of faith, to preserve the rights of the individual for the common good.

If we do not seize power from the entrenched powerful, who are burrowing into top-heavy bureaucracies in Washington D.C., centralizing power and freezing the pendulum in a place distant from the sweet spot of tension between these two sibling rivalry identities and centralization and decentralization, we will lose so much of what we have struggled so fiercely to gain, with the potentiality of losing it all. Show up. Participate. Vote. Don’t try to shout the crazies down. Show up to outnumber them. And We the People just might have a chance at emerging to the other side of this present darkness in our National polity. It is an if/then prophecy. Do it, and preserve the Republic. Do it not, and we do it at the potential peril of seeing the Nation eat its own from within. Not deciding to participate is a decision. We cannot afford it. We.Are.Americans. Our very National life, which I would like to preserve for generations to come, may very well depend on us living up to the identity and vocation of making no provision for tyranny and injustice, even as we strive for peace for our people.

Had my sister not intervened and paid my way to go on a quiet retreat, I’m ashamed to say that it likely would have been many more opportunities missed to go on this excellently facilitated retreat. The facilitator/officiant of what I will call an intro to silence and solitude as a spiritual discipline, in the context of worship, happened to be my best friend of many years, with whom I helped to catalyze theTrinityMission.org, a daily prayer podcast, in 2012. While I might deserve a head nod for having been there at the beginning, it simply would not exist had it not been for the Rev. Michael Jarrett, who tirelessly has facilitated online prayer for thousands since. I had been the voice of Evening Prayer for a season, but once I joined the Army to be a Chaplain, and especially after I became more permanently disabled by surgeries, I could not keep up the pace, and since my near death experience in 2015 of a pulmonary embolism caused by a couple of unsuccessful surgeries on my ankle, with ensuing major thoracic surgery, he has been the bearer of the torch since.

The “Big House,” at the Oblate La Parra Center

I had once worked on the border between Mexico and the United States in the late 90s early 2000s, going back and forth to Mexico to take groups of Americans, usually teenagers who had never worked a hard day in their life, with Crossroads Missions, a mission that worked to build affordable housing for the poor in Piedras Negras, Mexico. When the Lord called me to be the Director of Hispanic Ministry for Esperanza del Barrio in Chattanooga, Michael replaced me in the role of devotional speaker and worship leader for that effort. Michael met his future wife on one of those trips, and I had the honor of officiating at his wedding. My daughter, Michael’s goddaughter, got to be the flower girl. He later also became an Anglican minister/missioner, and has since planted a ministry and mission in Harlingen, TX called Trinity on the Border, while continuing to maintain theTrinityMission.org. His wife, Erica, is a medical doctor who does medical ministry for Trinity on the Border.

Michael and I go way back to high school, where we attended Brookstone High School in Columbus together. A year behind me, Michael matriculated to the University of the South at Sewanee the same year I transferred from West Point to be a sophomore there. While she didn’t go to high school with us, my wife, Elizabeth, has been a friend of Michael’s almost as long as I have. He and I were both on Young Life staff at the same time, we both worked for the same ministry on the border, and we both found our way toward ordination in the Anglican Church somewhere along the Canterbury Trail. I have been a life-long Episcopanglican, to coin a word, but Michael and my wife are both transplants from the Presbyterian tradition. Sewanee’s rootedness in the Anglican tradition had an impact on all of us. We can all trace our influence back to Growing in Grace, a ministry started by the Rev. Russell Levenson, who at the time served as an ordained Assistant to the Chaplaincy at Sewanee, but has lately been the Rector of St. Martin’s Episcopal Church in Houston. You all may know him better as the preacher at the funerals of President George H.W. and Barbara Bush.

The author and Michael Jarrett, on a road trip in 1995 from California back to the Southeast by way of Laity Lodge in Leakey, TX, where we served as camp counselors.

Fast forward to the present, and I had the distinct privilege on this Quiet Retreat of breathing in the breath of God through Christ in my friend Michael. By reason of knowing him as long as I have, I had some idea of what to expect with respect to the space he would create for us to be more present to God so that God could be more present to us. It is difficult for me to experience anything in the Church without evaluating it, and I was mostly able to push that aside and just enjoy my time with God in the presence of Michael and nearly a dozen other sojourners into the difficult place of being alone with God, with my own thoughts and prayers, in community.

I arrived a day early and got a bit of a tour of what Michael has been doing on the border to establish a worshiping community in the Anglican way of Christian discipleship, reaching out in meaningful mission and ministry in the cross-cultural location of southeast Texas. Getting to know the story, although I knew much of it from our conversations over the phone over the years, in a sensual way, boots on the ground, in the flesh, and getting to have him show and tell me what Jesus has been up to among them and through them counted as a high privilege. Imagine taking a large rough hewn diamond out to examine it carefully as it reflected the light, with portions not so rough hewn anymore, and you’ll have something of an idea of what it was like to see what the Lord had wrought through a dear friend. Michael has received much of the Lord’s own heart for others, for the grieving, for the dying, for the lost, and for those who feel alone. He also happens to serve as a volunteer Chaplain for the Coast Guard in the area, and he spoke of the mourning and beauty of a burial at sea of a veteran the previous week.

We’re a little older now….

I shadowed him as he prepared everything for the retreat, the soups, the sandwiches, the shopping at HEB, so that everything would be in place for the sojourners arriving the next day. I listened and asked questions, as any good guest of a good host would, but because of shared history and his knowledge of our lives, there were many things to speak of, but they came out, over our time together, in unforced rhythms. It was delightful to get to see Erica and Michael’s daughter, Zenie, again, even though I’ve only seen her in snapshots of her growing up years, and it was a joy to know that my own daughter, Anne Elise, had gotten to be a nanny for her for a time while the family was on vacation—mostly—on South Padre Island a year or so ago.

Trinity on the Border Facilities and Worship Space

Trinity on the Border Facilities and Worship Space

By the time we started driving up to La Parra where the Oblates of St Mary the Immaculate host groups of spiritual wanderers, we had some drive-through Whataburgers in hand. We drove into the Kenedy ranch area of 500,000 original acres where we would find respite from the busy-ness of our souls, if our souls were to allow us. The severity of the landscape of the ranch lands of southeast Texas gave way to a beautiful oasis, where the former mansion of the Kenedy family has been turned into a beautiful spot, in the middle of a desolate place, where an amazingly original local, Pablo, who grew up in the same community called “the Colony” that provided generations of workers into the Cowboy Cemetery, keeps the grounds and maintains the facilities. Pablo’s children have all served or are still serving in the U.S. Armed Forces.

The grove near the Big House has herds of deer grazing quietly most of the time

The oasis of our hosts, the Oblates, is a spectacular stand of oak trees hundreds of years old, with Spanish moss hanging from each, interspersed with several different species of palm trees, a collision between the rugged ranch land of south Texas and the quiet coastal areas of the Texas shoreline along the Gulf of Mexico. The Kenedy mansion, not-too-cleverly called “the Big House,” is a typical basement rancher, except the rancher has three stories and is a Spanish colonial style monstrosity. Built like a fortress, it even sports historic defensive positions in its turrets to ward off any who might have come for reasons other than peace and quiet in yesteryear. Herds of deer graze quietly in the shade of the mighty oaks and palms surrounding the ranch house, and in just about every nook and cranny of the Big House and the Property, there are chapels large and small for quiet times for prayer, communing with God, for confession, and for adoration. After unpacking and settling in, Michael and I drove up for a dinner in a seafood bar and grill on Baffin Bay, as the Oblate La Parra Center sits only four miles from the coast, with a 180 degree view of the vast expanse of the Gulf.

The 1000-yard stare of a true visionary, the Rev. Michael Jarrett.

The following day, guests began arriving to get settled in before an initial gathering at 2:00 p.m., and we spoke to one another about who we were, where we were coming from, a bit about our families, and most of all, what had brought us to this silent retreat. One of our number had just found it on the internet of all places. Some of our number had known Michael for years, even going back to our days when we were camp counselors at Laity Lodge in the mid-1990s, and now were pastors and ministry leaders. Still others had mutual friends of mine and Michael’s and they were drafting on someone’s previous experience who had recommended him and his retreats so highly that they had come. When it came to me, I was ashamed to say that even though Michael was my best friend of over three decades, I was here because my sister had known I needed it, and she had paid my way. Secondly, to be honest about it, I had to admit that even though I loved the spot, and I loved my friend, I was feeling pretty “meh” about the silence part. I would’ve preferred, at that moment perhaps, to just simply drive over to South Padre Island and vacation with my friend, Michael.

But move into silence we did. Now, I have to pause here to say that one of the reasons I am wary of silence and solitude is because I’ve done it before. Many times. In fact, while I was a pastor in Knoxville, I had a spiritual director in common with many other pastors named Buddy Odom, whose ministry “Echo Resources” was primarily provided by Terry Douglass of PET Scan notoriety and founder of the Provision Foundation. One of my mentors who has been “Jesus with skin on” to me has been this extraordinary man Buddy Odom, whose wife Kathie Odom is a wonderful artist. He is the one who first introduced me to silence and solitude, and he, for years, took us up into the mountains of North Carolina once a month to be by ourselves with God… in community.

So whenever I am now going on a silent or quiet retreat, by myself or especially with others with a set schedule, I experience some inner turmoil because I know that the Lord is going to do some business with me and in me, also, especially, if I haven’t been in awhile. In Mark 6, before the feeding of the 5000, which in very timely fashion my Bible Study feasted on this morning, Jesus calls his disciples after a very busy time for them in ministry to a desolate place to be by themselves with him, “as people were coming and going and they didn’t even have time to eat. I have been in “full-time ministry” for a long time, nearly 30 years, with the last 10 or so as an Army Chaplain. It had been awhile since I was going to be this attentive to my own soul’s inner turmoil. Those closest to us, when we’ve been sent out by the Lord for a long stretch of being “keeper’s of the vineyards” without being attentive to keeping our own, we can say with the bride in Song of Solomon 1, “but my own vineyard, I have not kept, and we will know when it’s time for us to go to a desolate place to commune with the Lord.

The library at La Parra once had 30,000 volumes, but through a donation to a seminary, it has been reduced to 3000 volumes available for guests.

Michael, knowing this about all of us because he spent so much of his time getting to know himself, as he has devoted himself almost singularly to prayer while many of the rest of us have busied ourselves with an unsustainable pace in life and ministry, had a more gentle way of leading us into the unforced rhythms of buttressing our days with prayer services, or “offices” as they are called in the tradition of the Church. Thomas Cranmer, the founder of our Anglican feast, instituted a use of the Scriptures in a way of prayer for all people, lay and ordained, monastics and the normative, because he understood that the Scriptures are God breathed, and they are food for our desperate souls which we have been starving when we distance ourselves from the daily ingestion of God’s Word. So Cranmer broke the biblically saturated prayer services out of the monastic communities solely and into the rhythm and Rule of Life for every parish, everywhere, for everyman. With a compassion reminiscent of his Savior, who sees us all like sheep in need of a Shepherd, Michael led us gently and without legalism into spiritual disciplines that we might carry back into our daily lives, rather than an expectation of “something happening,” or a mountaintop experience. He simply led us, explained to us, demonstrated to us, and coaxed us into actually believing that it was good to be us, here, in the presence of God.

One of the many spaces at La Parra set aside for reflection, contemplation, and prayer.

It was this prayer he suggested that I sat with throughout my time at La Parra: “Lord, it is good to be me, here, with you.” We occasionally broke silence once a day to give space to debrief, rather than simply enforcing an austere and legalistic monastic silence all the way through. Not everybody needed to speak, but there are those of us who are external processors of information who will just simply burst if we aren’t given that opportunity, especially in an introduction to silence. One of our number got stuck in the same place I did: “Lord, it is good to be me….” I didn’t have a problem with the rest. “It IS good to be here, as it is beautiful, peaceful, and restful. And it IS good to be with the Lord in a desolate place,” I thought. “But can I honestly say, with integrity, that I believe that it has been good to be ME?”

I have to admit that part caught me. I am grateful for all the Lord has done for us. For His faithfulness to us. “For our creation, preservation, and all the blessings of this life,” as the Prayer of General Thanksgiving says, which we recited every day in the prayer service, “and above all for your immeasurable love in the redemption of the world, and for the means of grace, and for the hope of glory.” To all that I can say “Amen.” But somewhere along the line I lost my gratitude to Him for being ME… in particular. I will be processing this revelation for some time. I can theologically assent to knowing that I have been God-breathed into existence, and it is a high privilege for Him to have breathed His Spirit into my particular jar of clay a deposit of the treasures of the Kingdom; however, I know that there is some distance between what I know in my head and having that travel the distance down to my heart.

¹⁸ And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people. ¹⁹ Pray also for me, that whenever I speak, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel, ²⁰ for which I am an ambassador in chains. Pray that I may declare it fearlessly, as I should.

When I was a little boy all the way to being a teenager going off to school, my mother would pray with me to put on the full Armor of God. We’d pray it on, piece by piece. She and my father knew, and they taught me to understand, that there is a spiritual war on, a cosmic spiritual battle between good and evil, and that battle takes place in each of our souls, whether we are going to be complicit in any given moment with good or evil. The God of the Universe, our Creator, and the Savior of the Universe, the one through whom all things came into being, has given us delegated authority to have a free will choice in every moment of our lives. So the cosmic battle between good and evil is a constant every day struggle between the desires of the flesh plus the sight of the eyes versus life in the Spirit and the promise of spiritual power to endure until the day of Christ. “Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” Paul in this letter to the Ephesians is talking about overcoming the sight of the eyes and the desires of the flesh, the Greek word “sarks,” which generally is a negative use of the word flesh, which means that human nature tendency toward self, self-righteousness, worldliness, and it is human effort unaided by faith or spiritual power.

If you know that there is a war on, a civil war, rather an uncivil war where, the enemy is set on your destruction, would you leave the house without the body armor and weapons available to us on the open market in the United States. While on a plane a few days ago, coming back from a wedding in Rhode Island, I watched the movie Civil War with Claire Danes. It was a very believable situation in which the State National Guards of Florida, Texas, and California were all advancing on the capitol of Washington D.C. to remove a President serving a third term and centralizing power using the American military against the American people. The lawlessness is astonishing. I have also been in Rwanda after the genocide when pure evil takes over one tribe in the country to the extent that they dashed babies against the wall, the bloodstains have been preserved, threw grenades into packed churches, and the skulls and massacre sites have been preserved, and still worse, neighbors who had previously lived peacefully alongside each other, hacked each other to bits with machetes. I have walked those massacre sites of the genocide, and I’ve spoken to thousands in Rwanda about it. Their mantra of remembrance is “Never Again,” but we know that the devil doesn’t really change his tactics. He is out to destroy us, our bodies, our souls, and our spirits, and rupture our relationship with, and knowledge of, God, to rupture our understanding of what a “self” has been given us for, and to rupture our relationship with others, downgrading our relationship with others into a use of others for the benefit of self, which is the upside down and backwards, as well as inside out OPPOSITE of what a self has been given us for. A self has been given to us to be God-like, and to be God-like, we must be unself-focused, but we’ll never know that until we are on the enlightening receiving end of the revelation of God about Himself, and He has always, obviously been making Himself known through Creation, through His divine intervention in the affairs of men through the Exodus, the Law, and the Prophets, as well as most perfectly in the obedient person, the incarnation, teaching, miracles, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

So…. What are we talking about here? We’re talking about there being a cosmic war going on. And my question to you is: are you in the fight? Or are we just a Christian NPC, which means “non-playable character” from video games? Are we just carnal Christians, dedicated to self, trying to preserve circumstances to our own liking, our own personal preferences? Or are we walking so constantly in prayer and power in the Spirit that we are healed up and participating in the fight, available to the Commander in Chief of the Angel Armies of the living God to reclaim desecrated spaces of this world?

Here is the reality: we are jars of clay, meaning that we are dust, made up of molecules, made up of atoms, made up of subatomic particles, made up of quarks. Now we’re down to loop theory, which is loops of light. So what is more real? Time and space in the Universe? Or the ageless spiritual reality beyond the edge of the Universe, time, and space? Well, obviously, by implication, what is more real is the spiritual reality, which is not to say that the material reality is unimportant, as we know by revelation that God so loved the cosmos that He gave His own only Son, that whoever believes in Him might have eternal life in the new heavens and new earth, in resurrected bodies. So even though we are just dust, God has seen fit to pour eternal heavenly treasures into these jars of clay. Now we know also from the Scriptures, which are the inspired and inerrant Word of God, that the Lord is the Spirit and where He is there is freedom. Freedom from sin and bondage to it. Our bodies and souls, our sarks and our psuke, tend toward death-dealing sin, even though the Spirit of the Living God has come to live in our spirit, due to our baptism into the death of Christ, so that we have access to the same power that raised Jesus from the dead to overcome our flesh. And even Paul says ¹⁵ I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. ¹⁶ And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. ¹⁷ As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. ¹⁸ For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature.^[a] For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. ¹⁹ For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. ²⁰ Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it.

²¹ So I find this law at work: Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. ²² For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; ²³ but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me. ²⁴ What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? hanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!

So then, I myself in my mind am a slave to God’s law, but in my sinful nature a slave to the law of sin. When I was looking up the sarks, or flesh, I came across the wonderful English word “sublunary,” which means that which is worldly, literally “under the moon,” and it’s definition and connotation are “belonging to this world as contrasted with a better or more spiritual one.” The example sentence given was "the concept was irrational to sublunary minds.” Well, the spiritual realm is irrational to sublunary minds, minds dominated by worldliness and the desire to please self. So, from Paul we know a few things: number 1, there is a cosmic war going on; number 2, WE have a body and soul that tend toward death, toward choosing sin because it is what we crave; and from the ancient church we have  the seven deadly sins, and most of us can recite those better than the ten commandments or the corresponding virtues, and Christian doctrine incorporates into the Judeo-Christian tradition the deadly sins that we all know (and their demons), as well as the virtues that are supposed to defeat or at least neutralize: 1) pride / humility, 2) greed / generosity, 3) lust / chastity, 4) anger / patience, 5) gluttony / temperance, 6) envy / charity and 7) laziness / diligence; thirdly, we know from Paul that we have access to spiritual power from the Lord, but many of us are trying to do everything in our own strength, even though we cannot overcome sarks’ desires with sarks’ power. That would be like standing in a bucket trying pick ourselves up, or pulling ourselves up by our own bootstraps. Now we know from American history that what we most admire is a “self-made” man. But most of the Americans in history who did it were Christians depending on the power of God to overcome through giving Him margin to work through their spiritual disciplines focused on developing the virtues empowered by the Spirit. Going a little deeper into the word study of the Greek word “sarks,”  (sarks) is generally negative, referring to making decisions (actions) according to self – i.e. done apart from faith (independent from God's inworking). Thus what is "of the flesh (carnal)" is by definition displeasing to the Lord – even things that seem "respectable!" In short, flesh generally relates to unaided human effort, i.e. decisions (actions) that originate from self or are empowered by self. This is carnal ("of the flesh") and proceeds out of the untouched (unchanged) part of us – i.e. what is not transformed by God.

So many of us Christians in the southeast have never really gotten into the spiritual fight, but rather we are what Paul calls “carnal” Christians, or people who do not walk in the Spirit sufficiently to overcome the worldliness or what Thomas Cranmer in the historic prayer book calls “the cares and occupations of this life.” We become so overwhelmed by trying to do life in unaided human effort, those efforts that originate from self or are empowered by self, and that is from the untouched part of us, that part which has NOT been transformed by God yet into the likeness of Christ. But we know that He will carry onto completion that work in us to make us like Christ, so we know that beyond the edge of time and space, we will be fully like Christ.  To do that, we have to more fully root ourselves in the Spirit and in the priorities of the Kingdom of God rather than in the pursuits of worldliness.

Dear friends, disciples of Jesus Christ, I implore you not to try to do the Christian life in your own strength! It is how we go down to defeat! Rather, let us be more fully engaged in this cosmic spiritual war, beginning with our own souls! When we are under pressure, what comes out of us? Is it worldliness? Is it those things listed in our Gospel reading, that which comes out of man, or his flesh, or his sarks, or his carne? Or when we are under pressure does the peace of God which passes understanding come out of us? Does the fruit of the Spirit come out of us? We have been given power from on high to overcome the world, the flesh, and the devil, the three-fold renunciation of our baptism.

Let us put on the full Armor of God: with the belt of truth holding it all together; with the breastplate of CHRIST’s righteousness, not our own self-righteousness; with your feet fitted with the shoes of the Gospel; with the shield of faith with which you extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one; with the helmet of salvation; with the Sword of the Spirit. And by the way, in addition to arming ourselves for this cosmic battle between good and evil between the desires of the flesh and the fruit of rooting ourselves in the Spirit, Paul encourages us, that is he intends to GIVE US COURAGE to pray in the Spirit at all times with all kinds of prayer and requests. And I would like to suggest that if we are only praying for lists of people with needs, we are limiting the power of God because we are not pressing into adoration sufficiently enough in prayer to receive the heart of God for others. And his desire is not only to heal Aunt Marge’s pinky-toe hangnail, but also to fill this city of Madison with the light of His Gospel being preached and the light of the presence of the Spirit IN YOU, to bring transformation to this city full of more and more people for whom He died to liberate from sin and death! But first, WE OURSELVES need to be transformed in our minds, in our behaviors, and in our prayer lives. We are developing some new ministries and mission for this new season. It is time for congregations in America to transition to focus on ministry and mission outside of their walls and waaaaay off of church property, just like John and Charles Wesley did when they busted out of the systems of the bureaucratic Church--and the way things had always been done-- and the built new and relational means of giving spiritual vitality to their missional communities of the Kingdom of God. We will have a choice, whether to age and die within 10 to 15 years, or whether to hand the bloodied baton of the Gospel off to the next generation, growing through conversion due to the work of culturally sensible evangelism. The work is before us, but not before the work that must be done within us. Gone are the days of merely coming to church to be a passive recipient of the ministry of others. Coming now are the days of arming ourselves with Spiritual power from the throne of grace. May we all get in the fight for love to win out over hate, and for His light to shine in the darkness by our engagement with the world. To the glory of Jesus’ mighty Name, Amen.

I have a tendency to catalyze community wherever I go. I used to do it fairly unwittingly, and now I do it wittingly. I tend to avoid the topics of politics and religion, which are my two favorite topics, but the latter always comes up when people finally get around to the popular question, “so what do you do?” That didn’t come up this time, so I was off the hook on a weekend where I didn’t have to work in my professional capacity of always telling people about Jesus, which, by the way, I love to do.

Desoto Falls in autumn in the Desoto State Park, Mentone, Alabama

If you’ve never been to Mentone, Alabama, you should make a point of visiting sometime, and getting an Air BnB right on the Little River, which winds through a canyon in the beautiful Desoto State Park, one of the reasons why Alabama gives itself the moniker “the Beautiful.” When one is from elsewhere, one tends to discriminate against Alabama, and the tendency is not to believe the moniker, but especially in Northern Alabama, it’s true because it’s so much like Tennessee. As an Army brat, Tennessee is my adopted home, as it’s where my wife is from (Chattanooga), it’s where we went to college (University of the South at Sewanee), and it’s where we’ve spent an enormous stretch of our professional lives.

In Northern Alabama, we are north of the Tennessee River where we live, so we’re technically in that part of Alabama that should be Tennessee. There’s a joke amongst Tennessee Volunteers fans: “why doesn’t Florida fall off into the Gulf of Mexico? Because Georgia and Alabama suck!” The problem for Tennessee fans in the past couple of decades is that Georgia and Alabama have been dominant in football! We got not a little bit excited when we beat Alabama that first time in a long time. The uprights came down and got thrown into the Tennessee River…. apparently, it’s a tradition.

The truth is: Alabama IS beautiful, and despite all of the Blue Cities’ critique of Alabamians they may see on the TV every time a hurricane or a tornado goes through, their people are pretty extraordinary too. One of my favorite singer-songwriters, a true poet and troubadour, Pierce Pettis, is from Mentone, Alabama. It is a small town. Blink, and you may miss it…. but not before you see that it has some really neat shops and stores and stations and restaurants and nooks and crannies to explore that are going to make you want to stop and stay awhile.

My tall new friend from Illinois had just played golf on a course I didn’t even know Mentone had, and he had met up with family who live in Georgia to play the course before heading back to Huntsville where he was visiting. TennGABama is what we call this wheel around Chattanooga, where Lookout Mountain starts in Alabama, goes through northwest Georgia, and rises to a point in Tennessee overlooking my favorite city in the world where the Tennessee River winds its way past Moccasin Bend, one of the oldest Native American historic sites in the country. Speaking of Native Americans, I was a bit part of the impetus behind getting Congressman Zach Wamp to preserve a couple of sites in Chattanooga by incorporating them into the Chattanooga/Chickamauga National Battlefields federal reservations, and especially part of getting Mayor Ron Littlefield involved in the preservation and signage around the Brainerd Mission Cemetery, but that is a longer story about which you can read here.

Former Cherokee and Creek Indian territory is where I’ve spent almost all of my life. The five years I spent being born, growing up, and going to Elementary school at West Point, NY still bears a significant branding on my life, as it is one of my two hometowns, and it is where my grandfather, my father, and I all went to school, although I didn’t graduate from there due to an eye surgery. Moving to Fort Benning (now Fort Moore) in Georgia was initially a culture shock before I learned over time to say “y’all,” slow the cadence of my speech down to spin a yarn, and I also learned that my Yale educated great great grandfather and 3-great uncle, his brother, both spent significant amounts of time in Columbus, GA where the latter, the Rev. William Douglas Cairns became the founding Rector (senior pastor) of Trinity Episcopal Church in 1834. The vestry had his very first sermon published because it was so good. I’ve never had a vestry approach me for the same thing. He was the first Secretary of the Diocese of Georgia. My great great grandfather, Frederick Augustus Cairns was confirmed in his late brother’s parish church in 1850.

Having moved to Fort Benning because of my father’s career, and not because of our Confederates in the attic, it was the beginning of a [mostly] unwitting period of following my ancestors around for decades. Although I did go to West Point for my plebe year, I transferred due to surgery from a soccer injury to the University of the South at Sewanee, where I had little to no idea that one of our family names was on a building there, the Snowden Forestry building, due to the Snowden Forestry Chair being endowed by my great grandfather’s first cousin, John Bayard Snowden, of Memphis, where Bayard Snowden Cairns was a premier architect, (my great grandfather’s brother). I didn’t know anything of the connection until a man I didn’t know at the time, John Evans, contacted me about a processional cross he had in his possession that he had bought in a yard sale at Sewanee, which had a dedication “to my father, Frederick Augustus Cairns” inscribed on it, a cross which had been donated to St. Mary’s Convent, founded by Sister Hughetta Snowden, my great great grandmother’s sister. John asked if I was related to Frederick Augustus Cairns. At the time, I said of my great great grandfather, “I recognize the name. I think he’s an uncle of some kind.” Now I’m the family historian of my generation.

In the TennGABama area of the country, essentially former Cherokee territory, I have spent almost all of my adult life, except for a stint in the Army as a Chaplain, which took us to Fort Riley, KS, took me to Korea, then South Alabama, which is not the part we Appalachians find “the beautiful,” before coming back finally to the Tennessee River Valley. So for all of my formerly smug Yankeeness because I was born at West Point, and that I come from a family that has almost exclusively fought to win independence for, established, and defended the Republic, I have fallen in love with this part of the South, perhaps because of their Unionist sympathies.

TennGABAma, aka former Cherokee territory before Andrew Jackson had Winfield Scott remove them beyond the Mississippi in violation of Chief Justice John Marshall upholding their right to their territory, establishing judicial review. Jackson said, famously, “It is [Marshall’s] decison. Let him enforce it.” And we now know that attrocity as the Trail of Tears.

But even while I was in the Army, I unwittingly followed my ancestors around. My great grandfather, Dr. (LTC) Douglas Walker Cairns, brother to the Memphis Architect, retired from Active Duty as an Army doctor there, my great uncle trained as a Cavalryman and went to the Advanced Equitation School there in 1838, and in 1942, at my great grandfather’s gigantic historic quarters, the whole immediate Cairns family of their day sat for a photograph on the stoop of the porch, just before two sons and a husband of one of the daughters went off to war. My brother was stationed there with the Big Red One when he deployed as an Apache pilot (DFC) in the Gulf War with Iraq in 1991. In December of 2013, the Army sent me there to be the Chaplain of the 1st Squadron, 4th Cavalry Regiment and later the 3rd Battalion, 66th Armored Regiment. How proud I was and am to be associated with this American family of sacrificial service members who expended the best years of their lives on behalf of the Nation.

The Dr. (LTC) Douglas W. Cairns Family, ca 1942. Fort Riley, Kansas

The Cairns Family Quarters at Fort Riley, Kansas, ca. 1942

After a rough deployment as the rotational unit to Camp Casey, South Korea, the Army sent us to Fort Rucker (now Fort Novosel), Alabama, where Cairns Army Airfield is named for my great uncle, MG Bogardus Snowden Cairns, the originator of the use of helicopters as the new Air Cavalry. He died in a helicopter crash flying solo on what would later become our wedding anniversary many, many years later, December 9, 1958. Even though I was not alive, the story still devastates me. I am very close with his sons and daughter, his grandson, and I will be officiating his great grandson’s wedding this December. He was a vestryman at the local Episcopal parish in Enterprise, Alabama. I spent my entire two years there researching his legacy in my spare time to put an historical collection at the airfield to honor his memory. All three of his children, and many of his grandchildren and great grandchildren were there for the ribbon-cutting ceremony of the historical collection, which included several of his uniforms, the story of his career in the Army, and his medals and awards, including his Military Order of British Empire, signed by King George VI, for his involvement in driving Edwin Rommel out of North Africa while he was the planner for the 13th Armored Regiment of the Center Task Force during Operation Torch. It was an honor just to honor him.

When the Army needed to send me somewhere again in 2019, I chose Redstone Arsenal, because of its proximity to my wife’s hometown of Chattanooga, our alma mater at the University of the South at Sewanee, and to assist a friend with his parish church. Although there is no family legacy in Madison, Alabama, we are becoming established here, and we are creating one. All three of our children will have graduated from Bob Jones High School (not that Bob Jones that you’re thinking), and two and maybe all three of our kids are going to Samford University in Birmingham, a school with which we have been repeatedly impressed.

So what I can tell you is that because my mother is from Seattle, her father a U.S. Congressman-at-large from Washington State, and my father graduated from Riverside High School in Southern California, although he was an Army Air Corps and then Air Force brat, and having been born and raised in my first hometown of West Point, NY and my second hometown of Fort Benning/Moore in Columbus, Georgia….. with genealogical lines going back on both my father and mother’s sides all the way to the sister boat of the Mayflower, the Speedwell, and immigrants from the 1630s to the 1800s: I am an American.

And when I strike up a conversation with you, even if you are a recent immigrant who just received their citizenship, you and your family are my fellow Americans. I will want to know a bit of your story, not to measure it against our own, but because I believe in freedom and justice for all. My metanarrative of America includes the undertow of our national sins, but it is dominated by the tidal wave of sacrifice to get us to the present day, when so many voices are trying to use intersectional politics or class warfare to tear us apart for their own power-hungry ladder climbing. I won’t allow it.

On this day, in Mentone Alabama, whose Little River Canyon in their beautiful Desoto State Park you should make a point of bucket list exploring someday, I met a fellow American. I do not know if he leans right or left politically. I do not know if he was a Christian or an agnostic or atheist, or how his family came to settle in Wilmington, Illinois. What I do know, is that he is my fellow American, and he paid for my coffee.

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